#the old drunk (bobby)

[thegracefallen]

Bobby's reactions when Cas dies and comes back in 7x01 though. This man 100% adopted that angel as one of his boys.

[dearsnow]

12:29 AM

- your normally sober husband comes home drunk out of his mind after a party, and you can’t say that he’s any less sweet. (robert “bob” floyd x wife!reader, fluff, honestly one of the cutest things i’ve ever written, ⚠️ obviously heavy themes of alcohol and being drunk, sexual innuendos but nothing graphic)

word count: 1,502

a/n - i haven’t written a fic with a timestamp as the title in… (checks old blog) over three years?!? in any case, i hope you guys like drunk!bobby as much as i do <3 he’s definitely an emotional/clingy drunk imo.

It’s not often that your husband stays out late, and it’s not often that he doesn’t text you while he’s out, but you trust him. He’s not the type to get blackout drunk or come home stumbling through the doorframe. Robert Floyd is a clearheaded and strong man.

Well, he looks neither right now, as he’s supported by Jake and Javy’s arms, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose and a dopey smile brightening his face. Jake looks at you apologetically— as apologetic as he can get for a situation that’s likely his fault. “Sorry, hun.” He huffs, shifting around Bob’s weight. “There were a few too many fruity drinks ordered, and I guess he didn’t realize they were full of alcohol.”

“You guess?” You ask, rubbing the space between your eyebrows with your fingers. The two more sober men lead Bob into your bedroom, half-dragging him. They lay him down on your shared bed with a softened thump that has him groaning on top of the sheets. “I can’t believe you guys.”

Bob went out with the rest of the squad for some coworker’s promotion celebration, and he promised to come home perfectly sober, as always. He doesn’t even need to promise, if you’re being honest, because that’s just how he is; the most levelheaded person in the room. He would stay until it was socially acceptable for an acquaintance to leave, then he would head home and help you cook dinner to your favorite old school tunes. You never expected to see him shitfaced at 12:29 AM.

Javy shakes his head as he steps around you, taking Jake for a clean escape. “We tried to warn him. I hope he feels better in the morning, but until then, we’re gonna have to leave him with you.”

You sigh, eyebrows just as pinched as they were before. For the first time ever, you’re scared that Bob is going to die in his sleep, and the thought frustrates you to no end. “Thanks. It’s so great that he’s drunk out of his mind, but I have to give you credit for getting him here in one piece.” Your tone is sarcastic enough to get the two men cringing in shame, but you also know that without them, he might still be at that party.

Jake pats you on the shoulder. “Good luck, soldier. You’ll need it.”

With that, Javy and Jake walk out of your bedroom, past your living room, and out of your house like they couldn’t wait to leave. As you hear them close the door, you look down at your husband.

He’s still conscious, thankfully. His eyes are slightly unfocused, he’s blushing like a madman, and he’s groaning lightly, but he’s not completely gone yet. You brush the damp hair away from his forehead and he whines just a bit.

“Wife.”

You quirk your eyebrow in confusion. “Yes?”

“I… have a wife. Y’ can’t touch me like that.” He mumbles. It feels like he’s looking past you. Despite everything, you feel like laughing.

You adjust his glasses on his face and lean over him a little more, fully in his field of vision. “I am your wife.”

His eyes widen like he’s seeing you for the first time, and he smiles crookedly. He tries to sit up, but only manages to prop himself up on one arm as he takes in the sight of your face. “S’ pretty. You’re really my wife? My girl?” In combination with the slurred words of someone down in the cups, the slight southern accent he took so much time to push away is coming back as he speaks to you.

“Yes.” You confirm, kissing him on the cheek. He somehow smiles even wider and reaches out to touch the apples of your cheeks.

“Love you. I missed you.” He mumbles. “Spent that whole party wonderin’ when I could see you again.” He flops back down onto the springy mattress, throwing his arms up. He moves with the precision of a toddler, his limbs seemingly coated in lead. He almost smacks the glasses off his face as he motions to you with grabby hands.

“I missed you too, honey. Can we get you into your pajamas? I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in jeans and a polo.” As you ask that question, his fingers are already attempting to pull the shirt off of his body. It doesn’t work very well, considering he’s still laying down, but you appreciate the effort. “Sit up, my love.”

He sits up, winking at you heavily. It’s more like a slow blink with how long it takes him to do it. “Can’t wait to get me naked?”

A laugh escapes your mouth, and you smother the rest of your giggles with the heel of your palm as you gaze at his slightly crestfallen face. He’s funny when drunk, apparently, even when he isn’t trying to be. It’s like seeing him completely unhinged with none of his usual, careful filters. “Sure. You need to be in some state of undress to get your pajamas on, anyways.”

His face falls into a slight pout as you help him unbutton the top of his polo and slide it up his chest. He seems to notice how your hands hesitate when meeting the warm, taut skin of his abs, and the pout fades instantly. “Like it?”

“I always do.” You hum. He does have a great body, one that you’ve found to be extraordinarily hot. Strong arms, tight muscles, and yet a gentleness in the way his hands hold yours. Right now, though, it’s a bit of a problem as you’re attempting to get his jeans off. He’s still sitting, and you think you could lift weights for ten years and not be able to pull them out from under him. “Can you stand, Bobby?”

“Gladly.” He sings. You help him stand, supporting a bit of his weight. He seems to find a little bit of his footing as his other arm presses into the wall, allowing the both of you to shimmy his pants down his legs and kick them to some unknown corner of the room.

You gather his neatly folded pajamas, a soft shirt and some plaid flannel pants, and help him put them on. Luckily for you, he’s been revitalized by your touch and is a little more helpful now. He’s still moving awkwardly and shifting around like he’s constantly trying to get his balance straightened out, but it’s better than nothing. It would be hell to get him to do anything other than dress, though, so you settle for just getting him in bed. His dental hygiene routine will have to wait.

You lay him back down after he’s dressed and pull the blankets up to his chin, kissing his forehead gently and tucking his glasses in your dresser drawer. You’re already ready for the night (the perks of thinking he would come home three hours ago), so you slip in bed next to him. He immediately pulls you into his arms, his body comfortingly warm. He’s always run just a little hot, which is amazing on cooler nights like this.

He sighs contentedly before moving to stare directly into your eyes. “Y’know,” he starts, “I can’t sleep without your arms ‘round me, and your legs ‘round me, and you breathing all sweet on my neck. ‘M up all night when I’m deployed, at first anyways. My carrier roommates hate it.”

You shift just enough as to where your body is clutching on to him as tight as possible, and he hums in relief. It’s like the little tension that he was holding dissipated entirely. “I’m sorry, baby. That must be hard.” You soothe.

“Payback gave me his pillow once so I could wrap it in my arms, but it didn’t help. He threatened to ‘come up there n’ cuddle me himself’ if I didn’t stop moving.” He scrunches his eyes closed at the memory. You do your best to suppress another bout of laughter, but he makes it even harder when he shivers like he isn’t covered in three layers of blankets and you.

“Did he ever follow through?” You ask, pressing your lips together to stop from smiling. Bob shakes his head.

“Thank god he didn’t.” He utters. You turn to shove your face into your pillow to muffle your expressions. He just keeps his eyes closed, completely unaware of the fact that you’re losing it next to him.

When you finally come up for air, he is drifting in and out of sleep. “Love ya. G’night.” He whispers. It’s so soft that you almost start laughing again.

“Good night, Bobby. Love you too.” You say, kissing his cheek. You click off the lamp on your bedside table and snuggle deeper into his grasp.

He’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. At least he’ll have his wife, breakfast in bed, and an aspirin to take care of him.

Taglist: @seitmai

[thelikesofus]

Buddie Fic Recs

Welcome to another 9-1-1 Hiatus! Here is Buddie Rec List Number 8 to keep you all fed during the break. I’ve been compiling these fics for a whileee, so this is going to be kind of long. Find my other Buddie Rec Lists HERE REMINDER TO CHECK THE TAGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

i slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car by @crazygirleddie | T | 4k

Buck gets sloppy drunk with Hen and decides this is the perfect time to go to Eddie and tell him he loves him. This fic is so wholesome and hilarious, and I love the way the author writes Buck and Eddie in this. 

you will get a sentimental feeling when you hear voices singin by @sergeantchenford | T | 2k

A short and sweet fic where Buck mopes about Eddie moving to El Paso, has a conversation with Bobby, and goes to a charity event. I think we all need some Bobby and Buck interactions right now, and obviously, Eddie isn’t leaving, and Chris is coming home!

my heart wants to come home by @sergeantchenford | T | 5.8k

Another fic by the very talented Jules, but this one is about Buck and Eddie catnapping an old lady's cat and talking about dying alone. Very sweet ending <3

The Bunkroom Fic by exvichan | T | 11k

This is the bunk room bottle fic we deserve! Incredible, absolutely amazing fic! 

emails i can't send by @drmellking | T | 5.9k

Another wonderful fic by my beloved friend April <3 Buck leaves his email account open on his laptop while looking after Jee, and she accidentally presses send on all the emails Buck wrote but never meant for Eddie to see. 

(we tried) we said we'd keep in touch by @chronicowboy | T | 6.8k

With Eddie in El Paso, Buck isn’t feeling the Christmas spirit this year, so he agrees to cover someone else’s shift rather than go to the FireFam Christmas party. Eddie has other plans. And I am rocking in a corner and crying over how perfect and cozy this fic is, literally all the feels xx

Songbird by @colonoscopys | E | 71k

Country Singer Eddie AU that is so horrendously heartbreakingly horrifically incredible. My heart was literally in my throat the whole time, and honestl,y this fic is so beautiful, you just have to read it!

Snickerdoodles of Longing by @elvensorceress | E | 52k

Would this really be a Meegs rec list without a Jenwyn fic?? This is the Eddie moves to Texas fic we all deserved as he makes the decision to leave and then slowly unravels as he realizes what he really wants and what he's losing. There’s also a part two of this that I have yet to read, but I can guarantee it will also be incredible because everything Jenwyn writes is just *chefs kiss*. 

A Place For You, Next to Me by @spotsandsocks | M | 23k

I have very talented mutuals, okay, so here’s a beautiful fic from the wonderful Spotty. Buck decides to do something special for Eddie’s birthday, but his plans are about to be thwarted because oh my goodness THERE’S ONLY ONE BED *cheers and screams from the fandom* 

Five Years by aubrey_writes | M | 8k

Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence. 

A Hole in the World by @thatdisasterauthor | T | 61k 

Buck tries to help someone having what he thinks is a medical emergency while he’s at the grocery store, but his kindness is taken for granted when he is KIDNAPPED AND TAKEN CAPTIVE IN A DOOMSDAY BUNKER. This fic had me on the edge of my seat the whole way through, it is such an incredibly captivating read!

Fears and Assurances in Equal Measure by @thatdisasterauthor | M | 15k

It should've been a simple call. But when the "small fire in an apartment kitchen" turns into a collapse that traps Eddie as the fire continues to burn, Buck is forced to make an impossible choice to save the man he loves. The emotional and physical hurt/comfort in this is to die for <3

it hit me in the kitchen by @bugsongs | G | 13k

Eddie leaves for Texas, and everybody copes with food in one way or another. There’s so much good Eddie and Christopher communication in this fic, it really healed me. 

forever is the sweetest con by @becausebuckley | E | 37k

Buck is invited to a family reunion and realises that there's a good chunk of money waiting for him. There’s one issue, though: he has to be married to claim it, and right now, he’s painfully single. It’s a good thing he has such a great best friend in eddie, right? MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE! EVERYONE LIKES THAT!

like a river runs by @nymika-arts | T | 56k

Buck and Maddie’s flight goes missing, and they are presumed dead. Five years later, their flight lands unscathed, but the world has moved on without them. This fic is so heartbreaking. I had my heart in my throat the whole time, but it is also so beautiful. 

a straight guy and an ally walk into a bar… by @songbvrd | M | 23k

After Buck gets dumped, he remembers he agreed to go to Abby's wedding with a date. Eddie steps up and pretends to be his boyfriend. All hell breaks loose.

Batting a Buck & Change by @cal-daisies-and-briars | T | 15k

Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip. EddieChim Bestism my beloved. Honestly, this fic is so much fun, and I am obsessed with all of it!

In a Moment of Clarity by @thekristen999 | T | 14k

As the jeep rounded a sharp bend, its tires suddenly lost traction, sending it careening off the winding road's edge. THE CRASH FIC! SO SO GOOD! Hurt Buck and Hurt Eddie, what more could you want? Delicious.

Exhibit B by @cal-daisies-and-briars | T | 10k

Seven years in the future, an adult Christopher has a chance to see his grandparents - and subsequently, his father - in a new light, on a family trip to El Paso. Oh, this fic is so good! A very much needed reflection on Eddie’s relationship with his parents, and done through Christopher’s eyes, this fic really hits you in the solar plexus in the best way possible. 

in pursuit of good health by @bisexualbellamyblake | M | 6.7k

I am a sucker for tactile idiots-to-lovers and so when I find a fic about Buck and Eddie ‘platonically kissing for the health benefits’ you best believe I devoured it!

down every road by @young-waverer | T | 4.5k

Buck realizes he needs to be with Eddie and Chris. Unfortunately for the miles on his truck, Eddie and Chris had the same idea. THIS is what happens when idiots in love who cannot commniucate try to surprise eachother but share the same braincell. 

seeing him in a new light by @tizniz | G | 1.2k

Eddie Diaz is all of us fawning over how Buck is Big and Large and BIG.

featherlight by @coldbam | G | 7k

Eddie takes up a new hobby while in Texas, identifying the birds that visit his new porch and realizes he’s in love with Buck from 800 miles away. AKA The Birding Fic and honestly I’m obsessed this is so beautiful. Also the artwork in this is STUNNING! So special shout out to @betanoiz for that. 

the bigger they are (the harder they fall) by @chronicowboy | T | 6k

This is how 8x18 should have gone. Buck and Eddie get trapped in the rubble together and finally confess a few things to eachother. 

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Feeling me up as a pornstar dies⋆˚࿔

WARNINGS: teenage angst. underage drinking. underage smoking. underage sexual activity. smut (mdni). dry humping. coming in pants. clit stimulation. cannibalism references (barely). angst. teenagers being horny. 5.0k

The drive-in becomes something of a tradition, just like the walks.

Every Friday—with an exception here and there—you and Dean go watch a movie together.

Sam stops coming along after the night you take him to see It.

You hadn’t known about Sam’s phobia of clowns, but Dean had. He laughed his ass off when Sam’s face fell as the movie title rolled in.

“I expected this from my asshole brother, but you?”

Trust a fourteen-year-old boy to be dramatic. It takes a whole new order of marshmallow nachos and lending him your precious copy of Carrie for him to forgive you. But he still refuses to come along.

The new tradition isn’t the only change that comes from that night.

Any residual ice between you and Dean has melted away.

You hang out all the time now—after school on the empty sidewalks, at the local arcade, at Bobby’s house. Why Dean Winchester chooses to spend time with you instead of one of the pretty, normal girls from school still escapes you.

But you actually start to talk, even if sometimes it’s still too quiet for Dean to catch. You make murmured jokes, tease him under your breath, and even nudge his shoulder when you're feeling brave. You chat in philosophy class, whisper the right answers to him, and he says them out loud just to piss Richie Rich off. They even get into a fight once, after the asshole mocks Dean’s worn-out clothes.

“Does daddy not love you enough to buy you a jacket that isn’t half-ruined?”

The next day, the tires of Richie Rich’s beloved BMW convertible are found slashed in the school parking lot. There’s no proof of who did it, even if Richie keeps pointing fingers at Dean.

No one notices the knife tucked inside your boot.

You also start taking Dean along on your searches for animal bones in the forest. The two of you wander through the foggy woods of Sioux Falls—your steps quiet and doe-like, Dean’s heavy and predatory. Once, you find a small, dainty bat skull hidden beneath a bed of pine needles. You let yourself fall to the ground, knees scraping, and rinse away the remaining decay with your water bottle.

Once it’s clean, you hold it up to Dean with a grin, like a trophy. The bone gleams under the sun, and your legs and dress are now smudged with dirt. He looks at the skull with mild disgust, but then his expression shifts into something soft and fond when he sees the genuine joy on your face.

“You little freak,” he huffs, ruffling your hair. But his voice is soft, coated in affection.

You sing along to his cassettes when you hang out in his room, even buying him new ones from the town’s local thrift store. He even teaches you how to shoot, wrapping his big hands around yours to help you aim. You manage to hit five out of seven cans, and the proud smile Dean gives you keeps you walking on clouds for the rest of the week.

You get drunk for the first time with him on your seventeenth birthday. Only, Dean doesn’t know it’s your birthday. You’re not one for celebrations. At least, not when they’re about you.

You sneak one of your mother’s bottles into Bobby’s house—whiskey, because Dean once said he liked it. The first shot makes your eyes water, and Dean laughs, teasing you for endless minutes. You punch his arm, pour yourself another, and swallow it like water.

It burns with something inherited. A heirloom. A curse.

Dean seems to feel the same—judging by the way he stares at the bottle like a betrayed soldier.

Can’t escape those addiction genes, you guess.

But the burning fades about halfway through the bottle.

Then, you lose all trace of shame. The barbed wire that’s always wrapped around your throat unravels, and the ever-present tension deep in your bones evaporates, leaving only malleable, tender flesh.

Dean lies on his bed, smoking a cigarette, as you change his cassette to something you got for him. Something darker, layered, ghostly.

“That obscure indie shit you dig so much,” Dean calls it.

“Did Sam teach you that word?”

“Shut up, smartass.”

Head floaty, empty of the voices that have haunted you since birth, you twirl around the room to the soft piano of the song.

Dean watches as the golden light of the setting sun shines around you like a divine glow. The flowy skirt of your dress rises up and exposes the smooth, delicate skin of your thighs. The smoke from his cigarette curls around you like you’re calling to it—like it recognizes your mystical nature and craves wrapping around you.

Dean knows the feeling.

You twirl again, trip on one of his boots, stumble into the bed next to him, and break into a mess of giggles and rosy cheeks, nearly burning yourself with his cigarette.

Oh, you wish Dean would put it out on you.

Both of you stare at the ceiling fan for a long moment of silence after that. Your hand trails down the edge of Dean’s wooden bed frame, your fingers finding one of the many markings carved into it. A pentagram inside a sun. You wonder what it means, if it’s a band’s logo or some kind of ritualistic symbol.

Instead of asking, driven by the drunken, unstoppable need to tell the truth, you whisper:

“Today’s my birthday.”

Another moment stretches between you, smoke slowly filling your lungs as Dean blows it toward you—you asked him to, because you can’t get enough of the smell—and then he whispers back:

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

The next day, Dean picks you up in the pickup truck and takes you to the drive-in, even though it isn’t Friday.

“Didn’t think you’d get away with turning seventeen and not celebrating, right?”

There’s a silly grin on his face, but something filters underneath. Something somber, blue and gray.

You don’t ask. Instead, you quickly get ready for the hangout. You decide to wear your mother’s black cowboy boots. It earns you an up-and-down look and a murmured compliment—and it makes you glow.

You settle into your usual spot at the drive-in. You buy some popcorn and finish it before the movie even starts. Dean still claims he doesn’t want any but ends up stealing a handful from you anyway. This time, you both sit closer to the middle of the bench seat, just inches apart.

The movie starts.

Slasher flick again.

Your eyes stay on the screen as a girl—topless, because they always are—gives her boyfriend a little show. They’ll both be murdered in minutes.

But Dean’s eyes aren’t on her. He doesn’t even glance her way as she removes her bra, slow and sensual in a way you’ll never be.

No, he’s looking at you.

Quiet but mesmerizing. Tragic and magical.

You’re scared, but you’re also starving.

It’s been months of staring at Dean—his pretty face, his soft freckles, his darkening hair, his darker soul—and being hungry.

You turn to meet his eyes, and something grotesque crawls inside of you.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to brush your bangs behind your ear.

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. You’re not used to compliments, and you’re not used to the burning sensation in your chest—the one you know the name of, but are too scared to label.

When Dean’s eyes dart down, you know it’s coming. You have half a mind to panic because this is your first kiss. But also, there’s something animalistic clawing at your chest, something that tells you you’ll know exactly what to do.

So your lips meet—unexpectedly warm and dreamy, Dean’s calloused hand cupping your cheek—and you have to dig your nails into your own thigh to stop yourself from devouring him.

Because you want to. You want to sink your teeth into his flesh, savor it. You want to hook your fingers around his ribcage, crack it open, crawl inside, and sleep snuggly wrapped around his heart. You want to eat him down to the marrow, suck every drop of pain out of his bloodstream, press against him so close that you rot together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

But for now, you settle with engulfing his lips with yours.

Dean kisses the way he shoots. Confident, expert, hitting every target. He knows exactly where to bite, how much tongue to use, and when to bury his fingers in your hair.

You, on the other hand, are all instinct. You follow what the beast on your chest demands, for the first time in your life letting yourself take what you want. You bite his lower lip, savoring the way the soft flesh gives under the pressure of your incisors. You suck on his teeth until a small noise escapes from the back of his throat. You pull on his hair, tilt your head when he does, and lick over his lips when he breaks the kiss.

You guess you did well enough, because Dean’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of green remains. His hand tightens in your hair, enough to send a shiver down your spine but not enough to hurt.

You wish he would make it hurt.

“You fuckin’ drive me insane, sweetheart.”

“I think you were already insane,” you deflect with humor, because it’s easier than accepting that Dean Winchester might actually want you back. “But that’s okay. I am too.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head before kissing you again. This time, his hands travel to your waist, slowly pushing you backward.

Someone in the background screams just as your back hits the leather seat. Suspense music plays—slow and haunting—right when Dean hovers over you, arms on each side of your head, his breath fanning your face.

Tobacco, cherry pie, and a hint of mint.

“We don’t have to, if you—”

You tangle your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck and yank him down.

“I want to,” you murmur against his lips, barely keeping your voice from trembling.

Please.

Your teeth clash, and your tongues collide. This time, the kiss is violent. Lips bruising, hands groping, nails scratching. Dean shrugs off his jacket before he starts to kiss your neck. The heat that floods through your body is something you’ve never felt before. His teeth graze your pulse, and then he sucks, trapping the flesh between his teeth and licking.

The sound that escapes your throat is obscene, your back arching off the car seat, moving closer to him. Your eyes slam shut, and your hands clutch his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his shirt

“Dean—”

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs against your neck, his warm breath over the new bruise making your breath falter.

He continues to kiss down your throat, around your collarbones, and lower. His mouth is desperate, possessive, leaving marks wherever it latches onto. You pull on his hair, nails running down his back over the thin fabric of his shirt. It makes him moan.

You shift under him, your legs spreading, making room for him. He fits perfectly in between them, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching the tender skin of your bare thighs, his lips finding yours again.

He presses you down against the car seat, hand on your hip, his whole body weight on top of you, grounding and maddening. His large, calloused hand glides over your thigh and makes its way under your skirt, where there’s already a wet patch on the front of your cotton panties.

His thumb brushes over the damp fabric, and you gasp. Your back arches, the touch so different from your own. Your hips buck, simultaneously trying to pull closer and away from his hand.

His grasp on your hip tightens, holding you in place as his thumb rubs slow circles over your clothed core, drawing a sweet little whimper from you.

“You’re so damn wet.” His voice is low, almost a growl, as his finger presses harder against you, sliding between your lips and finding that little bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you whisper, still conscious of the fact that the pickup truck has no side windows, and anyone walking by could hear you.

You’re dripping by this point, pupils blown and thighs twitching. You feel Dean’s fingers making their way to the side of your underwear, and panic rises in you for a second. 

Someone in the movie dies screaming, probably the love interest.

You grab Dean’s wrist, stopping him from moving further. But before he can question you and the moment gets ruined, you wrap your legs around his middle and pull him closer, until his clothed cock is pressed against your core.

That’s safer. That you are ready for.

Dean doesn’t seem deterred by the change of plans. He simply groans when he feels the heat of you through the layers of clothing. He leans down for another hungry kiss, grunting against your lips as he rocks his hips, grinding his hard-on against you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, husky and rough.

“It—it’s good,” you whimper, your hips jerking up when the outline of his dick hits your swollen clit dead-on, sending electricity down your spine.

Dean moans into your mouth, biting down on your lower lip as your movement gives him a new angle of friction between the two of you.

You feel so sensitive, raw, and exposed. You’ve never felt this good, this heavenly, this sinful—like divinity is just on the tip of your fingers, but you’re falling straight down into the burning pits of hell.

The rough texture of denim should hurt against you, but it burns just right. The wetness dripping from you soaks through your panties, staining Dean’s jeans. Marking him, claiming him.

Dean’s hands move, cupping your breasts and squeezing, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the fabric of your top. It draws a needy, strangled sound from you.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.” His hips start to move more frantically, rubbing over your clit again and again. “Wanna ruin you.”

Yes, please. Ruin me for anyone else, turn me into something only you can touch.

You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands finally landing on his chest.

You let them roam, exploring the sun-kissed skin you’ve been craving for so long. Your fingers slip under his shirt, pressing against lean muscle and scratching down his abdomen when his cock brushes over a particularly sensitive spot. The red lines you know will mark his skin make the beast inside you howl, satisfied and territorial.

Mine. All mine.

Even though he isn’t.

Dean groans, guttural and wild, his thrusts growing desperate, feral—almost like he’s actually fucking you. It feels too good, almost too much. A bitter reminder that this probably isn’t the first time Dean’s done this, that he’s been in this exact position with other girls, maybe even some from school.

But any sour thoughts leave your mind when he moans your name, low, urgent, strained. You’ve read enough books to know he’s close, that you’re about to make Dean Winchester come. Just from some over-the-clothes friction.

Your hand tentatively travels down his body, cupping his cock over his jeans.

Fuck, he’s big.

You squeeze, hard but not enough to hurt. Or so you hope.

Apparently, that’s the right thing to do, because Dean’s eyes snap shut, his hips buck uncontrollably, and he comes in his jeans. His breath is ragged, his hands gripping you, and his hips press further into your hand.

He pants your name over and over again, like a prayer. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his jeans ruined, and he looks fucking beautiful.

He rests his head against your chest, right between the valley of your breasts, as he comes down from his orgasm, struggling to catch his breath.

You run a hand through his hair gently, admiring the portrait-worthy sight of Dean Winchester after he’s just come—skin glistening with the afterglow and warm breath all over your skin. You still haven’t climaxed, but it is okay, you’re satisfied with making Dean feel good. 

But then he lifts his head, lower lip trapped between his teeth, and his fingers find your drenched cunt over your panties. Your hips jerk, and a startled, breathy sound comes out of you. 

“Fuck, Dean—” you whine, your hands clutching his shoulders.

“Feels good, huh?” he teases, a smirk in his face. But there’s something else behind it, an edge that you had never seen before. It is primal, possessive, and it makes you feel like you’ll combust.

His fingers quickly find your sensitive little nub and rub over it. Your legs part wider, eager and pliant. Your cheeks burn with pleasure and shame and ecstasy, all at once.

Somewhere in the background, the final girl is fighting the masked killer. She runs for her life, bleeding, hurting, escaping. You ignore it all.

“Dean, please,” your voice comes out all shaky and filthy. Your thighs tremble as his thumb travels down your slit, pressing onto your entrance over the fabric before returning to your clit, your slick sticking to his skin, soaking him in your juices. 

You feel animalistic, wild, ravenous. You crave all of Dean—his flesh, his blood, his insides. You feel floaty, on fire, soft and raw at the same time. Your thighs tense, and your back arches. Your mouth is wide open, eyes half-lidded and glossy, lips bitten-red, and tongue half out.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, low and deep, his thumb working at your overstimulated, sensitive cunt. His eyes are all over you, like he is admiring his work—the way you are completely at his mercy, coming apart under his touch.

Far away, blood splashes all over the screen. You are bathed in bright, crimson light as a scream escapes your throat. Your teeth find the skin of Dean’s neck and sink in, deep enough to leave marks that make the beast in your chest wail.

All you can see is red.

Your orgasm burns over you like wildfire, every nerve in your body igniting as his finger doesn’t stop its ministrations. Wetness gushes out of you, completely ruining your panties and leaving his fingers sopping. You pant, your body still twitching, eyes wide as you ride your climax. That’s the hardest you’ve ever come. You had no idea it could feel this good.

Dean pulls his drenched hand away from your drenched pussy, and then he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. 

You freeze, hazy mind trying to wrap around the fact that Dean just licked your slick off his fucking fingers. He hums, satisfied and a little strained, like he is holding back. 

Something deep inside of you growls, and you feel sick with desire.

“What the—” Your hips twitch against nothing, your breath rapid and your eyes still glossy. And Dean looks so fucking smug about it.

“God, you taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a proud little grin. Another scream, sharp and biting.

The words make you blush, and you immediately pull Dean in for a kiss, trying to hide the way your cheeks burn.

You lick inside his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, and you moan. Fuck, you want Dean like this, coated in you, branded, yours. You want everyone who kisses him in the future to taste you, to know he belongs to you, even if he doesn’t.

Dean keeps you pressed against him, his hand reaching for your face, fingers gripping your chin and holding you in place so he can kiss you as much as he wants, however he wants. You let him, allowing his tongue to brush over every corner, every surface. You let him take whatever he wants from you, just hoping that he will take good care of it.

His mouth leaves yours for a second before biting down on your lower lip, almost hard enough to make it bleed. You hiss, your legs tightening around him, and your cunt somehow getting even wetter.

You bite back, teeth digging into his lower lip, leaving you with matching bruises.

Slowly, the kisses turn softer, sweeter. Both of you catch your breath, the rabid desperation quietly leaving your bodies, leaving only the tingling sensation of the afterglow as your limbs tangle together in the car seat.

Dean pulls away from your mouth, nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in. One of his hands is wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close, as if he can’t stand the thought of letting you go. He holds onto you like you’re something precious—something he doesn’t want to destroy but will inevitably crack under his touch.

And you will let him. You will let him break you, let him make you bleed until he feels better, until everything is better.

You’re glad he hasn’t pulled away, because you feel like you might die if he does.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you break apart. Dean pulls back slightly so he can look at you, his eyes holding the same intensity as before, but the sadness from earlier is creeping around them. Gloomy, almost mournful.

He kisses your cheek, then leaves a light peck on your lips.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, tiny and still a little hazy. He chuckles, presses another kiss to your lips, and sits up.

Every part of your body screams at the distance, but you swallow it all down before following him, straightening up on the car seat and running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it. Thankfully, most people have left already, only a few suspiciously dark and shaky cars around you.

“Better get home quickly.” Dean turns on the engine, shifting in his seat and grimacing. “This will get really uncomfortable soon.”

Right, because he knows what to do in these situations. Because he’s done it before.

You try to get as comfortable as you can, though your underwear is clinging to your skin and your inner thighs are somehow still glistening and sticky. Dean turns on the radio, and Bon Jovi starts playing. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs, and your laugh is swept away by the wind as he starts to drive home.

Dean’s hand finds your thigh, and it stays there for the whole journey. You stare out of the window into the starry sky, your mind swirling with the night’s events.

Your insides feel melted, turned into ashes by Dean’s burning touch. You feel like you’re glowing, the memory of his rough hands on you still fresh in your mind, your body remembering him like a tattoo you know you will never get rid of.

Dean has etched himself onto your skin tonight, carved his name into your heart, and you should be ecstatic. But his shoulders are tense, his eyes unreadable as he stares at the dirt road in front of him like it might hold some kind of ancient knowledge. His fingers don’t drum along with the music, his mouth set in a thin line instead of that relaxed little smirk that is ever-present on his face. And while his hand is on you, it feels less like comfort and more like tragedy.

You make your way to your house in silence, utterly and nerve-wracking. 

“Right, I almost forgot.” Dean kills the engine and grabs a small wooden box from the glovebox. “I got you something.”

Your jaw drops a little, your eyes widen, and you hold the box like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever set your eyes on. You haven’t received a birthday gift since you were five, before your mother had found her true love in the bottles.

“You didn’t have to, Dean,” you whisper, but your fingers are already opening the box, delicately and reverently, as if it’s something holy.

“Of course I had to,” he huffs, his eyes studying your every expression.

You don’t argue. Instead, you carefully unwrap whatever’s hidden in the box. A gasp leaves your mouth, and Dean snorts when you look up at him with eyes full of wonder, starstruck and beautiful.

Inside the box, wrapped in velvety fabric, is a silver dagger. The blade is shiny and wavy, gorgeous and sharp. The handle is engraved—smooth, swooping little waves on the crossguard, words in a language you don’t recognize elegantly carved into the handle, and at the end, a metal goat skull.

You devotedly take the dagger into your hands, holding it with the love and gentleness you once only had for your oldest paperbacks, those with broken spines and yellowing pages. Your fingers run over one of the goat’s horns, admiring the cold perfection of pure silver.

“It matches with all those bones you dissect.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Articulate, not dissect.”

But the smile on your face is sweet and endeared, and your eyes swell up with tears you force yourself to hold back.

“This is too much, Dean.” But your hand is already wrapping around the handle, the weight of the blade in your palm feeling natural, like it was always supposed to be there. “Where did you even get this?”

A pure-silver dagger couldn’t be cheap anywhere.

Dean shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but his chest puffs out at the sight of you being so moved by his gift. “Bobby had it hidden around in his basement, and I thought it’d fit you better.”

That makes you giggle, eyes darting up toward him. You fight the urge to jump into his lap, to wrap yourself around him and never let him go.

“Is it real silver?” you have to ask. Dean nods once and doesn’t offer more explanation.

“You’re a decent shot, but I’ve seen you with that knife of yours,” he chuckles, his hand wrapping over yours on the handle of the dagger and squeezing. “It’s just in case you need to defend yourself.”

He whispers it like it’s a secret, like he’s afraid someone—or something—will listen.

You look back down at the dagger, at Dean’s grip around your hand, at the way it seems almost desperate, scared.

You wonder why you can’t just defend yourself with your old knife, why Dean wants you to have this one. You wonder about him learning to shoot, bow-hunt, and knife-throw. You wonder about the markings on his bed frame and the way he always stares at the shadows for just a little too long. You wonder about what the hell his dad does for work, and what has Dean so terrified.

“Why does it have to be silver?” you murmur instead, because you’re really good at looking red flags right in the eye and then completely ignoring them.

Your thumb runs back and forth over the skull, and your heart flutters at the knowledge that Dean thought about you after seeing something so beautiful. Because that is the most important thing at the moment.

Dean shrugs, not quite meeting your eyes. “I don’t know, it might be… useful.”

It doesn’t explain much, but then Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips. He tastes like popcorn butter and still a little like you, and it sends every rational thought flying out of your head.

He murmurs a goodbye against your lips, and you whisper it back. You hold the wooden box against your chest with veneration as you jump off the truck, closing the door and staring at Dean through the glassless window.

You offer him a sweet, enamoured smile, but his face is twisted. His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and his hands are slightly shaky where he grips the steering wheel.

You're about to ask what’s wrong when he opens his mouth, not really looking at you.

“Just—please promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

It takes you out, because it’s a weird thing to say, even for you. You know better than anyone that there are a lot of things you need to stay safe from, that they come in all shapes, from shadows following you at night to your own family, but Dean says it like it’s imminent. Like danger is coming for you, soon and fast, like he knows it, like he’s seen it.

“I—” But he looks worried, pained, sad. And you can’t handle it. So you don’t ask any questions again. “I will stay safe, I promise.”

It seems like enough for Dean, since he nods and turns on the engine again. You stare at him a little longer. At the boy you’ve been watching forever, the boy who saw you when nobody did, the boy who was the first to touch you and who you think might just be the last.

I don’t need to worry about staying safe with you by my side, boy with the gun.

You stare at him as he gets ready to drive away, and something rises from your chest. Something bitter but addictive, something disgusting and cloying and infective but oh so fucking good. You know the name, but you don’t say it. Not now, maybe someday.

“See ya,” you mutter, and Dean clenches his jaw before nodding, finally looking at you like a cult leader looks at a lamb before slashing its throat open.

“See ya, sweetheart.”

But it seems like you did need to worry, because that’s the last you see of Dean.

He doesn’t show up at school the next day, nor the next one, nor the whole week. A month goes by, and there’s no sign of the Winchester brothers. Bobby offers no explanation more than a “I’m sorry, kid.” and a head pat.

You have no number to call, no address to mail a letter to, no reason why.

All you’re left with is a silver dagger, a newfound taste for whiskey, bruises between your thighs, and a broken heart.

The Dean Winchester special.

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

NOTES: Part three! I'm so sorry for the wait, but it's finals week. I will try to be as consistent as I can with the update but it might take a little while. still, I am so in love with this story and love every second of writing it. thank you so much for all the love, I don't deserve you guys. please let me know what you think, it makes my sick little brain so happy! I love you all, hope you liked it!!!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @anxiety-prime-max @southernimpala @ohmykwonsoonyoung @mimiimmii @thanosisadilf @iamaslytherin0 @youroldfashioned <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[raesangelic]

˚* ˚ ✦STEEL AND SILK * ˚ ✦ ˚

・❥・Violet “Vi” x Reader

・❥・Warnings: smut, minor descriptions of violence

・❥・Summary: Working at a brothel in the heart of Zaun, you find yourself drawn to a new regular who so happens to be a reckless pit fighter seeking solace in your expertise.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Babette’s brothel is so much more than just a whorehouse- it’s a crossroads full of expensive secrets. In the hallways of the brothel, the most powerful people of Zaun float in between the rooms of different women and men.

There’s always a crowd in the brothel. People let things slip when they feel safe and relaxed. That’s your job. Of course, it’s not the ideal job that you’ve always dreamed of but it pays better than most and you gain leverage over the powerful people of Zaun. It’s not like you have much of an option when all the prices in the Undercity are sky rocketing.

After a while, you’ve become numb to the touch of strangers. The other workers always lookout for one and another and Babette doesn’t stand for violence. It’s one big dysfunctional family. You’ve gotten used to it all and have started to have regulars that respect you. You try your best not to get too close them but a particular new regular has caught your eye.

Her name is Vi. She has this red pinkish hair that she decided to dye black in an impulsive rage. Still her red hair shines through the cheap dye shining a spotlight of who she used to be. A tattoo of her name underneath her eye and piercings scattered on her body. She’s a pit fighter for one of Zauns notorious illegal fighting ring hidden in the dark corners of the undercity. You always prefer the women customers over the men but Vi attracts you in an alluring way.

Your meetings usually happen after her fights. She’s bloody and drunk seeking comfort anyway possible. Sometimes she comes in before fights to scoop details about the other fighters strategies.

Here she is again, stumbling into your dimly lit room on a late Friday night. The faint tang of iron fills the room. Her lip is busted and her nose leaks dark red. She smells like cheap whiskey and looks as if she has been drinking bottle to bottle.

Her knuckles are split open and bruised but she pays no attention to the pain that tightens her body.

“Hell of a night, huh?” You ask as you pat the spot next to you on the love seat. She can’t help it when her eyes trail up and down your body. You’re practically wearing nothing. Like usual, you’re wearing a cropped v neck tank top with an open back and matching shorty shorts. She lets out a deep sigh and shuts her eyes.

She collapses on the soft plush next to you. You lean over the coffee table and pull the medical kit out from the tiny compartment. You started keeping one ever since Vi started her visits.

“I’m taking that you didn’t win tonight.” You state as you open the latch of the medical kit. Her face doesn’t change- not a flicker of pride or shame, just her same old steady stone cold mask.

“In the end, I’m still here aren’t I?” She rasps in a deep voice. You pick out a white bandage and a cloth. You sit against Vi’s clothed thighs and brings your hand to her face. You caress her cheek as you dab away the blood on her lips.

She slightly opens her eyes watching your movements. “Who did you fight?” You ask while you wipe away the remaining blood. “Doesn’t matter, doll.” She leans into your soft touch.

She started calling you that after her first visit there. Always dressed up in prettiest of garments and hair perfect as can be. You look like a doll to her. Perfect and pristine. She wonders how you ever ended up in a place like this. You’re too good for here.

She brings her calloused hand up to your hair. It’s neatly up in a bun with some bobby pins pressed against it to hold the hair. “Why haven’t I ever seen you with your hair down?” She coos in a low voice.

Your lips upturn into a sly smile. “Maybe because you never asked.” You state as you place the bloody cloth on the glass table infront of the loveseat. The warmth of your skin radiates on Vi. You lean back touching your shoulder to hers. Only inches away from her face your eyes meet hers.

“I’m asking now.” She loops her finger into your hair band and unravels it slowly before throwing the hairband somewhere next to you.

Your hair falls down onto your shoulders and cascades around your face. She plucks the bobby pins out and places them on the table. You let out a small laugh.

She takes it all in, her sharp gaze lingering longer than usual. The way your hair falls around your shoulders. You push your hair back with a deep sigh.

“Long day for you too?” She asks while twirling a stray strand of your hair. There’s a rasp in her voice, a splinter of vulnerability shining through her bloody battered state.

“Yeah well.. you know how it is here.” She pushes the stray hair strand behind your ear. “Anyways, I heard some big shot talking about your next fight.” She tenses up while you continue.

“I don’t care. Not tonight.” She says while you start to pull her black jacket off. You peel it away slowly feeling the worn fabric under your grip.

You throw the jacket over the side of the couch. Your fingers trace the black ink on her bruised skin. Her eyes follow them. Then they flicker to your face again.

She can’t help but feel an overwhelming attraction towards you. A gratifying force pulling her to you. She grabs onto your hand freezing you in your place.

She can’t take this anymore. She needs you against her. Her gaze locks with yours. The air between the two of you thickens, charged with an energy you can’t fight.

She lets go of your hand and wraps it into your hair. She crashes onto your lips moving in a hungry rhythm. Your hands wrap against her back. Her hands loop with your tank top. She unravels from your lips to lift the tank top off of you.

It slides off with ease. She takes a moment to appreciate the scene in front of her. Your chest rises and falls. She ducks down to your neck pressing chaste kisses.

You let out a soft gasp as she travels further. Her touch hand latches onto your breast and she nips at the sensitive spot of your neck. A rush of euphoria makes your head spin.

You need more, she needs more.

Her breath is hot against your skin sending shivers down your spine. She ignites a fire inside of you. Her finger leaves your chest and travels below your shorts.

She lets out a deep laugh against your skin feeling how soaked you are. Her finger dives deeper. Your lips press against her ear. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be making you feel like this..” you whisper.

“You know it’s so much more fun for the both of us when I do it, doll.” She pulls you back in for a hungry kiss. Her fingers curl inside of you.

You let out a hushed moan. Her hands explore your body like your body is new territory. Time to seems to blur, your heart beats in your ears. Her fingers leave your warmth.

You sigh unable to form words as she pulls off the shorts that already barely cover you. Her hands drag down to your thighs slowly torturing you with the prolonging absence of her touch.

The shorts are thrown with the rest of your forgotten clothes. Her hands stop at your hips and she grabs them. She moves you down the couch and starts to press kisses further and further down.

The warmth in between your legs continues to grow. Flutters of arousal beat inside your chest. She finally makes her way to your heat. She ducks down in between your legs. Your thighs instinctively tighten around her head.

Her hot breath lingers around your center. Her lips press against you. You gasp lightly and your hands travel into her hair. Her tongue swirls around your core carefully. She always knows just what riles you up.

“I know you like it just like that, doll.” She cockily teases you. She can’t help but smirk seeing your flushed face.

Between breathy moans you moan her name quietly as she inches you closer over the edge. She slides her tongue up sending you over but slows down.

“Fuck.. Vi..” You whisper under your pants. She picks up your pace. You grab onto her hair pulling her closer. A burst of an intense sensation paralyzes you.

You press her down further arching your back. She keeps at her pace until your pathetic humps stop and your body twitches. She leans up from her position to catch you in a quick kiss.

You can barely keep up with her rhythm as she crawls on top of you. Her red hair falls infront of her face. She leans away from the kiss and deep down all you want is for her to stay.

She drops her head on your chest taking in the warmth of your body. For a moment the pain of her wounds melt away. She doesn’t think of Caitlyn but only of you. Your breath slows down matching with her.

She tries not to dwell on the fact that this experience is something you always have when working at the brothel. To her you’re not just the hooker from the brothel. You’re just a desperate girl doing whatever it takes.

Just like her.

——————————————-

I couldn’t find any Pitfighter Vi gifs which is disappointing bc she’s so fine in her emo era

[spencer-sweets]

9-1-1 Fic Recs | Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

[Part 1] [Part 2]

so i am back in the trenches of this ship once again. praying for it to go canon in the next couple of seasons but i am surviving on the crumbs. i made a post before with some old recs but these are ones i have read recently.

[this rec list is incomplete and will be updated as I find more fics I enjoy - last update 4/9/25]

Bobby Versus Buddie by songbvrd (ao3) Mature 10,391 Eddie huffed out a breath. “I’m having a crisis.” And Bobby, he wasn’t proud of it, but the word ‘finally’ was flashing in front of his eyes in giant, neon yellow letters, because surely, surely this meant that he’d figured it out. Finally, at long last, Eddie was having the crisis they’d all been waiting for since he’d started a thousand emergencies earlier. Bobby waited, silent and hopeful, relieved that they’d finally gotten there. “I think I’m homophobic.” Bobby blinked at him. “I’m sorry?” OR - Five times Bobby tried to gently hold Buddie's hands and tell them they were in love, and one time they got the picture.

a cute 5+1 with bobby being done with eddie and buck. got to love the bobby and buck dynamic too.

What’s Your Love Language? by songbvrd (ao3) 18 332 “Which do you think makes you feel most loved?” Eddie thought for a long moment. Too long, maybe. Then he shrugged, “Honestly, Buck? I have no idea.” Buck’s brows pinched up. “What do you mean? When have you felt the most loved?” “Don’t make a big thing of this, Buck. Promise?” Buck made a show of crossing his heart, brows still raised curiously. “I’m not sure I’ve ever… really felt loved in a relationship? I’m not convinced that I know what makes me feel loved…” OR - After finding out that Eddie doesn't know what his love language is, Buck sets about finding out for him. He begins a five week experiment, one for each love language, to figure out which will make Eddie feel the most loved.

another great fluffy fic with some slight emotional infidelity. set in season 7 and buck decides he needs to learn how to best love eddie. spoiler: he was already doing just fine.

50 Cheeky Texts by songbvrd (ao3) 20.999 Bucklecup: I really like your moustache. it’s very girthy. really solid. Eddito: girthy????????????? Eddito: did you just text me at 7pm on a wednesday evening to tell me my moustache is GIRTHY???? Bucklecup: honestly, i’m kinda surprised you haven’t blocked me yet, eds OR - Buck gets drunk-dared to send Eddie one cheeky text every day for 50 days. Eddie loses his mind. TW for the cringiest pickup lines in existence.

awwww. tho i should warn you there is some emotional infidelity going on here but it wasn't bad enough to turn me off of the fic but i thought i'd warn yall. anyways absolutely beautiful fic that made me laugh. also love the author. unintentionally bookmarked this back to back with their prev on this list haha.

know it's for the better by hyruling for fallingthorns (ao3) Explicit 24 931 “I love you, you know.” Buck smiles, and it’s Eddie’s favorite - the one that seems to light him up from within, beautiful and too bright to look at directly for long. “Of course I know that, Eddie,” Buck replies, easy as breathing, but Eddie shakes his head. --- Or: Eddie confesses. Buck doesn't love him back, but it doesn't matter. He'll keep telling him anyway.

oblivious buck and a pining eddie. eddie confesses and buck kind of shuts down mentally over it but eddie just keeps loving him. set in season 7.

Hen Wilson's Four Part Guide To Making Your Stupid Friends Date by songbvrd (ao3) 25 010 “Okay, I know we kind of all had an unspoken rule not to talk about it, but…” “Buck and Eddie are being weird as hell?” Chim asked, sucking in a breath like he'd been holding back from letting the same thought out for far too long. “Yes!” Hen hissed, relieved that she wasn't the only to see the weirdness in the room. “Now, look, they're my friends and so obviously I want them to be happy, but it's also just throwing the team vibe way off.” Bobby took a long, tired breath. “Okay. So what did you have in mind?” Several things, as it turned out. Between them, they managed to come up with the very vague outline of a plan. Or a few plans, really, depending on how many failed. OR - When Buck and Eddie aren't speaking, Hen decides to take matters into her own hands.

i feel like i should be a little bit more ashamed at putting so many fics by songbvrd on this list but... they're sooo good. always coming in clutch for some interesting plot in a medium length fic. this one is no exception to that trend - loved hen in this one and i love miscommunication and outsider POV.

Eddie vs Romance by allyasavedtheday (restricted) (ao3) 27 889 “You wanna talk about it?” Buck asks after a beat. He doesn’t drink his beer. Eddie doesn’t either. It’s a crutch, mostly. A pretence, so that if the conversation gets too deep, too fast they can blame it on the alcohol. Eddie appreciates it. As he thinks about Buck’s question he wonders where to start. He’s told Buck some of it, the important parts, but not- not what compelled him to do any of it in the first place. In the end, he can only think of one thing. Swallowing around the lump clogging his throat, he says, “I don’t think I know how to be in love anymore.” - “I think Eddie’s in love with me.” She gapes at him, mouth working for a response that doesn’t come until Chimney beats her to it. “Eddie’s what?” Maddie claps her mouth shut, stepping aside to let Buck through. Chimney’s on the floor in the living room with Jee playing with her tea set. “You’re not involved in this conversation,” Buck says, pointing at him. “It’s your fault in the first place for even putting the idea in my head.” Maddie apparently finally finds her voice, appearing at Buck’s side and looking between them. “I’m sorry, what? How did Chim put the idea in your head?” “Him and Hen!” Buck exclaims, waving a hand. “They told me I should pay attention to how much Eddie wants to be around me.” “And you took that to mean he’s in love with you?” Chimney asks incredulously. * In which Buck has a clipboard and a list and is about to romance the hell out of Eddie Diaz.

a short series of two fics that explore eddie realizing he is in love with buck, buck realizing eddie is in love with him and then them getting together. really cute and an amazing take on eddie's relationship to shannon.

I’m Bringing You With Me by CourtepointeClementine, sunlight (ao3) 30 997 Eddie props his chin up on his hand to stare at Buck in the dark. The mattress makes an ungodly squeaking noise from even this small movement. Maybe sneaking out wouldn’t actually be that easy. Eddie reaches across him and squeezes Buck’s shoulder. Buck looks over at him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Eddie says. “I took the couch,” Buck blurts out. Eddie’s hand stills where it was still gently squeezing Buck’s shoulder. “What?” “Ugh.” He dislodges Eddie’s hand and pulls the duvet up over his own face. “Why?” Buck uses the duvet cover to absorb the lone tear that is trickling down to his ear. “It looked lonely. On the curb.” On Eddie’s last night in LA, Buck does something a little crazy. While Eddie’s in El Paso, he does something a little crazy. It all comes back to the couch in the end.

eddie moves to el paso and buck does not handle it well. like at all. lots of emotional hurt for buck and of course a happy ending.

it was more than a moment (it was the rest of our lives) by smilingbuckley (restricted) (ao3) Mature 36 161 At work, Eddie gets the shocking news that his parents are suing him for custody of Christopher. His lawyer, falsely assuming Buck and Eddie are a couple, suggests they get married to give Eddie a stronger case. Buck gladly agrees. -- “So,” Buck speaks up when the waiter is gone. He stretches his arms above his head, making the shirt under his jacket ride up and expose a bit of his skin. Eddie can see the faint lines of a tattoo before Buck shifts and his shirt falls down again. “Are we getting married?” Eddie has to do a double take, “Excuse me, what?” “Well, Mrs. Reese said that it would be useful,” Buck says, like it’s not a big deal at all. Like marriage isn’t an official commitment, usually reserved for people in love that plan on being together for the rest of their lives. “I… Buck, it’s… good that you’re, you know, my fake boyfriend or whatever, but I can’t let you marry me for this.” “Why not?” Buck asks, “If it helps you get Christopher back.”

fake marriage turned real marriage fic. also fuck helena and ramon all my homies hate helena and ramon. eddies parents fuck up and try to take chris permanently and eddie and buck get married over it. season 8.

something touched me (like a knife-blade) by kithmet (ao3) Explicit 42,295 “I feel fucking explosive, Buck. Like I’m about to go off at any second. I don’t want you caught in my mess.” His eyes sting. At the very least, Buck contains the sound of it in his voice. “Eddie, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he replies, “but I already am.” Eddie self-implodes. Christopher, seeking refuge, flees to Buck—whose priorities amount to, in varying order: take in the kid, get Eddie to talk to him, and keep the three of them afloat in the process. (Oh, and Tommy’s there too. He thinks.)

this was a great fic and an interesting take on chris staying with buck and eddie getting his shit together.

everything (nothing) has changed by bizarrestars (restricted) (ao3) Explicit 48 550 After Eddie gets shot, Buck confesses his love. From there, things get a little out of hand. *** Buck breathes for a moment, then sets his shoulders. "Eddie, there's something I have to tell you." "Do you?" Eddie asks flatly, still alarmed and doing his best to hide it. "I would've never guessed." Buck swallows. "Eddie, I love you." "Are you softening the blow, or buttering me up? Because, I've got to tell you, I'm still very worried regardless," Eddie tells him. "No, you don't understand. I love you. I'm currently in love with you," Buck says as evenly as possible, and even then, his voice wobbles precariously there for a moment. He exhales. "You don't have to worry about it, though, because I've processed it and decided to—to find relief in telling you before moving on and moving forward." Eddie stares at him. No response at all. Well, at least he's not freaking out.

the note left in my bookmark: "couldn't even play my video games while listening to this smh. took too much of my attention. <3"

i tend to download fics and listen to them through a epub reader and play video games but i could not keep from pausing to keep reading manually i needed to know what was next so bad. buck and eddie being stubborn and stupid and includes some of my favorite pining tropes. i love when one of them is convinced the other cannot love them so they try to fall out of love. amazing. also jealous eddie ftw.

Juxtaposition by ProstheticLoVe (ao3) Teen+ 74 552 “What kind of partner do you want?” Buck looks him straight in the eye and with no hesitation says, “One who has my back. Someone who loves me for me. All the chaos and the weirdness included. Someone who I love. Even if I have to wait for them to catch up.” He says it with such confidence, Eddie feels like his answer was lacking. Or the one where Eddie’s too busy stuck on the idea of a heteronormative family that he misses who is right in front of him and has been all along. Don’t worry, Buck’s trying to tell him.

eddie being in love with buck but being so deeply repressed is one of my fave tropes and it is pulled off excellently here.

Away From Us by Marchling (restricted) (ao3) Mature 76 165 They turned the last corner they needed to get to Buck’s loft and the floor was gone. “Firefighters evacuate. The building is collapsing.” Eddie stared incomprehensibly to the gaping drop that should have been Buck’s hall. His heart was pounding, not because he had worked so hard to get here… Because he was terrified. “Buck!” Eddie screamed as loud as he could to be heard over the flames. His hands scrambled over the walls, testing them, trying to see if he could use a ledge or a doorknob or something to get to Buck’s door. There was no answer but Eddie screamed again, “Buck! Are you here?” --- After the lawsuit Buck is doing his absolute best to try to win back his family but nothing is working and the hope is starting to hurt. He makes the the decision to resign from the 118 via letter and leave LA to start something new in Arizona. And that would've been fine except a fire burns down his entire apartment building that morning and the letter never makes it to Bobby. When Buck isn't found amongst the survivors his loved ones have to accept that he died in the fire. A presumed dead story about forgiveness, grief, second chances and falling in love.

aaahhhh presumed dead my beloved. buck is presumed dead in a fire when he decides to run after the lawsuit. eddie and the rest of the 118 have to grapple with the death of buck. loved bobby in this one and it broke me to see his grief over losing another kid.

there is no road by littleghost (ao3) Explicit 99 788 Eddie listens to the voicemail later. Buck sounds like he’s at a grocery store, absentmindedly talking into the phone. “Oh, I guess you’re with your sisters. Sorry to miss you. I just wanted to tell you about this call we had last night, but I gotta hear your reactions, so, later. Okay, uh, I guess I’ll just call back. Or text.” It ends abruptly, without a goodbye. Eddie replays it a second time, closes his eyes as he sits in the truck. For a moment, he can pretend Buck is sitting in the passenger seat next to him. For a moment, Eddie is back in Los Angeles and his best friend is dragging him through the grocery store. The voicemail ends, Eddie opens his eyes, and the fantasy breaks. Eddie is still in El Paso, parked in front of the house he’s renting, and there’s no one in the passenger seat with him.

omgggg. so im fairly sure the title is from that song from the bolt movie so points off the bat for that decision i have it stuck in my head now. a good fix it fic for season 8 where buck and eddie keep communicating through voicemails as they intentionally and unintentionally miss each others calls. great fic that has calls in it and a lot of substance. loved it.

originally posted 4/7/25

[secretlysamcro]

Black female reader x Jax Teller SMUT, violence, explicit language & possible spoilers If you’re under the age of 18, haven’t finished the show or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: “Reader is the well liked bartender at the Sam crow clubhouse who has know Jax and the club since childhood. Jax and reader have essentially become friends with benefits though he secretly hold deeper feelings. Tara comes back to town causing Jax to start icing out reader and placing his focus on Tara. Because of this reader calls the arrangement off with Jax who acts like he doesn’t care at first , however once he sees the reader entertain other men, Jax becomes jealous and possessive and decides to profess his feelings to the reader who shares the same sentiments. This causes a fight that spins into smut 😈They have sex and she decides to be his old lady”

Backstory: y/n & Jax have known each other for years, growing closer in the past year though, since Tara left Charming. Being the favourite bartender in the SAMCRO clubhouse has a lot of benefits. Brothers who have your back, free booze and now, the possibility of being dicked down by the VP whenever the fuck you want. Both you and Jax have already broke the ‘no feelings, just sex’ rule but neither of you have said it out loud but now… you’re both gonna pay for it. Tara’s back on the scene again, and Jax not knowing where his loyalty lies, fucks up…big time.

The sons roll into the SAMCRO parking lot, their engines cutting out one by one. It had been a long run, miles of open road but their business was handled. With just enough tension left to make them want to get drunk.

Jax, the first off his bike, swings off rolling his neck as he leads the way inside. He already knew what the others didn’t, the usual pretty sight wouldn’t be behind the bar tonight.

Chibs stretches his arms over his head, cracking his back “Christ, I need a whiskey”

“Make it two” Tig says, rubbing a hand down his face as they follow Jax inside.

The usual noise was present in the clubhouse. Music playing low but just enough to hear, the usual crow eaters loitering around. The bar however, missing their favourite bartender. No familiar smile, no teasing remarks, no y/n.

Tig let’s out a groan “Where the hell is y/n” he questions.

Chibs looks around with his brows raised, before joining in on the protest. “Aye, place feels off when she’s not here”

Bobby already dropping into a chair, gives a lazy shrug “don’t think she’s working tonight”

“Since when does she ever take a day off” Juice pipes up, sounding personally offended.

“I heard cherry say last night before we left y/n wouldn’t be in” Bobby relays what he had heard.

Jax smirks to himself but stays quiet, heading straight over to the bar and grabbing a beer for himself. He pops the cap off with his teeth before taking a swig.

The clubhouse was alive with conversation and the clinking of glass as the guys settled in. Cherry moved behind the bar filling drinks and flashing flirty smiles, but it never felt the same when y/n was missing.

Jax, sat among them, unbothered as he nursed a beer with his free hand. Every so often, he pulled his phone out, his thumb hovering over the screen as he checks the time. He doesn’t say a word about what or who he was waiting for, and no one bothered to ask.

Across the room, Happy was in his usual spot, sprawled out in a chair with a crow eater draped over each side of him. He moves between them effortlessly, kissing one before turning to the other, his hands roaming over the both of them, not caring about the eyes on him.

Bobby scoffs, nudging Tig before nodding towards what he’s witnessing, “Look at that greedy bastard” he says, shaking his head.

Tig smirks, raising his glass “gotta respect it”.

A low rumble pulls into the lot catching their attention, it wasn’t a bike, but it was just as recognisable.

Jax exhales, knowing exactly who it is. Stretching his back before pushing off the bar. No urgency, no rush just a quiet decision as he turns to walk away, disappearing down the hall.

The others notice Jax slip away, but think nothing of it.

Juice, who was closest to the door, checks outside. “Well, well, well, look who decided to show up”

The second you stepped inside, the air around the room changed. The conversations didn’t stop, but they slowed as all eyes flickered towards you. Your skin, deep brown and glowing under the dim clubhouse light. Your lips full and glossed just enough to catch the reflection. And as always, your hair flawlessly laid in your signature style that never loses its charm. Everyone noticed you, no matter where you went. You were the kind of beautiful that made men reckless.

Tig grinned, tilting his head towards your every move “You know sweetheart, I’d get down on one knee for you”. You scan the room briefly, realising that Jax is missing. Probably already in the place you're headed.

You don't skip a beat as you shoot back at Tig, “Oh really? I heard you’d do the same for Mrs. Venus too” you throw him a quick wink, as you recall how much he had been bragging about her a few nights ago, Tig being a little too drunk to keep his mouth shut. Laughter erupted around the bar as Tig clutched his chest in pretend hurt.

“Brutal” Chibs muttered, shaking his head before downing his drink.

You give a casual wave to the others. They nod, grinning in response. But you don’t slow down or stop to entertain them. Your path is now clear, and its obvious to them where you’re going.

The guys exchange knowing glances, immediately understanding now why Jax had snuck out moments before you entered. They’d been aware of this little thing you two had going on for a while now. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to disappear together, only to return moments later, as if nothing had happened.

Chibs lets out a low whistle, realising the deal “That boys down bad”

Tig rests his head in his hands, sighing dramatically at being rejected by you once again. “Every damn time, man”

You round the corner, Jax leaning against the door with a beaming smile plastered on his face. “You took your time” he says, his voice smooth but teasing.

“Had to get Tiggy off my back” you laugh, playing along.

He lets out a soft, amused breath, stepping aside just enough to let you slide through the door. His body stays in place, but his head follows you, almost mesmerised. As you pass, the brush of your hand just below his belt sends a small jolt through him.

“You coming or what?” you question with anticipation.

he laughs aloud, “trust me, we both will” he responds, his words thick with promise. He's got a devilish grin on his face, as he pushes off the wall, pulling his jeans up a little tighter following you into the dorm, the door clicking behind him.

If only one of you had the guts to speak up first, to admit that this little thing between you went far deeper than just the sex.

A week and a few days had passed since the last time Jax was buried deep within you, the longest time you’d gone this year without having sex, and ever since, something had been off.

At first it was subtle and easy to brush off. But tonight? It’s impossible to ignore and you’re done entertaining his attitude. As usual, the clubhouse was busy, the usual mix of members, hangarounds and crow eaters filling the spaces. You were in your usual spot behind the bar, keeping the drinks full and entertaining the guys with your usual back and forth banter.

He’d been shut off since he walked in, cold and distant, not even a ‘hello’ you’d seen him in his moods before, but this was something different. He was shutting you out completely. So, you decided to return the favor.

“You want a drink? or you just gonna keep standin’ there with your face all screwed up like that?” You ask, one hand on your hip and the other on the pump.

He moves away from the counter as you approach, his jaw tightening. “Nah, I’m good” he barely looks at you.

You let out a sharp laugh “that’s what I thought” you retort, as you move away serving someone else at the opposite side of the bar. The guys pick up on the tension immediately.

“Damn” Tig whispers under his breath, amused at the drastic shift between the two of you. Chibs raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Jax walking away avoiding any possible questioning.

You weren't directly near them but you could still hear, so when Juice, drunk and loose lipped mumbled something about Tara being back in town and how her and Jax were ‘figuring things out’ the realisation hit you like a brick.

Thats why he’d been so reluctant to touch you, talk to you, or even look at you. Because of her. Because of Tara.

No, you and Jax weren't together, just friends who fucked on the regular. No strings, no feelings. That was the deal. A deal that you had both broken without saying a word.

For a year, it’s been only him, and only you. Nobody else in either of your beds. So finding out he’s there trying to fix things with the one who left him, when just days ago it was you he was fucking. Yeah, it fucking hurts.

You hadn’t spoken to Jax in a week, He barely came up to the bar anymore. When he was at the clubhouse, he stayed hidden in the dorm or locked away in church, anywhere but near you.

Its nearing the end of the night, and you’re ready to leave the bullshit and the mayhem behind. You grab your bag, throwing your things together as you make your move towards the door.

The boys are saying their goodbyes to you as Happy pulls you into one of those brotherly hugs. The kind that always made you feel like you had someone in your corner. “Take care kid” he says into your ear.

You cling on to him for a second longer than usual, needing the warmth and reassurance. He was the older brother you never had, the one who could always read you better than anyone else.

You give a quick wave to the others and head for the door, avoiding Jax at all costs. He was slouched at the back table, watching you with that unreadable look. The same one he’d been giving you for days now, ever since Tara had shown back up. Fuck him though, why should you let him treat you like this.

You slam your car door shut, the sound echoing through the silence. The engine hums as you rub a hand over your face, finally able to breathe. Finally able to feel the weight of everything crashing down. The anger, the hurt, its all there now about to spill over until a knock at the window stops you. The darkness makes the figure hard to recognise, but the flash of those familiar fucking rings, you knew exactly who it was.

Your fists tightens on the wheel as you press the button, the windows sliding down. And there he was, stood with one hand resting on the roof, looking at you as if nothing had changed.

“Not staying? he questions, with that familiar arrogance, as if he expected you to turn around and run back to him.

Your face twists into a snarl “What the fuck would I be stayin’ for?”.

He leans in closer, that pathetic look in his eyes, the one he wears when he knows he’s fucked up “Its been a minute” he taps his finger against the frame, like that was suppose to mean something to you.

You scoff at his audacity, shaking your head “Didn’t notice” you shoot back, your tone less than happy.

He takes a long sigh, “you want me to beg or something?” the defensiveness creeping in.

“Aww, you miss me now? Tara not fucking you like I do?” you respond, the fake sadness in your voice as you scrunch up your face, letting the words sink in.

He stiffens, his jaw clenching, suddenly having nothing to say.

“Yeah, your boy juice runs his mouth when he’s fucking drunk” you snap, chewing the inside of your cheek. “That’s why you been actin’ like that. Cuttin’ me off cause you’re back with her?” You look him in the eye now, your lashes fluttering towards him, waiting for an answer.

Jax exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, looking like he’s thinking of something to say. Anything to say, but he’s coming up blank. He can see how pissed you are now, the little signs that someone else might not clock onto, but he already has.

He sees the way you keep biting your cheek, the way the curses roll of your tongue like a second language and how your fingers won’t stop twisting the rings on your hand.

“It’s not like that” he finally mutters, but you cut him off before he can even bullshit you.

“Not like what Jax?” You spit out “Not like you’ve been fuckin’ me for a year, sleepin’ in my bed and now shes back, you’ve gone running? Did you forget she was the one that left you?” You sprinkle that little insult at the end, knowing it would hit him where it hurt.

He just stands there silently staring at you, no emotion on his face at all.

You already know the next thing he’s gonna say is gonna piss you off, and when he finally opens his mouth, it does exactly that. Because instead of admitting his feelings for you, he takes the easier route. The one where he’s an asshole.

“It’s not behind your back” he says, once again his voice cold and detached, like none of this fucking matters, like you don’t matter. “No feelings, That’s what we said right?” He’s staring through you, not at you.

“Just sex. That’s all it’s ever been” He tilts his head slightly, acting like he doesn’t care. His lips portraying the tiniest smirk.

Your jaw clenches so fucking tight it aches, but all you can do is laugh. Not because you find this funny but because you cannot believe the audacity of this fucking man.

Deep down, you know Jax feels something for you, but he’d rather choke on it than admit the truth.

“Cool” you mutter, your voice being the one that’s now cold. You lean in, close enough to catch the whiskey haunting his breath. “If you need your dick sucked that bad, call your lil girlfriend”.

He stares back at you, not saying a word. You hold his stare, if he was gonna stop being a pussy and fix this, it was going to be now.

But he doesn’t. He pulls out his phone, taps the screen, the silence so powerful, you even hear the dial tone.

He grins right in your face “Hey Tara, you free tonight?”

The composure that you had left, snaps. You throw your hand up, getting ready to slap the shit out of him, but Jax is too quick, he jerks his head back just in time, and instead of hitting his face your nails rake across his cheek, a sharp deep scratch that immediately starts bleeding. You watch as the fury settles in his eyes.

You stare at him, your heart pounding. But he doesn’t retaliate. He slowly pulls back, his fingers grazing the cut that you had just left.

His eyes narrow as he sees the blood on his hand. He looks back at you, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“You’re fucking crazy” he says through clenched teeth. Without another word, he watches you slam the car into reverse, your tires screeching as you leave the lot.

He’s fucked up. He knows he has, the second it happened. If he could take it back, he would. But the damage is already done. He’s made his bed, and now he has to lie in it… even if it means someone else other than you, filling the empty space next to him. He lights a cigarette, downing a shot as he waits for the one who broke his heart.

You weren’t even planning on going tonight. The annual SAMCRO cookout. Same faces, same bullshit, and him. Tonight though, you were done hiding. Fuck it, he made his choice and that choice was Tara.

You step out of the shower, the steam curling around you. You drag your nail through the thick lotion, the same nail that left the scar on Jax’s pretty face. Your hands glide over your smooth skin, the moisturizer sinking deep into your rich complexion. Then, comes the dress. The little black one that clings to your body like a second skin, the one he used to pull up with desperate hands. You slip it on, letting it mould to every curve, every dip on your body on display. Next, come your earrings. Big and gold, the shimmer catching against your mocha scented skin. You finish your outfit with your knee high boots and your long leather jacket. Thankfully, your apartment is only a five minute walk away, which works out just fine. Because you already know you’re about to get reckless.

Before you even hit the gates, you can already feel the energy. The music blaring, the smoke from the BBQ rising up, thick and heavy. You can hear the laughter, the chatter and the roar of the bikes as they pile in. The smell of meat grilling in the air, mixed with the familiar smell of trouble.

All the usual suspects, all the familiar shit. Thankfully, you’re not scheduled to work tonight. Gemma always gives you the night off for events like this. She’d rather you be part of the chaos then stuck behind the bar serving drinks.

As you walk into the lot, the place is packed. People spilling out of the clubhouse and bikes lined up like fucking soldiers. You’ve been around the club long enough, worked the bar long enough but for some reason tonight feels different.

“Y/N! You ready for my meat yet?” Tigs voice cuts through the noise, loud as hell. You turn to find him holding a jumbo hot dog, the bastards grinning like he’s just made the best joke in the world.

You roll your eyes as you stroll over, giving him a once over, deciding to play along. He’s standing alongside Chibs and Happy, thankfully no Jax in sight… yet. You’re unsure if they know what had happened the other night between the two of you, and frankly you didn’t give a shit. “And if I said yes?” You ask, matching his banter.

Tig nearly loses his shit. “I mean, who could resist” his smile sharpens. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, shoving the thing in your direction. Without hesitation, you bite down on the end of the hotdog, Tigs eyes jokingly darken as Chibs and Happy Jeer him on.

“How you been?” Happy asks, the way he’s watching you, it’s obvious they know.

You don’t want to go there, not now. So you spin some bullshit about how you just needed some time to yourself, trying to steer the conversation away from whatever the fuck happened with Jax.

Chibs, sensing the tension pulls you over to the side. “Y/N I’m telling you this cause I’ve got love you… we all do. But she’s here with him”.

Your stomach ties in a knot, but you don’t let it show. Of course she fucking is. You give Chibs a quick kiss on the cheek. He knows what’s up, he’s trying to look out for you without betraying Jax and you’re thankful for it, but it still fucking stings.

You push further into the madness. Weaving through the crowd, meeting familiar faces, sharing small talk here and there, but still, no sight of Jax, or her.

“Hey sweetheart” a hand slides over your shoulder and you feel the warmth before you even turn. It’s Gemma. “You smell good” she adds, her voice smooth as she steps closer to you.

"Hey Gem" you greet her, pulling each other into a hug.

She looks you over, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You feeling better?" she gets closer to you as she speaks.

"Yeah, thanks" you reply, forcing a laugh. You know she sees right through your 'I'm too sick to come to work' bullshit.

You and Gemma always got along, she never asked questions she didn't already have the answers to. She knew about you and Jax, even if it was never said out loud. She saw how he softened around you, how much more at ease he was with you, more than anyone else, and as his mother, she appreciated how you helped him get through the aftermath of Tara, even if it was all in secret and never 'official'. She had never gotten along with Tara, even before she left Jax in pieces.

She looks at you, a little deeper than usual. “You know I’d always have your back?” she says, her words are heavy almost like a warning. Its cryptic, but you know exactly what she means. This was her way of saying ‘do what you gotta do’, no matter what’s going on with Jax.

The door creaks open as you step in, it doesn't take long. Jax is sitting at the bar, his back to you and his shoulders relaxed, like nothing ever happened. Tara, sitting next to him whispering too easily in his ear. You fucking hate it, but you force it down.

You take your coat off and adjust your dress before heading straight towards the bar, your heels clicking against the concrete, like a pre warning. Without a second thought, you slide onto the stool, directly next to Tara, close enough, that your thigh nearly brushes hers and close enough to make him fucking suffer. You don't say a word, you don't look at them. You just exist in their space like you fucking belong there.

Juice is behind the bar, pretending to do something useful, but mostly just messing around with bottles. Tara completely oblivious, doesn't even notice the way the air thickens around you. She's still smiling, still talking to Jax, unaware of how the entire room dynamic, has just shifted.

"Tryna steal my job Ortiz?" you say, setting your coat on the side.

Jax hears your voice before he sees you, every muscle in him on edge, knowing you’re close. Juice's eyes immediately flick to you, and then over to Jax. His lip twitches like he's trying to hold in a laugh.

He laughs awkwardly, "someones gotta keep shit in order while you've been off the grid" his words are careful, like he's tiptoeing around a landmine, his eyes continuing to go between you and Jax.

You tilt your head slightly, "hmm" is all you respond.

Juice stands there, unsure of what to do, he rubs a hand over the back of his neck "you want a drink, or you just here to bust my balls?"

“Both” you say with a sweet smile. “whiskey... neat” your tone is effortless, like none of this fucking bothers you.

Jax is watching you. You can feel it, the burn of his eyes into the side of your face. His eyes never leave you. Cold and calculating, almost as if he's trying to figure out your next move but he doesn't say a word. He doesn't need to. He never expected you to show up tonight, and the second he heard you order a whiskey, he fucking knew. He knew tonight was bound to go south. He'd seen you drunk before, and with this shit brewing? Shit was never gonna end clean.

Juice places your drink in front of you, he extends his hand, offering to take your coat too. As soon as you rise from your seat, Jax's eyes drag over you. And then it hits him. That dress. His favourite fucking dress. The one he'd fist in his hands as he fucked you against any available surface. It's hugging every curve, taunting him. His jaw tightens, his fingers flexing against his beer. Fuck, he misses you.

You pick up your glass, turning to leave, but at the last second, you pause. Not for Jax though. For her.

You turn to Tara, your voice laced with fake sweetness "Missed home, huh?"

Jax is almost vibrating with tension, Tara is still completely oblivious. "Yeah, its good to be back" She smiles in your direction.

Jax's jaw is clenching. You still show him no interest. Your Gaze locked on Tara, and he knows, deep down, you're doing it on purpose, and its fucking killing him.

“Thanks Juice,” you say, tossing a grin over your shoulder before heading back into the crowd.

You barely make it outside, before your wrist is yanked, so hard your bracelets are digging into your skin. He pushes you discreetly against the wall outside the club, just out of sight.

His grip is tight, too tight and he’s barely holding himself together.

“You think this is some kind of fucking game?” His voice sounds more like a growl, his nostrils flaring in anger.

You tilt your head, finally giving him the attention he wants.

“Do you?” You say, almost as if you’re challenging him. He tightens his hold for just a second.

“Cut the shit” he growls, his voice rough.

You scoff, moving your face closer towards him, close enough that he can feel your breath on his top lip. “You started it” your voice is sharp and also taunting.

For a second, it feels as if he might snap, grab you or even kiss you, maybe he’ll completely lose it.

But you just smirk, slow and cruel and then you slip free from his grasp, turn and walk away.

He looks up into the air, exhaling a deep breath. A few steps away, stands Gemma witnessing it all.He stands there, his fists clenched as he watches you walk away, like he doesn’t want to chase after you, drag you back to where you belong.

But he doesn’t fucking move.

He doesn’t need to see her, to know she’s making her way over. He can feel it.

“Not now, ma” he says, exhaling hard through his nose and running a hand through his hair.

Gemma scoffs, stepping right up beside him. “I’ve seen you do some stupid shit, but pushing her away for Tara?” She shakes her head in disgust “you must be outta your goddamn mind”

“You don’t know shit” Still, he doesn’t move, his eyes tracking your every movement.

“I know everything, Jackson” she moves closer to him, her face inches from his. “I know watching her walk away is killing you, I know you feel something real for that girl, but I know you’re too much of a stubborn little shit to admit it” Jax goes to speak but she cuts him off just as quick. “So instead. You’re walking around with that stuck up heart breaker who’s already ruined you once?”

He says nothing, shifts his eyes slightly to Gemma, he knows she’s talking the truth, but like she said, he’s way too stubborn.

“Don’t be a goddamn coward Jackson” She shoves past him, her shoulder knocking his as she storms off.

You’ve spent the night effortlessly dodging both Jax and Tara, three drinks in and already you’re feeling the warmth spread through you. The alcohol just about taking the edge off, just enough for you to be able to relax a little.

You’ve caught up with Opie and Donna, laughing over their kids and life. The conversation being easy and light hearted. Opie, not mentioning Jax once. And you’re thankful for it.

You’re currently stood having a quick chat with Unser, the two of you standing next to the BBQ, a joint in hand. He offers, but you politely decline, pulling your own from your purse. Whiskey and weed? Probably not the best combo, but you’re too far gone to care right now. You’re still laughing at the shit show unfolding in front of you. Juice fumbles with the grill, burning nearly everything he touches.

“Give it here” Unser groans, rolling his eyes as he takes over the grill, his face giving that ‘’I’m too old for this shit’ kinda look.

You feel a presence right next to you, it’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“Can I get you a drink?” The voice is deep but smooth. You recognise him but you don’t really know him, you remember the way he checks you out though. He’s one of those faces you always see at these kind of things, someone who’s always there but not quite in the circle.

You look him up and down, dark hair, full of tattoos and broad. He has that rough kind of vibe, but not in the biker way. Out of instinct, you almost decline, but then you remember who you’re dealing with. And if jax wants to play this game, then so can you. You don’t owe him shit.

“Lead the way” you respond, a flirty smile creeping upon your face. Your voice is calm, but inside, you already know what you’re doing.

Jax is sat at a table in the back of the clubhouse, a cigarette burning between his fingers, pretending like he's not coming apart at the seams. Chibs and Tig see it, the tightness in his jaw, the way his knee bounces up and down. But Tara? She's still clueless.

That's when you walk in.

His firm hand rests low on your back, steering you towards the bar. Jax clocks it instantly, he drags hard on his cigarette, the smoke hitting his lungs with force and then, you look at him, just for a second, but long enough to make it clear.

You slide onto a barstool, your body angled just right. Legs crossed, dress rising just enough to make a man sweat, your lips curved in that dangerous smile. But its not for the man in front of you. Its all for Jax.

You laugh, leaning closer, your hand grazing over his arm. Jax watching the whole damn time. He watches as you whisper something into his ear, he watches as you raise your hand, playing with the hairs at the back of his neck, just like you would do for him.

You're playing dirty, and he knows it, and its fucking working.

Jax swirls his glass in his hand, barely listening to whatever the fuck Tara's going on about. The muscles in his forearm flexing with how tight he's holding it. He watches how you bite your lip between sips, how your finger trails down the side of your glass, How you lean in too close when talking to him. He knows you, he knows when you're getting too loose, too reckless.

He shifts in his seat, trying to breathe through it. But its fucking impossible. Tara, grabbing onto his arm, snapping him back to the table "You okay?" He gives a sharp nod, but his eyes don't move off of you.

Chibs and Tig exchange a look, both of them knowing exactly what's about to unfold. They barely have time to react, before either of them try to steady him, he's already on his feet. He looks at Tara, "I’m sorry" he breathes out, the words cold but he doesn't care.

He's done pretending, that 'sorry' means its the end of whatever the fuck they had going on since she's been back. Tara blinks, she’s caught off guard by his bluntness. She cant read him right now, and he doesn't give her any time to try.

He yanks the guy back so fast his drink spills across the table, the glass smashing against the floor. You don’t even feel bad, because your petty plan has worked perfectly.

The room falls into a heavy silence, all eyes now on Jax. Tig and Chibs, already on standby in case shit gets out of hand. But the guy doesn’t even try to fight back. One look at Jax and he’s already backing away, his hands raised in surrender.

You scoff, shaking your head “are you foreal?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even hesitate.

His hand wraps around your upper arm, fingers sinking into your flesh, hard enough to leave marks.

“Get the fuck up” he orders, his voice dangerous.

And that’s exactly what you do.

You let him drag you through the clubhouse, past the staring faces, stepping over the innocent guy who you sucked into your petty little game.

As you pass Tara, you flash her the bitchiest smile you can manage. Loving the way her face tightens, before Jax pulls you out into the cool night air.

She, doesn't even need to think about it, she knows exactly what's going on. Slowly, she picks her bag up from the floor, her hands trembling. She doesn't say a word, just straightens her back like she's maintaining control. But it’s all an act, she knows she's lost him.

Chibs shakes his head, he knows how this is going to end, and its only a matter of time before everything blows up. Tig on the other hand, sits there, grinning like Cheshire cat. He’s always had a twisted love from drama, and this is only the beginning.

He pulls you toward the garage. Shoving open the heavy metal door and yanking you inside. The second the door slams shut behind you both, you know shits about to get real.

Jax is pacing like a caged animal, his movements sharp and erratic. His chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. Sweat beads lined up in perfect formation along his brow and his hair a damp mess. He looks like a man about to lose his fucking mind.

Meanwhile, you're leaning comfy against the Chevy, which is due to be serviced tomorrow. Arms folded beneath your chest, the alcohol humming through your veins. You've seen Jax like this before, ready to throw hands, ready to tear through anything or anyone in his path. But being the one in his line of fire? its fucking delicious.

His fist slams into the side of the Snap-On toolbox, splitting his knuckles, the blood dripping to the ground.

"FUCK!" he shouts, not in pain but in fucking rage.

He shakes his hand, regaining his composure as he walks closer to you, his eyes full of frustration, and something else you recognise.

"Stop fucking playing with me" he seethes out, his voice thick with warning.

You tilt your head, that infuriating smile back on your face. "Or what?"

His jaw swings side to side, his anger just about contained, but you don't back down, you aint built like that.

"Wait, let me guess…" you taunt, cocking your hips further in his direction "…you don't want me no more, but no one else can have me, right?" your words leave your mouth strong and slow. "Well fuck that, I aint the one”

And that, was all it took.

Jax moves so fast you don't even see it coming. One second, you're testing his patience, the next, his hand is clamped round your throat.

His grip is a warning, a promise even. Anyone else might be scared, but you? you're aching for more, thighs clenched and your pulse racing.

You wanted to push him, to see how far he'd go, and fuck. You’ve got exactly what you wanted.

"You think I don't want you?" he's looking at you, fucking intensely. His grip tightening ever so slightly.

You raise your hands, gripping his. The blood from his knuckles a vibrant contrast against your dark skin. Your nails dig deep, leaving a new set of fresh marks on his flesh.

"YOU BEEN FUCKIN ACTIN LIKE IT! YOU RAN BACK TO THAT BITCH QUICK ENOUGH” Your voice trembles, barely holding your words together.

Jax releases your neck, shoving your hands off him equally as fast. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY Y/N? YOU WANT ME TO SAY SORRY?" His voice echoes through the garage.

You shake your head, the disbelief washing over you. "I don't want your sorry Jax" Your hand hovers where his grip just laced your skin. "I want the fuckin’ truth" you say softly, a desperate edge to your voice.

He knows exactly where you're going with this. This has never just been about sex, and you both knew that this moment was going to come sooner or later. He exhales harshly, his hands against his face like he's praying for some fucking patience.

"Tell me you don't have feelings for me" you whisper, your voice trembling but still powerful. "Tell me you don't love me the way I love you".

Fuck. You just drunkenly confessed you're in love with him. There's no turning back now. You've broken the rules first. The words are out, raw and real and your confession hangs in the air.

Silence.

For a moment, you see it in his eyes, the vulnerability, the fear and the truth he wont fucking say.

But then, just like that, its gone.

Anger rises over you again, you scream, shoving him and pounding your fists against his chest "TELL ME!" you're desperate to hear the words, to know you're not alone in this.

And then, he breaks.

"You want me to say it?" His voice comes out as a low growl, something almost wicked.

Then, he spins you around, your back now in line with his chest.

"Jax! what the fuc-" Your words are cut short. Too distracted by the rough tug of his hands, dragging your dress, his favourite dress, up your thighs and exposing your curves in his most favorite way.

He presses a heavy hand to the centre of your back, forcing you to arch against the hood of the car.

"You wanna hear me say it?" He repeats, his belt clinking as he fumbles to get it undone.

You're so fucking ready for him, you can't even get the words out, but the moan that escapes your lips tells him, its exactly what you want.

His fingers slide between your thighs, parting you, gliding between your wetness.

"You knew it was gonna end like this, didnt you? All fucking wet, begging for it. Thats why you've been pushing me so hard…ain’t that right darlin’" he leans his body weight over you now, his stubble pressed against your cheek.

You laugh under his force, because he's right. This is exactly what you wanted.

And that's what pushes him over the edge, because he knows it too.

He kicks your legs apart, lining himself up perfectly.

And then he's inside of you, burying himself back where he belongs with a slow, dominant thrust.

A broken moan rips from your throat as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly, you can't even breathe. He groans into your ear, gripping your hips so tight you know you'll still be wearing his fingerprints tomorrow.

"Fuck y/n" he's panting fast, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. "You feel so...fucking..." and then, he goes harder, throwing his head back in pure bliss.

The car rocks with every thrust beneath you, your palms flat against the cold metal hood, as he fucks you like he wants to ruin you.

His hands slide up your body, wrapping around your throat once again, tilting your head back so that he can kiss you. It’s deep and messy, just how you like it.

"You wanted the truth?" he breathes out, the impact of his thrusts getting harder. Another loud, elongated moan is your only response.

"I fucking love you" he mutters into your ear as your nails dig into the metal.

He reaches a hand underneath you, circling your clit, slow and deliberate drawing whimpers from your mouth. He knows exactly how you like it.

You lift one leg, draping it over the edge of the hood, giving Jax the freedom to adjust himself. His hands grip your thighs as he pulls you closer, shifting his angle and deepening the connection between the two of you.

"Fuck, this is gonna kill me" He laughs. The garage is too cramped, the car an awkward height for Jax's tallness and the hood is freezing against your back.

You sit up straight, the intensity as strong as ever, he slides his hands down your body, brushing against your skin. You're crashing into the metal shelves, knocking tools over in the process. The loud clanking sounds echo around the room but it doesn't stop either of you. It only adds to the chaos of the moment.

You guide him toward the corner of the garage, Jax kicks off his jeans and boxers in a fast move, his breath quickening, both of your eyes dark with hunger as he slides himself down against the wall. Without wasting another second, you hover above him, slowly sliding down onto his thick cock with a low, breathless moan. You're in control now, and he loves it.

You bury your face into his shoulder, muffling your moans. "Fuck! y/n" he groans, his hands digging into your ass cheeks as he tries to make you move faster.

His eyes burn with need as he watches you fuck yourself on him, rolling your hips in deliberate moves, your moans getting louder with each one. "I love you too" the words escape your lips, Jax's cock twitching in response.

Outside, Chibs, Juice and Tig are making their way to the garage, following after you both in the aftermath of the mayhem you had left behind. They stop for a moment, hearing things knocking around, but the absence of voices has them confused.

"You think they're fucking or fighting in there?" Tig laughs, squeezing Chibs’ shoulders from behind.

Chibs takes a long drag from his cigarette "Who the fuck knows...could be both".

And then they hear it.

The sound of you and Jax coming together, both of your moans filling the air like a perfect fucking harmony.

The desperate guttural sounds of pleasure echoing through the garage, and into the parking lot outside, making it impossible for anyone nearby to ignore. Your soaked walls flutter around his cock as you both hit your peak, your bodies trembling together.

The guys stop dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they all look around at each other in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"Yeah… they’re definitely fucking" Tig laughs, they spin on their heels avoiding the garage at all costs. They know exactly what's happening in there, and they sure as hell aren't about to interrupt.

Photos & gifs do not belong to me, just edited together.

If I had a £ for every time I wrote the word fuck or fucking in this story, I’d be fucking rich 💀

Again, please don’t take anything written as a stereotype/generalisation I’m writing from my own black heart lol 🖤

Thank you for your requests! Love a bit of jealous Jax. | Also, apologies for not adding in the old lady bit, I tried and it worked smoother ending it here, but I can always do a part two…

(Slowly getting through one request at a time, so please don’t think I’m ignoring or not doing them, just doing them in the order that they come in)

Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[cowboysandcigarettes]

✮ BORN TO DIE

─ dw x fem!reader

cw! angst, blood, break ups, fighting, mentions of death, slight religious aspects

dean didn't think. he didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't even take his eyes off the road as he sped the impala down the highway, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. he hadn't taken his foot off the gas since he got in the car, not since he heard your voicemail, and he only stepped on it harder when bobby called.

the shakiness of your voice haunted him, the spluttering laugh that turned into a gut wrenching coughing fit echoed like a broken record in his head, only making him push the speed limit harder. bobby's voice had been calm, but dean could hear the undertone of panic in the old man's voice that reflected his own.

so dean drove as fast as he could without burning baby's tires, his heart in his throat as your last confession rang in his ears.

i'm just sorry i wont get to tell you i love you one last time.

it was dean's birthday, of all days─not that he ever really celebrated it. in fact sam had been out grabbing pie and a case of beers for the two of them, when dean had finally checked his phone after being caught up in a shifter case all day, his heart dropping as he saw you had left him a voicemail.

he knew you wouldn't call unless something was seriously wrong, you had told him as much the last time you called, which was mostly telling him to stop drunk calling you. so his hands had shaken as he lifted the phone to his ear, his whole body freezing as your weak voice and self proclaimed last words were spoken through the phone.

it was by some miracle that bobby's call came just as your voicemail had finished, because only god knows what he would have done if he had been left to his own devices after possibly listening to you die in a voicemail. a fucking voicemail.

the only thing that stopped dean from going insane was bobby telling him that he had you, that he thinks you're stable, but he can't be sure, and he thinks dean is gonna want to see you.

so he didn't hesitate, not for a second, to throw his jacket on and grab his keys, only leaving sam a curt note about where he was going. thankfully, they weren't too far from bobby's place in sioux falls, having just come from a pit stop there themselves, so the only thing dean had to focus on was remembering the exit to take in a few miles.

as he drove though, he thought about you. he didn't want to think about your weak, shortening breaths that could be heard through the speaker of the phone, or the spluttering of blood from your mouth that he heard when you had coughed, so he focused on the last time he saw you.

you were beautiful. even when you were angry, especially when you were angry, like you were then, you were beautiful. and although his own anger simmered under his skin, he found himself lost in the way your lips moved as you spoke, and how the dim lighting of the motel room you were staying in cast a glow over you that formed a halo around your head, making you look angelic.

dean hated angels, he really did. and ever since finding out what brainless dicks they really were a few years ago, he doesn't like to compare things to them, but you. oh, you. dean thought that if he went back to the first days of existence and asked anyone what they thought an angel was, they would draw a picture of you.

you, with your eyes narrowed and lips pursed, shoulders tensed as you yelled at him, calling him overbearing and accusing him of not trusting you. god, he had wanted to kiss you so bad. he knew he could, you'd said before with a giggle that you loved when he shut you up by kissing you, but he'd figured in that moment that he wasn't allowed to do that.

it was only when you suggested that maybe things weren't going to work out anymore that he snapped out of it.

"what?" he had asked, heart dropping to his stomach as his eyes went wide. "what the hell are you talking about? we just need to talk it out."

"that's the problem, dean," you had argued, and dean had never hated himself more than when he saw the tears welling in your breath taking eyes. "we always say we're gonna talk it out, but we never do. it ends with us in the sheets, and just builds until we fight again, because you're too afraid to face your goddamn feelings!"

that had snapped something in dean, the accusation hitting right on the money as the natural instinct to push you away bubbled to the surface, rearing it's ugly head. "oh, i'm too scared?" he had spat, taking a step closer to you. "well, sweetheart, you're the one who is so incompetent that i have to save your ass every goddamn time!"

every second of every day since that moment, he wished he could take that back. he had said a lot of things during your relationship, but the one thing that he never insulted was your ability as a hunter. that was something that you just never did. and he knew he fucked up as soon as he had seen your face fall, tears welling so thickly in your hurt eyes that he hadn't been sure you could still see.

"is that how you feel?" you had asked, your voice small and breaking slightly.

dean had swallowed, trying to force down the self sabotaging words that were crawling up his throat, but they spilled out before he could stop them. "yeah. it is."

you had just looked at him with a searing hurt in your eyes that had burned a hole in his weeping heart, a tear finally slipping down your flushed cheek. "well, if that's really how you feel, then maybe i should just leave."

his bleeding heart had begged, cried, and screamed for him to take it back, to grab you in his arms and hold you until you stopped crying, for him to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness until his bones ached and you smiled at him again.

but he didn't.

he just looked away from you, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he fought off tears of his own and muttered through gritted teeth, "maybe you should."

dean hadn't looked at you, but he had felt the weight of your stare as it burned through his bones. he still hadn't looked at you when you had muttered a broken, "fine", and walked over to the bed, and threw your stuff into your beat up duffle bag without a word.

you had stormed past him, your shoulder brushing his, but dean didn't stop you as you reached for the door. he only turned to face you when he heard you stop, forcing himself to keep a stoic expression, even as his aching mind, soul, and body begged him to grab you and not let you leave.

you had turned to face him then, your hand lingering on the doorknob, and he thinks a piece of his soul was chipped away when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks.

dean had never used the term devastatingly beautiful, but that's what you had been then. because although the pain he had caused you was written on the features he cherished so much, tears dragging your makeup down your face, you still looked beautiful. devastatingly beautiful.

and even though the next words you had spoken had torn him into pieces, the beauty of you, inside and out, never left his rotten mind.

"i wish it wasn't so easy to love you."

dean snaps out of it as a mile sign whizzes by, and his vacant eyes flick to the speedometer to see that he's doing about twenty over the speed limit. he doesn't care though, all he cares about is that your heart is still beating. whether it's for him or not.

dean bursts into bobby's house, not bothering to knock as he rushes in, slamming the door behind him.

"bobby?" he calls out, trying to keep his voice level as no answer comes. "damnit, bobby, where are you?"

he's about to completely tear the place down when there's a rustling followed by heavy footsteps and a familiar voice. "don't blow the house down, boy, i'm right here."

bobby comes around the corner, into the hallway, and though usually there's a comfort in seeing the man dean considers a father figure, this time there's still an aching panic in his chest.

"where is she? is she okay? what happ-" dean cuts himself off as his eyes drift down to bobby's hands, which are covered in blood. your blood. "oh god.."

the old man seems to notice the look of pure terror on dean's face, and follows his gaze down to his hands, sighing at the sight of the blood.

"she's okay, dean," bobby tells him, taking a step towards him, and dean thinks he might be shaking. "there was a moment where-" he cuts himself off, looking away for a moment, as if debating what to say before he meets dean's gaze again. "there was a moment where i thought she wasn't, but she pulled through. she's okay now."

the moment the sincerity and truth of bobby's words rang through dean's head, he felt like he could finally breathe again. he let's out a deep exhale, wobbling slightly on his feet as he runs a hand over his face, cursing to himself softly.

after he takes a second to collect himself and calm his racing heart, he looks up at bobby, brow furrowed as he swallows down the suffocating panic. "can...can i see her?"

the old man hesitates, a protective edge in his eyes that makes dean realize that you probably told him everything. he watches as bobby thinks it over, before the old man sighs, his shoulders dropping slightly as he nods.

"yeah..you can see her," bobby agrees, but as dean takes a step forward, he holds up his hand, stopping dean in his tracks with a pointed look. "but i'm not so sure she's gonna want you there when she wakes up, kid. so if she opens her eyes and freaks out when she sees you, then y're gonna have to leave."

that chips another piece of dean's heart away, the fragment falling further into the pit of self despair that has been building in dean's chest since he hurt you and let you walk away from him.

"please, bobby," he rasps, his voice breaking slightly as emotions blur in his head. "i just need to see her. i...i just need to see she's okay."

the old man looks slightly shocked at the desperation in dean's voice, and something softens in his gaze. "she's been through a lot, boy," he sighs, giving dean a pointed look, though this time it's less menacing. "and i love you like my own, but right now she's my priority and if you being here is gonna stop her from healin', then i'm sorry dean, but y'cant stay."

dean nods, forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. "i don't wanna hurt her," he responds, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. "not more then i already have. i just- she called me, and hearin' her on the phone like that? thinkin' that might be the last time i ever hear her voice, on a fucking voicemail?"

he cuts himself off, averting his eyes from bobby as he forces the tears that burn behind his eyes to stay hidden. "i need to see her, bobby. please."

there's a moment of silence, and when dean lifts his eyes, bobby is staring right back at him, his expression slightly shocked at the rare display of emotions from him. but after a moment, the old man nods, stepping back and gesturing for dean to follow him.

at first he just stands there, but then he's rushing after bobby, each step determined but shaky as he follows the man into the main room.

dean's eyes scan the room, frantically searching for you, and when he finally does, he freezes.

you're laying on the couch, eyes closed and so pale. your skin is void of almost all of its usual color, your cheeks sunken and your lips chapped and sullen. the only thing keeping dean from passing out or falling to his knees in front of you and praying until you wake up is the shaky rise and fall of your chest that he can see under the blanket that bobby's placed over you.

said man places a comforting hand on dean's shoulder, but dean doesn't turn around, even as he hears bobby's footsteps echo down the hallway. he can't move his eyes from you, scared that if he does, you'll somehow slip from his grasp again.

he takes a couple hesitant steps closer and something curls in his gut, gripping his heart and wrenching it until it bleeds as he lets his eyes roam over your face. your familiar features are pale and sullen, but still, dean can't think of anything he's ever seen that's more beautiful than you.

devastatingly beautiful. that term pops into his head again, and this time, the words stab at something deep inside him, something he's always been too afraid to name.

because you are. and it's not just your features─though dean swears you could power a whole city just from smiling, the way it lights up your face─it's your mind, your soul, the way you laugh, the softness of your voice. it's everything. it's you.

you are devastatingly beautiful because you devastate him, crashing your way into his heart over and over again, making him high off you, making him never want to come down.

dean has to remind himself to breathe as he tentatively walks over to where you're laying, exhaling shakily before falling to his knees on the floor in front of you as if he was sitting in front of an altar, about to worship.

his now teary eyes scan over you, and before he can stop himself, he reaches a shaky hand out and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

lightning strikes through him as his skin touches yours, and he fights the urge to pull back, letting his fingertips lightly trace your cheek before his hand drifts down, finding your own and intertwining your fingers.

when he doesn't feel the familiar squeeze back of your hand, something in him breaks.

his head drops to your shoulder, his body shaking as quiet sobs tear from his chest, his teats staining the flannel you wore, his face buried into the fabric.

"i'm sorry,” he rasps through sobs, turning his head into your shoulder, burrowing into the skin of your neck, nausea creeping up his throat when he doesn’t feel your familiar warmth. he presses his lips against your skin, unable to stop the million apologies that spill from his lips. “i’m sorry, sweetheart, i'm so sorry. i love you, i’m sorry. ’m sorry, im so sorry.”

dean stays there, head pressed against you, sobbing quietly into your skin as he clings to you, praying to anyone that would listen that you would wake up. that you would come back to him and he could hold you in his arms and sob a million more apologies into your skin until you forgave him, even if he didn't deserve it.

he needed you to come back to him. he needed your touch, your kiss, your laughter, your stupid jokes that always made him laugh, your whispered words, and your loving stare.

he needed you.

and in that moment dean decided that when you woke up─not if, because he didn't know what he would do if he let himself think about that─he would try his damn hardest to get you back, because even though he doesn't think he deserves happiness, he knew he had it with you.

when you left, and took that piece of him with you, he broke. and all he wanted was to let you fix him again.

but you couldn't. because even as dean cried against you, you didn't stir, didn't flinch, the only reason he knew you were still hanging on was the shallow rise and fall of your chest under where his hand, intertwined with yours was rested firmly, and dean didn't know if he'd ever get that happiness back.

and as he sat there with you, at the foot of the altar he would give his all just to be worthy enough to worship, all he could think about was how he was begging for whatever God or being was listening that if they took you from him, they better fucking take him too.

because even if you hated him, even if you cursed him out, screamed at him to never talk to you again, dean didn't want to live in this world if you weren't in it.

bri's thoughts!: okay so this took me kinda long to finish, and was lowkey supposed to be out for my baby's birthday, but oh well. i don't rlly know if i like this, but i already started a part two, so lmk if anybody wants that! also my first time writing from dean's perspective and like angst so i apologize if this is bad, but i hope u enjoyed! (ps this is not proofread, and as always, was written at 1am, so this might be bad..)

TAGS!: (i don't rlly have a taglist so i just tagged some of my mutuals, but lmk if u wanna be added or removed) @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @titsout4jackles @floralscented @soldiersgirl

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT // C.S [18]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

Warnings: drunk driving. mourning. pure angst

wc: 6281

Chapter 18: Right Where You Left Me

It had been almost a month. 

Four weeks of waking up in a place that didn’t feel like home anymore. A place that used to be filled with warmth, with life, with her, but now felt like a hollow museum of everything I’d lost.

The penthouse was spotless. Too spotless. The kitchen was back to how it had been before she moved in—cold, minimal, functional.

No more pastel mugs in the sink. 

No trail of flour on the counter from when she’d try to bake muffins and forget the damn timer. The fridge was organized again. 

No more mint coffee creamer sitting on the middle shelf—the one she always reached for first thing in the morning, even before speaking. She used to hum softly while she poured it into her mug, like she was still half-dreaming. 

The bagels she used to toast? Always untouched now. Back to sitting in the breadbox until they went stale.

Even her clutter was gone. 

No more random sweaters thrown over the back of the dining chairs. No bobby pins on the coffee table. No sketchbooks left open with messy notes in the margins and fabric swatches tucked between the pages.

It was all… sterile again. Back to having no life, the way I kept before she moved in. 

Everywhere I looked, she was there. 

The spot on the kitchen counter where she used to sit cross-legged, sipping her coffee while talking about colors and lighting, and which scarf pattern worked better in the fall. 

The window she used to stand by in the morning, the light catching the auburn strands in her hair like fire. 

The damn hallway where I caught her once twirling in one of her dresses, laughing when she realized I was watching her.

It wasn’t just a memory. It was haunting.

I couldn’t walk three feet without feeling like I was walking through a ghost. Her ghost.

I had been sleeping in her bed every night.

It started with one bad night, then became a habit I couldn’t break. I told myself it was because her mattress was softer. That was a lie. I just wanted to be where she was last. To bury my face in her pillow. To pretend I could still smell that soft, rosy scent she always wore, even though it had long faded. 

Now there was nothing left but air. Cold, clean, unforgiving air.

I had been drinking more. Not enough to forget her—nothing could do that—but just enough to make the nights pass quicker. To make the silence bearable.

I hadn’t smoked, though; I hadn’t touched a cigarette since the day she left. Not once, because she hated it.

Even if she wasn’t here to wrinkle her nose or steal the pack from my jacket and toss it in the trash, the idea of doing something she loathed felt like a betrayal. Like I was failing her again.

Even when the urge clawed at me, I couldn’t do it, because she hated it. Said it would ruin me before anything else ever could. She used to steal my packs, toss them in the trash, scold me like I was a damn teenager.  I’d just smirk at her, kiss her cheek, and promise I’d try harder.

Now?

Lighting a cigarette felt like betrayal. Like if I did it, it would mean she really wasn’t coming back. Like I’d given up on her completely.

Either way, she was gone.

Everywhere I turned, I saw the absence of her. In the couch that no longer had her curled up in it. In the mirror, that didn’t reflect her arms sliding around my waist from behind. In the bed that was too big. Too quiet.

And all I could think, all I could feel, was that I’d let her go. I let her walk away.

Now all I had left was silence and the sound of my own damn heart breaking over and over again.

The office had kept me later than usual.

Lately, I stayed until the city went quiet, until the halls emptied, and even the cleaning staff turned in for the night. It was easier that way—drowning in work than facing this place alone.

The penthouse was dim when I walked in. Just the soft hum of the fridge, the echo of my keys hitting the kitchen counter. I didn’t bother turning the lights on. I didn’t need to. Every step, I could navigate blindfolded—because she used to fill this place with so much light, I still remembered how it looked when she was in it.

I peeled off my jacket, tossed it carelessly over a chair. The silence wrapped around me like a noose.

A quick shower and walked over to the living room. 

I drank a few. I felt like I had to consume something bitter every night. I let it burn. I wanted it to burn.

Then I stumbled down the hallway toward her room. My body moved on autopilot. Like it did every night now. I wasn’t even thinking—just trying to catch some trace of her. A perfume, a blanket, a memory.

But when I opened the door… I stopped cold.

The room was empty.

Fully empty.

The soft pink sheets were gone. Her pillows, her bedside books, the scarf she used to hang from the lamp—everything… gone. The closet doors were slightly ajar, and even in the low light, I could see the hangers swinging quietly.

Everything that was left, gone.

It looked like a guest suite again. Sterile. Vacant. Like she’d never lived here at all.

My stomach twisted.

Panic clawed at my chest as I turned and made my way to her studio, my steps uneven, breath tightening with every second.

But when I pushed the door open—

It was worse.

The mannequins were gone. What was left of her fabrics…gone.

The room had been stripped of her.

All that was left was the large table she used to cut fabric on, her sewing machine pushed into a corner, and a mirror leaning against the wall, crooked, like someone moved it in a rush.

I stood in the middle of the room, not moving, not breathing. I couldn’t even blink.

The alcohol buzz had long faded. What was left was this hollow, dizzy ache spiraling through me, sinking in deep like a second skin.

She was really gone.

Not just emotionally. Not just from our bed. Gone.

I stumbled out into the hallway, desperate for answers. For a reason. That’s when I saw Ana, the housekeeper, standing near the laundry room, folding towels like it was just another night in this broken universe.

“Ana,” I said, my voice hoarse.

She looked up, startled. “Yes?”

I didn’t care how wrecked I looked. “What happened to her room?”

Her face softened instantly, the corners of her mouth twitching in sympathy. She placed the towels down slowly.

“She came by earlier this evening,” Ana said gently. “Around six. She had a car waiting. Took the rest of her things. Said she wouldn’t be long.”

I couldn’t speak.

“She didn’t leave a note,” Ana added, almost hesitating. “But she… she looked sad.” 

My throat felt like it was closing.

“I didn’t know she hadn’t told you.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, because whatever was holding me up inside snapped right then, quietly, violently. 

I couldn’t stand being in that place any longer. The silence was pressing in again, thick and suffocating. Every room felt like a memory I didn’t want to face.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Matt’s name.

Chris: Where are you at? It took a moment before the typing dots appeared.

Matt: Noah’s. Why? Chris: I’m coming over. Matt: alright

I just grabbed my keys, shrugged on the first jacket I could find, and headed to the elevator. My head was spinning a little—I had poured myself more than a few drinks tonight.

Still, I got behind the wheel.

I knew Noah’s place like the back of my hand. He was closer to Matt than he was to me and Nick, but we’d always still been tight. My family had stepped in a lot after he lost his parents, and ever since high school, his place had been our usual crash spot. Back when life was simpler, and girls weren’t something that could tear me apart. 

I didn’t know what I was going there for, maybe just to forget for a while. Or maybe I just didn’t want to be alone.

The ride over was a blur—red lights, green lights, honking cars. I don’t remember parking or locking the car behind me. All I remember is the cold night air against my skin and the dull buzz in my head as I stumbled up the steps to Noah’s place.

I knocked once. Loud.

The door swung open a few seconds later.

Noah stood there, eyebrows furrowed, the second he saw me. “Chris?”

His voice was low, cautious.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, rocking slightly on my heels. “What, you're not gonna invite me in?”

Noah blinked, eyes scanning me from head to toe—rumpled jacket, messy hair, tired eyes, and the scent of whatever I’d poured into my glass a few hours ago still clinging to me. “Are you… drunk?” 

I didn’t answer.

Before he could say anything else, Matt appeared behind him. His expression shifted from curiosity to immediate concern.

“Dude,” Matt said, stepping around Noah. “What the hell—Chris, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking great,” I muttered sarcastically, brushing past them both as I walked inside.

Nick’s voice followed a second later. “Man, you look like shit.”

I turned around slowly to face them, unbothered by their stares. 

“Thanks, Nick.” I glared at him.

Noah shut the door behind us, his jaw tight. “You shouldn’t be driving like this.”

I shrugged off my jacket and let it fall to the floor. “Didn’t realize I had anyone left to disappoint.”

The room went quiet. Thick with tension.

Matt stepped forward. “Chris… what’s going on?”

I didn’t answer right away. I just stared at the floor, like maybe if I focused hard enough, it would swallow me whole.

“She’s gone,” I finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Man, we know that…It's been a while,” Matt said, dragging me over to the couch. 

For the first time in a long time, I felt it crack through me—grief, guilt, and something worse.

“She came back and took the last of her stuff tonight,” I added, throat tightening. “Even her scent is gone.”

Matt looked at Nick, who looked at Noah, all of them exchanging silent glances. Like they didn’t know what to say. Like they’d never seen me like this before. 

That was because they hadn’t.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the sting of exhaustion and something heavier clawing at me. “You got any drinks here?” I asked, voice rough, barely steady. 

Noah glanced toward the kitchen. “We don’t have any booze, Chris.”

I caught a glimpse of cans stacked by the fridge and smirked bitterly. “Come on, I see those. Just one, please.”

Matt stepped forward, eyes hard. “Fuck no. You need to stop before you become a damn addict.”

Nick crossed his arms, voice low but sharp. “You need to stop Chris.. Drinking won’t fix a damn thing.”

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up like poison. “You don’t get it. It’s not about fixing anything.”

Matt’s jaw clenched. “That’s exactly the problem. You’re letting this shit ruin you.”

My vision started to blur, the edges of the room melting as the weight of everything pressed down harder. Through the haze, I saw a brunette slip past us into the kitchen.

I blinked, trying to focus. “Who was that?” I slurred, nodding toward the kitchen.

Noah glanced over, then shook his head. “My sister. She moved in a few months ago.”

I let out a quiet chuckle, the faintest smile tugging at my lips. “Right…I forgot.”

I looked over at Matt, I saw his gaze follow her over to the kitchen. When he looked back, we made eye contact—I knew about him and Noah’s sister, or whatever was going on between them. Noah, however, was clueless and would probably kill Matt if he found out. Meh…that was Matt's problem.  

Nick’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and unfiltered. “Chris, seven months ago you’d laugh in your face if you saw the mess you are now,” he said, shaking his head. “Ruined over a girl and drowning in booze like some sad drunk. That’s not the guy we know.”

I swallowed hard, the words hitting deeper than I wanted to admit. Nick was right. The man I was now barely felt like me anymore. 

If we never speak again… the silence might bury me. It won’t be anger or guilt that lingers—it’ll be the ache of everything unsaid. Everything I should’ve done differently. She wasn’t just a passing chapter. She was the calm in all my noise, the rare moment when I felt understood without needing to explain a thing. Losing that...it feels like losing the only part of myself that ever felt real.

One day, someone else might get to sit across from her at breakfast. He’ll get to hear her laugh, see her half-asleep in the morning light, hold her hand like it’s nothing, and brush strands of her beautiful ginger hair, and I’ll be forever envious of that man. I’ll want to spend the rest of my life hating him, wanting to kill him, for getting the version of her I destroyed. He won’t know the weight she carried or how much it took for her to let someone in. 

He’ll just get the result of everything I ruined. Then I’ll be stuck here, haunted by the memory of what I couldn’t hold on to. 

I’ll be stuck thinking about that hallway at the police station. 

Right where she left me.

AURORA

It had been a month.

A month since everything fell apart.

I only stayed with Jen for a few days after it happened—long enough to remember how to breathe again, long enough to cry myself dry. She wanted me to stay longer, but I couldn’t. I needed to be somewhere that felt like home. So I packed up what little I had brought and went back to my mother’s house.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was safe. She had welcomed me without question—just pulled me into a hug and let me fall apart in her arms. She made space for me in the guest room. My old room had been turned into a file room by my father. I couldn’t bring myself to fully settle in, though. 

I remember being so upset to move out of this house, but now I felt so foreign inside it. 

We’d been working on the divorce paperwork together. Quiet afternoons filled with legal forms and old bank statements. She tried to hide how nervous she was, but I could see it in the way her hands trembled when she signed her name. My father had left more than just hurt behind—he left a mess. A fortune tainted by control and manipulation.

Once it was finalized, everything that was left of him would be hers.

We didn't talk much about him—only when necessary. I think she knew I was grieving, in my own way. Not just the end of an engagement… but the collapse of so many illusions. Of the father I thought I had. The man I hoped Chris could be.

I submitted my fashion catalog last week. The runway show was just two weeks away now. My name was printed in bold on the announcement flyer along with some other graduates. “Aurora Devereaux – Closing Designer.”

It should’ve felt like a dream come true. Instead, it just felt like a reminder of how much had changed.

The past two weeks had felt like hell. I kept moving so I wouldn’t think. I filled every hour with sketches, with fittings, with long walks that made my feet ache and my chest a little quieter. I told myself I was okay. I told myself I was surviving.

Last night…I went back.

To the penthouse.

Just to take the last of my things.

It was late when I arrived. The place was dark, quiet. Chris wasn’t there. I didn’t know if I hoped he would be.

My studio… It was already halfway dismantled. Like a ghost town version of everything I had built. I packed up the last few things quietly: a bundle of sketches, a few unused fabrics, a silver pin cushion shaped like a cat that Chris once teased me for buying. 

I had never seen it so empty, only the full colorful version I saw when Chris first gifted it to me. 

Ana found me as I was zipping the final suitcase.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at me the way someone looks at a fading photograph.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“You’ll be alright, hunny,” she said softly. Her voice was warm, steady. “You are stronger than you think. He knows it, too.”

I blinked, holding her gaze. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“It never does. Not until you’re on the other side of it.”

I hugged her before I left. I didn’t know if I’d ever come back. But that night, as I stood outside waiting for my Uber, I realized something.

The ache was still there. The grief, the guilt, the loss of something that could’ve been beautiful.

I was still breathing, though. Still moving. I was going to be okay. Eventually. I hope so, at least.  

I hadn’t planned on going out tonight.

The catalog was done. The show was two weeks away. My mother was slowly piecing together the remnants of a broken marriage while I kept myself busy in silence, pretending I didn’t still wake up reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

It had been over a month since everything fell apart. Since the night I walked out of that penthouse and left behind the version of myself who still believed love was enough.

I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk. But when Jen called and said, “You need to get out of the house before you start collecting dust, Rory. I’m picking you up in twenty minutes. No arguments,” I didn’t fight her.

She always had a way of knowing when I was sinking.

I chose a short denim skirt, and paired it with a fitted black Skims short-sleeved top. I slipped on my black heeled boots, the ones that clicked with every step. My hair was down, straightened smooth, and tucked behind one ear, and I slung a simple black shoulder bag over my arm. A jacket because the outside still had a slight chill to it. 

The sound of a car horn outside broke the quiet hum of my thoughts. I took one last glance in the mirror — the short denim skirt hugging my hips, the black Skims tee fitting snug against my frame, my straightened hair falling sleek past my shoulders. The heeled boots added just enough height to feel like armor.

I took a breath and grabbed my little shoulder bag, locking the door behind me. 

Jen’s car was already parked by the curb, headlights slicing through the dusk. I opened the passenger door and slid in quickly, the leather cool against the backs of my legs.

She blinked at me. And then again, slowly, like she was trying to recalibrate what she was seeing.

“Oh my...Rory?” she said, nearly dropping her phone in her lap. “Okay, what did you do with my shy little best friend?”

I glanced at her, half amused and half self-conscious. “Too much?”

Jen’s jaw was still somewhere near the floor. “No! You look—like, damn, girl. I’m just not used to seeing you like this. I was expecting...still something you’d wear to a gala.”

I laughed, soft and unsure. “I wasn’t gonna wear a Celine dress, Jen.”

Jen put the car in drive, eyes still flicking to me with admiration. “Whatever it is? Let it stay. Tonight, we’re having fun. If any guy tries to talk to you—”

“I’m not interested,” I cut in quickly.

She grinned. “I know. But still. You deserve to feel good again. No wrong in talking to someone. Or you can take my route and kiss them and take them home for the night.”

“Jen,” I shot her a playful look. I loved her freakiness. 

As we pulled into the city, lights beginning to shimmer against the windshield, I let myself rest back in the seat.

The lounge was already buzzing — warm lights, low music, clusters of bodies weaving in and out of each other like they were all part of some shared, unspoken rhythm. Jen disappeared into a hug with a group of friends near the entrance, leaving me to navigate toward the bar on my own.

I didn’t belong here. Not really. Not with the heavy ache still living under my ribs like a second heartbeat.

I slid onto a stool at the bar, trying to look comfortable as I tucked my hair behind one ear.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, flashing a polite smile over the counter.

“Just a Sprite,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it. The glass was cold in my hands a moment later, condensation slipping across my fingers as I brought it to my lips.

I sipped slowly.

The music faded into the background as my mind wandered. Back to the party, months ago. When Chris was in Milan. 

The night I saw Mason after a while, the night I met Chris’s ex-fling or whatever. 

Then Chris…

I hadn’t even known he was watching me back then. That just one photo of me at that party made him get on a flight from Milan. The possessiveness in that act used to make me feel chosen. Wanted. Protected.

Now? Now it just felt ironic.

That the same man who once flew halfway across the world at the thought of me with someone else… was the one who treated me like I was disposable. Like I was a burden. Like caring for me had been too much for him to carry.

I stared into my drink, my throat tightening.

People said you only understood someone’s true character after the high wore off. Maybe that’s what this was. Maybe Chris had just worn a mask better than most.

Or maybe…Maybe I had just been too easy to fool.

“Are you here alone?”

The voice came again, closer now, more persistent than the music thudding through the bar. I turned just slightly, catching sight of a guy standing beside me. Tall. Buzzed hair. Clean jawline. He wasn’t bad looking, and he knew it by the way he smiled.

“No,” I said calmly, taking another sip of Sprite.

He nodded, undeterred. “Can I get you a drink?”

I lifted my glass just slightly. “I’ve already got one.”

He peered at it, confused. “Sprite?”

“I don’t drink,” I said, not offering anything more.

That caught him off guard, but only for a second. He shrugged and leaned his elbow against the bar. “Fair enough. You don’t look like the typical crowd here anyway.”

I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t care to ask.

“What do you do?” he asked casually, clearly fishing for something interesting.

I stared ahead at the shelf of dusty liquor bottles behind the bar, debating if I even wanted to answer. But politeness was second nature.

“I’m a fashion design student,” I said simply.

He perked up, like I had said, I worked for NASA. “Oh really? That’s pretty cool. Like, you design clothes and stuff?”

“Yes,” I said, giving him a glance. “I have a show in two weeks.”

“No way. You must be really good, then.”

I didn’t respond to that.

He tried again. “So what’s a designer like you doing here alone, sipping Sprite?”

I turned slightly on the stool, facing him now, but keeping my distance. “Just getting out of the house.”

He chuckled. “Rough week?”

“Rough month,” I said before I could stop myself.

He nodded slowly, like he understood something deep. “Heartbreak?”

I didn’t answer. But my silence was loud enough.

“Yeah,” he said, offering a small, knowing smile. “That’ll do it.”

I didn’t know this man, and I didn’t care to know him—but I found myself slightly grateful he wasn’t pushing too far. Not yet, anyway.

“Look,” he said, suddenly reaching for his wallet, “I know you said no, but—just let me get you a drink. Doesn’t have to be alcohol. You’ve had a long month, right? Least I can do.”

“I’m fine,” I replied, still calm but firmer this time. “Thanks, though.”

There was a moment of quiet tension—just a second too long.

Then he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just trying to be nice.”

Just as I turned back to my drink, I felt his presence settle beside me again. Persistent.

“I’m Darren, by the way.” His voice was smoother now, like he was trying harder. Trying to be charming. I glanced at him briefly, offering a faint nod. “Aurora.”

“Aurora,” he repeated with a slow smile, like he was tasting the name. “Pretty name. Matches you.”

I gave a polite smile, said nothing. I was used to that kind of flattery. It didn’t reach me anymore.

There was a pause before he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice like we were suddenly sharing something private. “So, Aurora…” he started, “you seem cool. Quiet. But I gotta ask…” His eyes flicked down to my legs and then back up, something about his grin turning cocky. “You in the mood to have a little fun tonight?”

I froze for a second—not shocked, but disappointed. Of course, that’s where this was going.

I turned to face him fully, my voice calm but sharp enough to cut through the music. “I don’t do hookups.”

His eyebrows shot up, like he didn’t expect that to be said so directly. 

“No judgment,” he said quickly, hands raised in innocence.

A few minutes passed. I thought Darren was gone for good, but then he circled back.

“Hey,” he said, a little softer this time. “Listen—sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to come off like a creep.”

I turned slightly, meeting his eyes. He looked a bit embarrassed now, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, leaning against the counter like he was trying to dial it back.

“It’s fine,” I said simply. “Just…not my thing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded quickly. “I get it. I just—I don’t usually see girls like you alone at parties.”

I lifted a brow. “Girls like me?”

He grinned, but it was less cocky now. “The quiet ones. The ones who don’t drink. The ones who look like they’ve got a hundred better places to be.”

I couldn’t help it—I smiled a little. “That’s… oddly accurate.”

Darren took that as encouragement and leaned in slightly again, but without the earlier edge. “So, if you’re not here to hook up or drink, what are you into?”

“Fashion,” I said, pausing for a beat. “Work, mostly.” 

“You mentioned you had a show soon>?” His tone perked up. “That seems dope.”

I shook my head. “I’m showcasing my collection in two weeks.”

His eyebrows raised. “Like, a legit show?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Catalog’s done. Final show’s being prepped.”

He gave a low whistle. “Alright, then. You’re impressive.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

There was a little silence before he asked, almost shyly this time, “So… would you wanna maybe go out sometime?”

I blinked, surprised he was still trying.

“I’m…kinda busy,” I said, a little apologetic.

He nodded, clearly trying not to look too disappointed. “Ah. Right. That makes sense.”

I thought that was the end of it—until he added, “I mean, I could come to your show. You know, support you. Cheer you on or whatever.”

That caught me off guard.

“You want to come to a fashion show?” I asked, unsure if he was being serious or just trying to impress me.

He shrugged, grinning again. “Why not? Might be cool. And who knows? Maybe seeing your world helps me get to know you.”

I looked at him for a long moment, unsure of what to say. Part of me wanted to shut it down, keep the wall up.

But another part… the tired, curious part of me… wanted to see what would happen if I let someone new in—even just a little.

“Fine,” I said, sipping my Sprite. “If you actually show up, I’ll be impressed.”

Darren laughed. “Challenge accepted.”

I turned back to the bar, still not sure if I meant it. But for now, it didn’t matter. 

Darren glanced toward the back door, where a few people were going in and out. Beyond it, I saw the faint glow of string lights draped over a small patio and a few benches lined up near the fence. People were out there too—talking, laughing, smoking—but it was calmer. Less chaotic than the music and bass vibrating through the walls inside.

“You wanna maybe step outside for a bit?” Darren asked, voice raised slightly over the music. “It’s loud as hell in here.”

I hesitated. Not because I was nervous, but because I kind of did want to get out of the noise. The party was starting to wear on me. The crowd. The energy. The smell of alcohol on people’s breath.

“Just to talk,” he added quickly, sensing my pause. “There are people around. I’m not shady.”

That made me smirk a little. “Okay. Sure.”

I grabbed my bag and followed him out the back door. The air hit my skin like a breath of relief. Cooler. Cleaner. The buzz of voices was still there, but it didn’t feel suffocating like it did inside.

We sat on the bench closest to the string lights. The wood was worn, the metal frame creaking slightly when we settled in. I folded my arms, my gaze flicking between the people nearby and the gravel under my boots.

“You good?” Darren asked, watching me.

I nodded slowly. “Just… not a party girl. Never have been.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I kinda picked up on that. But you came anyway.”

“My friend made me,” I said, half-smiling. “Said I needed to get out of the house.”

“Guess I should thank her, then,” he said. “I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

I didn’t respond right away. My fingers brushed the edge of my denim skirt, the fabric unfamiliar, bolder than what I’d usually wear.

“So…is your fashion show in Boston?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Local showcase.”

“That’s sick,” he said genuinely. “Can I be honest? You look like you have your life together.”

That made me let out a soft, dry laugh. “That’s funny. Because it feels like it’s falling apart.”

He glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

I didn’t elaborate. I just stared out at the fence, letting the breeze lift the ends of my straightened hair. I wasn’t about to unload everything onto some guy I barely knew. But for now, sitting here, out of the noise, sipping Sprite, talking to a stranger who didn’t know who I was or what I was going through—it didn’t feel so heavy.

It didn’t feel like Chris.

Maybe that was why I stayed.

I let the silence hang for a moment, watching a couple across the patio share a cigarette and talk like the world had slowed just for them. My cup of Sprite sat between my palms, the condensation trailing down my fingers.

Out of courtesy more than curiosity, I glanced at Darren and asked, “What about you? What do you do?”

He shifted, stretching his arms out along the back of the bench casually. “Tech stuff. Kinda boring, honestly. I work for a startup downtown—software solutions, all that jazz.”

“Sounds smarter than it is?” I teased gently.

He laughed. “Exactly. It’s mostly emails and pretending I know what I’m doing during meetings.”

That made me smile faintly. It was easy to talk to him. Easy in the kind of way that didn’t mean anything but didn’t demand anything either. He didn’t know my name was Aurora Devereaux or what that meant. He didn’t look at me like he already knew me.

It was… strangely nice.

“I’m guessing fashion’s always been your thing?” he asked, his tone lighter now.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Since I was a kid. I used to sketch dresses on napkins and ruin my mom’s tablecloths trying to sew.”

Darren grinned. “That’s kind of adorable.”

I rolled my eyes playfully, then looked down at my drink. 

The night lingered like a slow-burning candle—dim, comfortable, almost too calm for a party. Darren and I sat on the bench outside for what felt like hours, talking about the most random things.

Music tastes, favourite movies, and embarrassing childhood stories. I didn’t expect to laugh as much as I did, and even though I wasn’t fully present, I appreciated the way he kept the conversation light.

“…and then I tripped over my skateboard and knocked out my two front teeth in front of half the school,” Darren said, chuckling, rubbing the back of his neck.

I laughed softly. “You might’ve peaked in high school with that one.”

“Hey, I survived the humiliation. That’s character development,” he said with a grin.

A breeze swept through, cool against my bare legs, and I crossed them, hugging my drink in my hands. The music from inside was still booming, but out here, it was just muffled enough to feel distant.

Darren leaned his head back against the bench, eyes half-lidded. “You know, you smell like roses.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

He turned to look at me again, smiling. “Yeah… I don’t know. It’s subtle, but it’s there. You kind of remind me of a rose. A little mysterious. Pretty, obviously, but also sharp. Like if someone got too close too fast, they might get hurt.”

I laughed, but it came out a bit breathless.

Rose.

That word did something to me.

I remembered the way Chris used to pull me close after long days, his nose nuzzling against my neck, telling me how I smelled like roses, cherries, and clean warmth. As he once said, I reminded him of a rose garden in bloom—elegant, but guarded.

It also reminded me of the rose necklace I no longer own. 

My smile faded just a bit, but I forced it to stay.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice soft.

He didn’t know the weight of what he’d said. Obviously, but I felt it was heavy. 

My phone buzzed in my shoulder bag, the faint vibration pulling me out of the moment. I reached in and saw Jen’s name flash across the screen.

Jen: Hey, I’m ready to dip soon—u good?

I glanced at the time. It was later than I thought. The party had blurred into something muted and slow, and suddenly, I felt the weight of exhaustion pressing on my shoulders.

I looked up at Darren, offering a small, polite smile. “I should head out. My friend’s wrapping up.”

He nodded, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, of course. It was cool talking to you.”

“Yeah, it was,” I said honestly. For a random conversation at a party I hadn’t even wanted to be at, it hadn’t been terrible. He’d been…decent. Not pushy. Kind of funny. He’s just not someone else, though. 

He hesitated, then pulled his phone from his pocket. “Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers? I mean, if you ever wanted to talk again—or if you want someone to hype you up at that fashion show.”

I let out a small laugh, already unlocking my phone. “Sure. Just…no creepy texts at 2 a.m.”

He grinned. “No promises.”

We exchanged numbers quickly, his name showing up on my screen: Darren from the party.

I put my bag over my shoulder and stood, brushing my skirt down. “Have a good night, Darren.”

“You too, Aurora.”

As I walked back into the noise to find Jen, I could still feel his words trailing behind me.

You smell like roses.

But all I could think about was the last person who said that, and how much it still hurt.

It started as a contract—just ink on paper, expectations, and roles we were meant to play. I told myself it didn’t matter, that none of it was real. But somewhere in the middle of pretending, I started meaning it. I chose him. I wanted to stay. I let it become something real, something I was willing to fight for.

For him, though, it always felt temporary. Like he was already halfway out the door, even when he said all the right things. I wonder if it ever meant anything to him at all, or if I was just a convenient pause in a life too full for someone like me.

Maybe he’ll even meet someone. No contract, no force, just his own choice. Maybe he’ll fall for her. He’ll say the things he once said to me, only this time, he’ll mean them. She’ll get the version of him I only ever dreamed of—the one who stays.

Now I’m stuck mourning something he probably never saw the same way. Haunted by the memory of his cold stare in that police station. 

Right where he left me.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: I know you guys don't like cliffhangers, but I'm writing chapter 19 and it's looking like were getting a cliffhanger. like and reblog!] – Ceyana

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[janeyseymour]

Drunk Actions, Sober Thoughts- part 2

Part 1 @theboreworms @schemmentisbaby @ literally everyone else who bullied me into writing a part 2, i hope this lives up to your expectations.

Summary: Are drunk actions really sober thoughts?

WC: ~2.35k

When Melissa wakes up, she wakes with a groan. Jesus Christ, how much did she have to drink at Janine’s party last night? And who let her drink that- it hits her at a dizzying rate. Barbara was determined to get Sea Barbara to come out, which she succeeded in. And because she and the redhead usually go shot for shot with heavy handed pours, Melissa also got absolutely hammered. 

The second grade teacher turns, and she realizes she’s in her bed. How did she get- Holy shit. She vaguely remembers flirting with you the entire night. Does that mean you brought her home? Did she say anything stupid? Did she try to make any moves on you?

“Never goin’ shot for shot with Barbie again,” Melissa grumbles to herself as she reaches for her nightstand drawer to grab Advil. Of course though, there’s already a glass of water and two pills sitting nicely on top. She downs them and prays to God himself that this hangover will go away quickly.

Once she’s secure in the fact that she isn’t going to get sick standing up, the redhead makes her way out of bed, secures her reading glasses on her head, and heads downstairs. And sitting on the coffee table is your note. Her tired eyes can’t read your note without her glasses, so she pulls them down and sets them on the tip of her nose before scanning what you had written.

“Fuck,” Melissa mumbles to herself. “What the fuck did I do last night?”

As she cooks herself breakfast, memories come back in pieces. She remembers taking shots with Barbara, you coming in, dancing with you- her hand in your back pocket.

Meanwhile, at breakfast, you’re doing everything that you can to try to stay focused and pay attention to what your dad is telling you, but it’s quite difficult.

“What’s got you so distracted today, kiddo?” your father asks. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because it’s clearly something.”

You shrug. “Just… had a long night last night.”

“Why would that be?” your dad chuckles. “You knew you had to be up bright and early to be with your old man today.”

“My coworker had a party, and I ended up having to take my other colleague home,” you explain, and you quietly pray he doesn’t pry any further.

  Of course though, he does. “Was it that Melissa character?”

Your cheeks turn red at the memory of last night. “Yeah,” you mumble.

“What happened? Did you tell her how you feel?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. But, uh-” You scratch the back of your head. “She might’ve told me how she feels about me.”

“Oh?” your dad raises his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his coffee. “So what came of that?”

“Well,” you sigh softly. “Nothing yet. I had to leave to come meet you, but I told her I would come back so we could talk about it today.”

“Why the hell are you here with me, kid?” the man across the table asks you. “You should be there with her.”

“I wouldn’t cancel on you, dad,” you roll your eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a while, and I wouldn’t cancel on you.”

“Well, I’m telling you now to get the hell out of here and go to her.”

“We’re in the middle of breakfast.”

“And I’ll see you again next weekend,” your father tells you as he takes a bite of his hash brown. “Go get your girl, kid.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

He nods. “Go. I’ll be waiting for your call to tell me how it went.”

With a heavy breath blown out, you stand, grab your purse, kiss your cheek, and head out of the restaurant.

Your father watches you go before picking up his cell phone and calling your mother. “Jude, I think our girl might finally get her girl.”

“It’s about damn time, Bobby.” 

Your heart is racing by the time you pull back into Melissa’s driveway. You can see her silhouette through the window and take a deep breath for getting out of the car and making your way up to the house.

You have no idea how this is going to go, but you can only hope that it works out in your favor. You knock gently, and she’s at the door about thirty seconds later.

Her hair is up in one of the messiest buns you’ve seen, her glasses are on the tip of her nose, and even though she’s simply in her pajamas, you can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks right now. How waking up next to her this morning was something that you’ve wanted to do for a long time.

“Hey,” she sighs softly as she steps aside to let you in.

“Hey,” you reply just as gently. “How are you feeling this morning?”

She shrugs. “Woke up with a ridiculous hangover. Thank you for the Advil and water this morning.”

“Of course,” you chuckle quietly.

She gestures for you to come inside. “Well, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come in?”

You make your way into the house on light feet and set your purse down on her couch. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah,” Melissa hums. “Listen, about last night… I’m really sorry if I crossed a boundary.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t cross any boundaries,” you promise her. “I just think we need to talk about the things that were said and done last night. How much of it do you remember?”

She relays to you what she remembers- drinking with Barbara, having you near her most of the night once you got there, the dancing… her hand placement.

“You remember more than I thought you would,” you can’t help but giggle. “Especially for how gone you were last night.”

“I’m sure there’s more that I’m not remembering,” the redhead scratches the back of her neck. “Care to fill me in?”

You worry your lip between your teeth for a few seconds before you sigh softly. “Mel, you… you kept telling people I was your girl. When I brought you home, you… you had me pressed up against the wall.”

The redhead’s mouth falls open in shock. “Holy shit.”

“You told me you have feelings for me and what you love about me,” you continue.

“I-” Melissa puts her head in her hands to hide her embarrassment. “I am so sorry.”

You shrug. “I wasn’t mad about it. I just- is that really how you feel about me?” You subconsciously tuck a stray hair behind your ear. You quirk your lips to one side and keep your eyes on the ground. If she didn’t mean what she told you last night, you don’t want Melissa to see the disappointment on your face. That would be beyond embarrassing. What you don’t see is the slight widening of Melissa’s eyes as she remembers something she said last night.

“Hun.” A soft hand cups your cheek and forces you to look into those jade eyes of her own.

“Mel,” you sigh softly. “It’s fine.”

Red hair sways back and forth gently as she shakes her head. “Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts,” she tells you the sentiment she slurred out last night. 

And then her lips are on yours again. And although she had kissed you before previously, you aren’t expecting it this time either. It takes you a few seconds to set your hands on her waist and pull her closer to you. When she pulls away, there’s a warm smile on her face, and her eyes are a softer shade of green than you’ve ever seen. The sparkle in them is as bright as ever.

“I meant what I told you last night,” Melissa tells you quietly. “I just… never thought I’d actually get the girl.”

“I thought I’d never get the girl,” you chuckle softly as you lean in to kiss her again. “Holy shit.”

“Just wait until you can see what else I can do,” the redhead smirks.

You end up spending the day with Melissa. It’s warm, it’s cozy. It’s quite similar to how you would usually spend a day with her outside of school, but there’s more stolen kisses, more hand holding, arms wrapped around your waist as you cook lunch and dinner together.

“So,” you hum out quietly as you sit next to her for dinner today. “I do think we should talk about what… this… is.” You gesture between the two of you.

“I don’t want no fling,” the redhead tells you. “I want you. And if that’s something that you can’t handle, then I think we need to call it-”

You stop her with a kiss. When you pull back you roll your eyes at her. “Melissa Schemmenti, I haven’t even been on a date since I started working at Abbott because the only person I can think about is you. I don’t want a fling either. I want you. I want this.”

She nods with that starry smile of hers. It dims a few seconds later though. “Do you think… think we can just keep this under wraps for a little bit? Like, at least with the work group?”

“You aren’t going to tell Barb?” you chuckle.

Melissa shrugs. “She’ll find out in her own time… probably when I drag you along to one of our brunches over the summer.”

You end up calling your father on the car ride home from your now girlfriend’s house.

“Kid?” your dad picks up. “Hey, I was expecting your call a little earlier than this. Is everything okay?”

“I’m good,” you sigh softly. “Sorry. I was just spending time with my girlfriend.”

You can hear your mother gasp in the background. “Girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend,” you confirm.

You can practically see smile on both of their faces. “Oh, how wonderful.”

“When do we get to meet her?” your mom asks loudly. You can faintly hear your father telling her that she doesn’t need to scream into the phone to be heard.

“I’m sure she’ll make an appearance sooner or later,” you laugh. “We are keeping it quiet for the time being, but… you’ll meet her over the summer.”

Your girlfriend ends up accompanying you to the family fourth of July picnic. As you could’ve guessed, your parents absolutely adore her. She’s the perfect amount of charming while also maintaining that mysterious and sarcastic aura around her. She’s great with your younger cousins, and also their parents. Quite a few of your family members end up pulling you aside to tell you that if you let her go, they’re taking her side in the matter. You just reply with the same thing each time: an eye roll and the statement, “I’m not planning on letting her go.”

The rest of July, you spend a lot of time down at the shore. Melissa and her ex-husband have a time share, and your now girlfriend prefers to use it during July while he would rather have June. It’s convenient the way that all worked itself out. You don’t think you’ve eaten so many curly fries in vinegar before this summer.

July passes by quickly, soaking in the sun, taking in the views (of your girlfriend in her bathing suit), resting and relaxing. And then August creeps up on you, and it’s about time for the two of you to begin thinking about going back to school.

“So we’re still keeping it on the down low?” you ask gently as you crawl into bed the night before professional development starts.

“I think so,” the redhead shrugs. “I like this little bubble that we’re in- don’t you?”

You smile and kiss her warmly. “I do.”

“An’,” your girlfriend shrugs again. “If they find out, they find out. Ain’t like we hiding it like Janine and Gregory.”

“I still can’t believe we saw them at the park last week and they didn’t see us,” you chuckle out.

You somehow manage to make it through the week of professional development, and your kids are starting back up before you know it. You’re down the hall in the classroom next to Gregory’s, and Melissa is right across from Janine. It’s a nice little square that the four of your classrooms make. And it’s funny as hell to both you and your girlfriend how obvious they’re being, and yet they somehow still think they’re so subtle.

You, Barbara, Ava, and Melissa all get pulled to do a talking head for one of the camera men. He asks what you think is going on between Janine and Gregory.

“We all know,” the four of you state at once. The four of you continue on to state that you have no idea how they could even think that they’re hiding their relationship- what dumb asses. The four of you aren’t dumb either, but none of you really care. Well, aside from Ava who thinks that it’s an insult to her intelligence. 

The four of you go to leave the hall from your interview, only for the camera crew to keep Barbara behind. Ava tosses her hair and saunters off while you and your girlfriend just smile at each other before parting ways.

“Are there any other changes that you’ve noticed over the summer?” he asks the kindergarten teacher.

Barb glances around to make sure no one is listening before leaning in just slightly. “Melissa and Y/N? Ooh, they are playing the same game that Gregory and Janine are. And I have a feeling… Gregory and Janine aren’t the only two who got it together that night at the end of the year party. Hmm.” She points to the two of you- you leaning against Melissa’s doorframe.

The camera quickly pans over to the two of you, and you don’t know it… but you and your girlfriend are just as bad as your counterparts. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[omgfangirlland]

I've been reading about supernatural reader having a toddler with Dean. And I propose that her and Dean a child, though magic like supernatural reader, can't have a baby naturally for one reason or another so her and Dean make a baby using magic. I feel like it would add another layer to Anxious Dad Dean

(I'm assuming this is all one anon, and I didn't read this through, so sorry for any mistakes)

I'm such a big fan of neglected reader or just batsis in general looking like Martha y'all don't even know- I also have to get this out of my brain before I continue answering:

Reader: I'll get you a baby.

Dean, thinking this is some next level flirting and is shocked you spoke it with Sammy around: *stumbles in incoming traffic*

And the alternative:

Reader: I'll get YOU pregnant.

Dean: Promise?

I can get behind this-

So I have two thoughts- "amazonian" baby girl made from clay and "demon" baby boy gifted by Crowley with a hellhound as a bonus protector.

What I'm saying is twins. I have settled on twins.

The thought would start with Dean cuddling you in bed or on a couch, slightly drunk, after running around with the baby of the family y'all saved that day. Maybe a little jab from you along the lines of him looking nice with a baby on his hip, and him just straight up saying he'd love to have a baby with you, maybe five and a big wedding- "And one of those ugly dogs that the kids will get mad at me for calling it ugly".

And while he falls asleep with no worries, it keeps you awake.

Thinking it through- it was a nice thought. Having a family, a loving one and proving to both of your fathers that you can do so much better. But that was a conversation to happen while sober.

And it definitely happened when Bobby and Crowley were present, and whether they thought it'll be a nice gift or whether they wanted their kids happy (You can't get Dad!Bobby even from my cold dead hands, and I also think Crowley would get attached to you purely because of the zero filter you have) they get their kids a kid-

Well, a kid each. They both thought they had an original idea, alas, they did not. Bobby pulled out an old magic book of Amazonian rituals, and Crowley finally cashes in a "first born" contract and takes a pup so the kid(s) will be protected whenever and wherever.

Now- Dean didn't cry- but he was teary the whole time he held the two(and hissed at Sam when he tried to take one of the kids, honestly, he barely let you hold them, the compromise was you sitting on his lap and holding the kids while he had you three wrapped in his arms). You both were terrified.

Mainly due to the fear of turning into your fathers, but also- you now had two little creatures who despite not needing to be as baby proofed as a human baby, were still fragile little things that needed the best- Sam wasn't sure where all the money came for but when he asked you just smile and said vengeance(Crowley stole a few cards from Bruce and gave one to you).

You, after Dean handed you a blanket: No. Texture is nasty.

Dean, throwing the blanket at Sam who was pulling two carts filled with toys, clothes, 30 different types of baby food and formula milk, dog stuff, and books for the baby and parenting tips for both of you: The texture is nasty, Sammy, we need something better!

Sammy, tired from Dean's constant doubting of everything and anything in this store: I will teach your kids to bite you- (he did teach the kids to bite Dean on command and to give you kisses on another command)

----

Dean, face scrunched as he tastes all the baby food they got: Who thought green beans mixed with banana is a good baby flavor?... Who thought apple, squash and zucchini is?!

You, mixing something in a bowl: Banana and biscuits mush. Very good for adults too. (to this day I eat this, it's such a good munch but fair warning- it can be a texture nightmare for some)

----

You're a more relaxed parent, but you hold the kids more, while Dean takes the "check on the babies every hour to make sure they're breathing" type of parenting- helicopter dad? idk man is stressed and worried 24/7- He chills once they enter toddler stage, but his eyes are always on them to make sure they don't smash their heads against the floor (he's thought a few times during the walking stage to just put the rascals in helmets and rugby padding)

I, personally, would think Morgana or Cersei would be amazing for the baby girl and while I'd itch to name the kid after a prince of hell, I fear Dean would be too superstitious about it- so Lucian, Acheron or Anwir would be something he better agrees with.

Now, the kids are both mischievous once they start walking and talking- not in the brat type of way, but in the trickster "mom said only a cookie but if we entertain dad or uncle Sammy enough we can manipulate them into giving us seconds" type of way. And while the baby girl is the planner of the mischief, the baby boy is the emotional manipulator aka the one who lies better(I also think the boy took after you, quiet and looking more like the Wayne part of the fam but with Dean's eyes while the girl is Dean with your eyes.)

The quote marks around the amazonian and demon are there for a reason- they're not exactly that, but show signs of powers/inclinations. The baby girl has better reflexes than either of you and is more resilient but not to the point WW and Donna are, and the baby boy is more supernatural inclined, senses/sees ghosts and demons in their true forms, is allergic to holy water but not to the point it burns, just a mild itch.

So, coming back to Bruce and his parents seeing the babies, Like I said, Bruce would pass out seeing you with one kid, two of them? Heart failure. Add to that that you look like Martha when the light hits you one way(and he has flashbacks to when his mom died) while looking like his ex wife when the light hits the other way- and little toddler man looks eerily like him- the man is not okay. And the poor baby girl looking like the jobless, national terrorist you found in a ditch(his thoughts not mine)- but that's fine grandpa Bruce is in business- What do you mean you don't want him in your babies lives?

Yeah, he's delusional, not even a bit, straight up thinks he can tell you to leave Dean and you will come back and live here with the kids. Remember when I said Sam will throw hands? Dean will jump across the coffee table before he can. (Martha is cheering him on, but shh. Thomas is just too busy cooing at the young kids to care)

It hurt more coming from you than if the men(he refuses to acknowledge either Sam or Dean) were to call him a deadbeat who could barely be called a sperm donor.

Dick will have an existential crisis with Jason because now they're officially old™️and have niblins, and I think the info will break Damian in the Damian.exe has stopped working way, lil man just can't process that he's an uncle. The rest won't really be affected beyond being sad that they can't see them irl, just in the video the cameras captured.

Bruce in a moment of stupidity would probably try to go the cps route but like- he doesn't know where the fuck you're at, and John C. sure as hell ain't telling him- "Nope, not fucking with people protected by Angels and Demons, you bellend. Lie in the bed you made."

The whole fam learns that what the police records say isn't the full truth, but they still don't deem the Winchesters as good people to be around- and Bruce is really only raising his tension by watching the few CCTV records of Dean slow dancing with you to some old rock music while Sam naps in the booth with the babies, kissing you like you're the most important person in his life- like even then he was mocking Bruce.

Peepaw Crowley starts fucking with the family when he finds out the shit they tried to pull by hitting where he knows they'd be the most inconvenienced at- the businesses, both vigilante and day business.

[firewasabeast]

ooooh. A prompt. Maybe Tommy could use some TLC. Some hurt/comfort?

tags: mentions of past physical and verbal abuse, also first I love you's

Just take those old records off the shelf, I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself

It was a little bit jarring when he first heard it. He'd been coming to this bar for years now and this song had never played before.

Today's music ain't got the same soul, I like that old time rock 'n' roll

He could already feel a thin layer of sweat above his lip. His hands were clammy almost instantly. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.

And he was stuck in the booth, wedged between Buck and Chimney. Everyone was there. Hen, Karen, Bobby, Athena, Maddie, Eddie, Ravi. They were all celebrating Bobby getting reinstated as captain of the 118.

Don't try to take me to a disco, you'll never even get me out on the floor

He needed to get up. It was too hot. Buck was right up against his side, hand on his thigh, and if he moved closer to Chimney they'd practically hit second base.

In ten minutes I'll be late for the door, I like that old time rock 'n' roll

“Need'a gotothe bathroom,” Tommy mumbled out in whisper to Buck. He wasn't drunk. They'd only been there half an hour and he had just finished his first beer. But the song was completely throwing him off.

Still like that old time rock 'n' roll, that kind of music just soothes the soul

Buck looked at him, confused, squeezed his thigh in a way that would usually be sweet but right now felt like too much. “What?” he asked, leaning in closer.

“Bathroom,” he repeated, clearer this time.

I reminisce about the days of old, with that old time rock 'n' roll

“Oh, okay.” Buck scooted out of the booth and Tommy managed to get out without banging his knees on the table. “You okay?” Buck asked, reaching down for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “You're pale.”

He felt like throwing up. Tommy unwrapped his hand from Buck far too quickly for him to not suspect anything, he knew that, but he couldn't help it right now. “Fine,” he managed with a forced smile.

Won't go to hear 'em play a tango, I'd rather hear some blues or funky old soul

He headed for the bathroom, but took a left instead of a right, opting to head outside instead.

Buck glanced back at everyone at the table, who all looked confused. Tommy's abrupt shift in mood was impossible not to notice.

“I'm guessing he knows he didn't just go to the bathroom?” Eddie questioned.

Buck sighed, tossed a few dollars on the table. “I'm gonna go check on him.”

When Buck got outside it took him a minute to spot Tommy. He was a few feet away from the door, swaying slightly from side to side with his hands in his pockets, staring out into the parking lot.

Buck walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, retracting it quickly when Tommy jumped at the touch.

“Sorry,” Buck said, startled.

Tommy closed his eyes once he saw it was Buck, letting out a deep breath. “No, Evan, I... Sorry, I was in my own world.”

“S'okay. Are you okay?”

Tommy let out a humorless laugh, his gaze falling down to his feet as he kicked at some rocks with his shoe. “Um, I'm a little embarrassed, actually,” he admitted.

“What for?”

“The song playing in there,” he said, turning back toward the bar, “it reminded me of a... a not so great memory.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

His eyes met Evan's and all he could see was concern. Tommy knew he wasn't asking because he felt like he had to, or because he thought it was what Tommy expected of him. He was asking because he was genuinely worried, and wanted to be there for him.

“You wanna go sit in the back of my truck?” Tommy asked. He could still hear a slight beat from music inside the bar and, while he was sure they weren't still playing that same song, it's the only thing he could think about when he heard any music at all.

Buck nodded. “Yeah, let's go.”

When they got to the truck, Tommy lowered the tailgate and they both hopped up, their legs dangling over the edge.

Buck stared up at the sky, stars a little more visible in their location than anywhere else in Los Angeles. He waited for Tommy to speak, not wanting to pressure him.

The feeling of Tommy's hand slipping into his brought his attention back to Tommy. Their fingers intertwined, but Buck didn't squeeze too hard. He didn't want to scare him again.

“I haven't really ever told you very much about my dad, have I?”

“Little pieces here and there,” Buck replied. “You said a few months back that he was a lot like Gerrard, and mentioned you haven't spoken to him in ten years.”

Tommy nodded. “Both things are true. He was... There was more to him than that though. He was not a good man, Evan. He'd go to church every time the doors were open, smile on his face, mom and me by his side. The perfect family. That's what everyone told us anyway.”

He scooted closer to Buck, placing their hands on his thigh. He took his free hand and rubbed it gently over Buck's knuckles, finding comfort in his boyfriend's touch. “Then we'd get home, and lunch or dinner wouldn't be ready on time, or the roast would be overcooked, or he saw me yawn during the service, or he thought mom smiled at the youth pastor for too long and-” Tommy's voice broke as he spoke. He cleared his throat, trying to keep it together.

All Buck wanted to do was wrap him up tight and make all his pain disappear.

“-and God, Evan, he'd get so angry. He'd get out his records and we knew, if he played one specific song, one of us was about to get it.”

It all clicked. “The song in the bar."

Tommy nodded. “The song in the bar.”

“Would he,” Buck paused, choosing his words carefully. “Did he hit you?”

“Not with his hands,” Tommy replied, “and never on the face. But he was a big believer in 'spare the rod, spoil the child'. He liked to use his belt.” He felt a phantom pain on his back, from lashes so painful he'd have to lean forward the whole time during the next church service. How it would hurt to sit down at school, often for days. How the belt would sometimes whack against his thigh and he'd have to wear pants for PE, even during the hottest months of the year, just so his shorts wouldn't ride up and someone see the marks. “It wasn't just physical stuff though,” Tommy added. “The things he'd say were worse, somehow. He'd call my mom every name in the book, shout slurs at me before I even thought I was gay. Tell us how worthless we were. Stuff like that. Then, by the next service, there were were, front and center. The perfect family.”

“Tommy, I- I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry you went through that.”

“I'm okay,” he said, then huffed out a laugh, “except when I hear that song, apparently.”

“Triggers are funny like that, aren't they?”

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “a real hoot.”

Buck let go of Tommy's hand just long enough to wrap his arms around him, letting Tommy rest his head on his shoulder. Buck pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Why don't we go to my place?” he suggested. “Put on a movie, eat a pint of ice cream.”

“We're supposed to be celebrating tonight, Evan.”

“We will be celebrating,” Buck assured him. “We'll be celebrating survival. Celebrating us. Celebrating, I don't know,” he laughed, “we'll think of something.”

Tommy raised his head just enough to look into Buck's eyes. “Love?”

Buck stared back, a smile growing on his face. “Love. Yeah, that, um, that sounds perfect.”

“Okay,” Tommy relented easily. He didn't feel like going back inside anyway. “You sure you don't wanna go back in? You can get a ride home with Eddie.”

“Tommy, I want to be with you. Everyone in there will understand. I'll send Eddie a text, tell him we're headed out. You pick the movie.”

They untangled themselves from each other so Buck could get his phone.

Tommy thought for a moment. “The Notebook, maybe? I feel like crying.”

He'd never been in a relationship before where he could admit something like that. Admit that sometimes he wanted to cry, needed to cry, and a movie could help him with that.

Evan was different though. Evan was safety. Evan was a person Tommy could talk to about anything, and never feel judgement.

“The Notebook is perfect. I'll order ice cream to be delivered while we're on the way.”

They got off the back of the truck and Tommy raised the tailgate. Before Buck could head for the passenger seat, Tommy placed a hand on his hip, spinning Buck back in his direction.

“I really do love you, Evan,” he said, his thumbs stroking at Buck's hipbone.

Buck reached up and rested his hands at the nape of Tommy's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “I really do love you too, Tommy.”

As they got into the truck, Buck made a mental note to contact the bar tomorrow and ask them to change their playlist.

[babygirl-diaz]

*Everyone talking to the camera in Modern Family style at the Buddie wedding* Cameraperson: How did you like walking your dad down the aisle? Chris: It was fun! I am so happy he let me do that. *tearing up* Buck is going to make him so happy and love him unconditionally and I love that for him. Maddie: Buck is so happy. Eddie just makes him so happy. They're made for each other. Chimney: I didn't even know what was going on until 6 years later. Wait, who am I kidding? I still don't know what's going on. Buck and Eddie. They're really getting married, huh? Hen: I knew they were gonna bang the moment I saw Eddie. Karen owes me 50 bucks. Karen: Hen said what? She's the one who ME 50 bucks. The moment she told me how Buck was trying to mark his territory and keep Eddie away, I told her, those two are going to bang. Ravi, slightly drunk: I think they're sooo... cute together. They'll live happily ever after. I so don't have a crush on Eddie. Cameraperson: What? Ravi: What? Lucy: I still don't know why they invited me. But I'm glad they did. Have you SEEN all the hot women here? Especially Athena. I don't think I'm ever getting over her. Athena: Those two better treat each other right. Or they'll be hearing from me and I don't think they're going to like that. Also, you might not want to get my husband talking about Buck and Eddie Bobby: So I masterminded the whole thing Cameraperson: What? What do you mean? Bobby: I knew Buck was lonely after Abby left. Cameraperson: Who's Abby? Bobby: She's not important. Anyway, back to #Buddie. So it all started when I recruited Eddie into our firehouse- Cameraperson, moves onto Jee: Do you have a message for Buck and Eddie? Jee Yun: Bobby: I wasn't finished! Cameraperson: Did you just steal the spotlight from a 3-year-old? Bobby: As I was SAYING, I fought for Eddie to come to our firehouse because I knew he was perfect for my son. Cameraperson: But Buck isn't your son. Bobby, glaring at the camera: This interview is over. Cameraperson: But- Jee Yun: Uncle Buck loves Uncle Eddie!

[tazofthehollow]

american money

chapter 1: a ghost in the house.

summary: bobby singer was a lot of things, but no one expected him to be a father. after his wife passed he finds himself raising his little girl alone. Y/n Singer. the day the Winchesters show up unexpectedly, is the day things change forever.

warnings: (character death mentioned, Karen bobby’s wife), no smut, yearning, story starts as you & dean are children, alcohol & tobacco use. (i’m sure there’s more just lmk)

the Singer Salvage yard sat on the edge of Sioux falls, a spiraling maze of rusted cars, forgotten engines, & the occasional stray cat. it was the kind of place most locals avoided unless they needed a specific part that they could only come to Bobby Singer for. most knew him as the town drunk, the guy who’s stumble into the sheriffs drunk tank more times than anyone could ever count back in the day.

but for hunters, bobby was something else entirely. his house was a way point, you knew this. you grew up knowing this. his phone was always ringing off the hook with desperate calls for his advice. most people thought he was just a cranky ol’ drunk redneck, but in the hunting world. Bobby Singer was a fuckin legend.

but that definitely didn’t stop any of the whispers in town, especially when they found out he was harboring a daughter.

-

the screen door slammed shut, jarring the door frame behind the one & only Bobby Singer as he staggered into the kitchen. his arms weighed down by a sack of groceries & a 6 pack of beer. the clink of the bottles echoed through the quiet house. he paused, staring at the faint light coming from under your door.

“you planning on coming out anytime soon or am i raising a damn hermit?” he called out, his voice rough but teasing.

silence.

Bobby sighed & sat the groceries down on the counter, trudging his way up the stairs to your door. “June bug” he said again, softer this time “i know you’re awake”

there was a quite shuffle behind your door, & it slowly creaked open. the hinges prying & withering from how the house aged. your door cracked enough for a wild head of hair to peek out. eleven year old you eyed your father suspiciously “you didn’t forget the peanut butter this time, did you?”

bobby grunted, turning to the kitchen & grabbing the sack of groceries. he slowly returns holding the jar up like a trophy. “one smooth, extra-large jar of peanut butter. happy now kiddo?”

your door opened a bit wider, the hinges creaking a bit more as you shuffled out. you were smaller for your age, but your sharp eyes & the grease stains lining your nail beds made you seem years older. “thanks” you muttered, snatching the jar & turning to retrieve back to your room.

“hey!” bobby barked, & you froze mid step. “you’re not holding up in there all night. suppers in an hour. & you’re helping.”

“helping with what daddio?” you challenged, turning around.

“with cooking kid. you can’t live on peanut butter sandwiches & ramen for forever ya know?”

you wrinkled your nose but decided against arguing. bobby watched you retreat back in your room, the door closing softly this time. he sighed again as he ran a hand down his face. raising a kid alone was never in his cards, karen was supposed to be here. she wasn’t supposed to die. hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was doing this whole “parenting thing” right. but you were his, the only part of Karen he had left & he knew you were her pride & joy. he refused to let either of his girls down, ever again.

-

an hour later, you stood on a stool beside bobby, stirring a pot of chili with a concentration that made you look like you were defusing a bomb.

“not so fast” bobby said, watching you. “you’re gunna splash it everywhere junebug”

“i know what im doing daddy” you shot back as you slowed your movements

“sure you do” he muttered. “that’s why the last time you tried this, we ended up with chili on the ceiling”

you shot your eyes up, sure enough there was the big red stain above the stove. the aftermaths of the horrific chili incident from last year. a smirked crossed your face, a rare flash of mischief that bobby hasn’t seen in a long time.

“you’re just mad because it was better than yours old man”

bobby snorted “yeah yeah you keep telling yourself that”

you ate at a small kitchen table, one that adorns all your favorite memories. the one that used to be filled with so much love & laughter. your mothers pies would rest peacefully & deliciously in the middle of the table, she’d often swat at both you & your dad when your curious fingers went digging. but now? the only sound was the clinking of spoons against bowls. it was a routine youd both had set in the last year. no matter how hard the day was you always had dinner together. it was quiet, it was comfortable. maybe that’s why you had the courage to ask

“can i come with you next time?” you asked, breaking the fragile silence.

bobby looked up from his bowl, his brow furrowed. “come where?”

“on a hunt.” your tone was casual, or as casual as you could make it seem. the determination flickering in your eyes is what caught bobby off guard. you never asked this before.

bobby sat his spoon down, “absolutely not”

“why not?” you demanded.

“because it’s dangerous, you think i wanna lose you too?” the words came out harsher than he ever intended, & he saw you flinch.

“i’m not a kid anymore dad.” you argued, your voice softer now.

“you’re eleven”

“i can handle it” you insisted.

bobby leaned back in his chair, the legs scrapped the old worn wood floors as he ran a hand through his hair. he said your name, trying to keep his tone even “you don’t know what you’re asking me for kid. hunting ain’t like fixing cars or sneaking into the garage to read my old books. it’s blood, it’s danger. things you can’t ever take back. i don’t want that life for you.”

“but it’s your life daddy.” you said, your voice softer small.

bobby looked up to you, his eyes piercing you. he was looking at you, really looking at you & for a moment he seen your mother in your eyes. stubborn, brave, & too damn smart for your own good. he sighed, the fight leaving him.

“finish your chili” he said gruffly. “& don’t bring this up again”

-

that night, you laid in your bed wide awake. starting at the ceiling, you could hear the faint clink of bottles as your dad cracked open another beer downstairs. you knew he was trying to protect you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you were meant for more. so much more.

turning on your side, you reached for the flashlight under your pillow & flicked it on. the beam illuminating one of bobby’s old hunting journals. you’d stolen it from his office weeks ago, & every night you pored over the pages. reading about ghosts, wendigos, demons, & the men & women who fought them.

you traced your fingers over a sketch of a salt circle, your mind racing. if your dad wasn’t going to teach you, you’d just teach yourself

-

“morning bobby” sheriff mills said, tipping her hat as she leaned against her patrol car.

“sheriff” bobby grunted, adjusting the brim of his cap as he hoisted a box of supplies from his truck.

“you hear what folks been saying bout you?” she asked, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“probably nothing i ain’t heard before” bobby replied gruffly, not looking up from the box

she chuckled, a deep belly chuckle “half the town thinks you’ve got a kid locked up in that house of yours. other half thinks she’s a ghost”

bobby froze for a second, tearing his gaze from the box to Jody. he slowly shook his head “them damn people need to mind their own business”

“can’t blame em for wondering, no one’s seen her in years”

“she’s fine” bobby said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “& i ain’t explaining myself to a bunch of busy bodies”

Sheriff mills held up her hands in mock defense “didn’t say you had too Singer, just thought you’d wanna know is all”

bobby watched her go, a sour feeling settling in his stomach. a knot forming in hit throat, he never cared what people thought of him. but you? you never deserved this. on his drive home, he thought a lot about the life he was giving you. was he doing enough? was he a good father? he even found every doubt of worry wash away as he pulled into the driveway & seen you fast at work under the hood of his latest project car, a smile pried at his face when you held up a hand waving at him

-

later that afternoon, bobby was under the hood of the project car with you. he had just sent you inside for some drinks when he heard the familiar rumble of a car pulling into the yard. he glanced up, wiping his hands on an oil rag, & froze dead in his tracks when he caught sight of the black chevy impala.

“son of a bitch” he muttered, setting the rag down.

the car door opened, & john winchester stepped out, his boys trailing behind him. dean, maybe thirteen, was already wearing his cocky smirk. while nine year old sam looked around the yard with wide eyes.

“bobby!” john called out, spreading his arms wide like they were old friends.

“what the hell are you doing here john?” bobby asked, walking over.

“need a place to leave the boys for a couple days. got a hunt nearby, & i can’t take em with me”

bobby crossed his arms, glaring at him. “i ain’t a damn babysitter”

“they’re not babies” john argued. “dean can handle himself & sam- well, he’s sam. you know how he is”

“i know how you are” bobby shot back.

john sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “look, i wouldn’t ask if i had another option. just a couple days, bobby. that’s all i need”

bobby glanced at the boys. dean was standing protectively in front of sam, his eyes darting between his dad & bobby. sam, meanwhile was clutching a work book to his chest, looking like he’d rather be swallowed up by the world.

“fine” bobby said begrudgingly “but you owe me winchester.”

john grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “knew i could count on you”

as they approached the house, bobby set his hat on the counter & gestured for the boys to sit.

“house rules” he said, crossing his arms. “you touch my books, you ask first. you mess with my tools, you clean up after yourselves. & you stay outta trouble. got it?”

dean nodded, his smirk returning “got it”

sam, still clutching his book, shrunk under bobby’s gaze but offered a small nod.

“& don’t bother june” bobby added, glancing up the stairs.

“june?” dean asked, raising his eyebrow.

bobby said your name softly, “my daughter” his tone daring them to make a comment.

deans smirked widened. “didn’t know you had a daughter”

“don’t make me regret letting you stay here, boy” bobby growled.

-

inside, you were grabbing a glass of juice & a beer for your dad when you heard loud gruff voices. you recognized one as your dad, the other you were certain you’d never heard before. that’s how you found yourself in your bedroom, peeking out from your bedroom window, watching the scene unfold. you’d heard stories about john winchester— mostly from the times her dad was cursing him out on the phone— but you never could put a face to the name.

you watched as john drove off, leaving the two boys behind. the taller one said something to bobby, & the old man barked a laugh before leading them inside. you ducked away from the window & scrambled to make yourself presentable. wiping your hands on your oil stained jeans & shoving a huge pile of books under your bed.

there was a knock on your door not long after.

“june bug” bobby said, his voice muffled “got some company. get out here”

taking a deep breath, you opened the door & stepped out into the hallway.

“woah” dean said the second he saw you. “you’re real?”

you blinked at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

dean grinned. “dad told us bobby had a kid but we thought you were just an urban legend or something”

“i’m not a kid” you said, crossing your arms.

“you’re younger than me” dean countered.

“doesn’t mean i’m a kid”

“alright knock it off” bobby interrupted, his tone gruff. he introduced you, saying your name “this is Dean & Sam. they’ll be staying with us for a few days. now that introductions are over with, show them where they’re sleeping june. also you two” he said as he pointed to sam & dean- “stay outta her room”

dean held his hands up “no problem, bobby”

“smart ass” bobby murmured under his breath as he walked down the stairs

your eyes flicked to sams, who was staring at the floor. “hi” he mumbled

“hi” you said back, softening a little.

“you kids get along” bobby said already heading for the kitchen, “& stay outta trouble”

-

you led the boys down the hall to a small guest room with two twin beds adorning it, a small dresser with a smaller tv sat infront of the two beds, one side table rested between them. there was a pink rug that used to be in your room, now pushed in the middle of the floor.

“this is it” you said, gesturing inside.

dean dropped his bag on one of the beds as he flopped down. “not bad”

sam stood awkwardly near the door, holding his bag like he wasn’t sure where exactly to put it, or himself.

“you can take that one” you said, pointing to the open bed on the far side of the room.

“thanks” he mumbled, setting his bag down carefully.

dean looked around the room, then back to you “so, what do you do around here for fun?”

you raised an eyebrow “fun?”

“yeah ya know, like normal people stuff”

you snorted, “this is the Singer household. ain’t no such thing as normal”

sam smiled a bit, dean chuckled “fair enough”

“dinners at six” you said leading yourself back down the hall to your bedroom, “try not to break anything before then”

-

that night, after a supper filled with awkward silences & a lot of side eyes from dean, you were sitting on the front porch steps leaning against the railing, staring out at the stars. they were sprinkled across the sky like salt spilled on dark velvet. the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of oil & rust from the yard. you heard the creak of the door behind you & glanced back to see sam stepping out, his worn book tucked under his arm.

“couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

sam shook his head, hesitating but deciding to sit down on the step beside you. “deans snoring”

you smirked, turning to face sam. “yeah my dad snores like a freight train. you get used to it”

sam nodded, his grip on the book tightening “your dad… he’s, uh, kinda scary.”

that made you laugh— a short, sharp sound. “yeah he’s good at that. but he’s not so bad once you get to know him. just don’t touch his books or his tools without asking”

sam looked down at his book, tracing the edge of the cover with his thumb “he seems.. i don’t know. different from my dad”

your gaze softened, “yeah? how’s your dad?”

sam shrugged, his shoulders hunching slightly. “strict. always busy with hunts. he doesn’t talk much about—“ he paused, like he wasn’t really sure if he should say anything more. “about anything, really”

you pulled your arms up to rest on your knees “my dads the same. i mean, he talks, but mostly it’s just grumbling bout how im not doing something right.”

sam smiled faintly. “at least you get to stay here. you know, one place. we’re always moving. dean says it’s fine.. but i don’t know”

you tilted your head, watching him “you don’t like it do you?”.

sam shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes. “it’s hard to make friends, & just when you start to like the place you leave. dean says it’s better this way but…”

“but it sucks” you finish for him

“yeah” he admitted.

you sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the salvage yard humming around you. you could hear the faint croak of crickets & the occasional rustle of a cat weaving through cars.

“what’s that your reading?” you asked, nodding towards the book in his lap.

sam perked up slightly, he held it out “it’s about mythology. greek gods & stuff. i’ve read it a bunch of times but i always find something new”

you grinned “you’re a nerd”

sam’s face turned red, as he ducked his head. “i guess”

“relax, i didn’t mean it as an insult” you said, nudging him with your shoulder. “i like books too. not the mythology ones though, im more into the hunting ones. lore & spells & stuff”

“like your dads books?”

“yeah” you said, your voice dropping a bit. “he doesn’t know i read them, but i’ve learned a lot. salt circles, sigils, how to banish spirits. that kind of thing”

sam’s eyes lit up, “really? that’s so cool”

“don’t tell my dad” you warned

“i won’t” sam promised

you share a small smile before you turned your gaze back to the stars.

“you’ll be okay, you know” you said after awhile.

“what do you mean?” sam asked

“your dad. hunting. all of it. you’re tough, i can tell sammy”

sam looked at you, surprised “thanks junie.”

you shrugged, smiling at the nickname as you stood & brushed the dirt off your jeans. “don’t mention it, now come on. if dean wakes up & finds out we’re our here bonding, he’ll never let us hear the end of it”

sam laughed, the sound so soft but so genuine. god don’t let your daddy hear it but maybe it isn’t so bad, hanging around the winchesters.

-

the next morning, the smell of bacon & eggs filled the house. you stood at the stove, flipping strips of bacon with a practiced hand. you loved cooking breakfast, one of the only memories you’ve held onto all these years of your mother is how you used to cook breakfast with her every morning for your father, you even continued or (tried to continue) after she was gone.

dean wandered into the kitchen, still half-asleep his hair sticking in all different directions.

“is that bacon?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“yeah” you said smirking, “& no you’re not getting any until sam gets up”

dean groaned, slumping into his chair at the table “he’s probably just reading again. kid never stops”

“maybe you should try it” you teased.

dean rolled his eyes “why read when you can just be awesome?”

“awesome at what? snoring”

dean smirked “funny”

sam appeared, a moment later. his book under his arm as usual, you handed him a plate & he smiled shyly

“thanks”

dean looked at his plate, then back to you. “you’re alright, you know?”

“don’t get used too it” you shot back, sitting down with your own plate.

-

after breakfast, bobby led dean to the garage & handed him a wrench. he nodded toward an old chevy. “if you’re staying here, you’re working. get under that hood & make yourself useful”

dean grinned “yes, sir”

you watched as dean dove into the task, his confidence clear. “he thinks he’s hot stuff, doesn’t he?” you muttered to sam

“always” sam replied, rolling his eyes.

you laughed & grabbed a rag, “cmon let’s see if he knows what he’s doing.”

the morning passed with the three of you working in the yard, the occasional sound of you & dean bickering breaking the peaceful quiet. sam stayed silent mostly, but every now & then you’d catch him wearing a smile

as the sun blazed overhead you stood under the hood of a car later that afternoon, wiping sweat from your brow. you were working on one of bobby’s personal vehicles, muttering to yourself as you tightened a particularly stubborn bolt.

“need a hand?”

you glanced up to see dean, leaning casually against the side of the truck. his trademark smirk firmly in place.

“i’ve got it” you replied, going back to your work

“are you sure?” dean teased, leaning a little closer “looks like you’re struggling”

you rolled your eyes. “i’m not struggling. i just don’t need some wannabe mechanic messing up my work”

dean chuckled, unfazed. “wannabe? sweetheart, i’ve been fixing cars since i could walk”

“good for you” you shot bavk, refusing to look at him.

deans grin widened as he walked around to your side of the truck. “alrighty then. i’ll just stand here & admire the view”

you froze for a split second before glaring at him “the view?”

he nodded, clearly enjoying himself & the reaction he was getting from you. “yep. the salvage yard is real scenic from this angle”

you snorted, shaking your head “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah but you like it” dean quipped, his eyes glinting.

“keep dreaming winchester.” you replied, though you couldn’t help the faintest twitch of a smile

-

that evening, you found sam sitting on the front porch steps again, his book open on his lap. this time though, he wasn’t reading; he was staring out at the darkening yard, lost in thought.

“hey” you said gently, stepping outside & finding a spot beside him

“hey” sam replied; his voice quiet.

“what’s up?” you asked, pulling your knees to your chest

sam hesitated, then closed his book & set it aside. the old wooden porch boards cradling the worn leather. “do you ever feel like… maybe.. you don’t belong?”

you blinked, completely caught off guard. “sometimes.” you admitted, “why?”

sam sighed, running his small hands over his face. “i just… i don’t want this life. the hunting. the moving around. dean loves it, dad expects it, but me? i just want something different.”

you tilted your head, watching him carefully. afraid if you even let out a breath to heavy sam will start pushing his protective layer back over himself.

“like what sammy?”

“i don’t know” sam said, his voice tinged with frustration. “a normal life i guess. stability. college. friends. ya know?”

“sounds nice” you offered softly

sam looked at you like you had 4 heads & 3 of them were on fire as he spoke “you think so?”

“yeah” you said with a small shrug, “but normals not really an option for people like us, is it?”

sam frowned, his shoulders sagging “i wish it was”

you placed a hand on his arm, giving him a gentle supportive squeeze. “but hey, if anyone can find a way out it’s you. you’re real smart. you’ll figure it out”

sam’s lips twitched into a faint smile “thanks junie”

“anytime” is all you offered, your eyes finding their way back to the familiar stars you’ve come to know so well.

-

by the third day, bobby had warmed up to the boys- though he’d never outright admit it. dean was under the hood of the same chevy, hands covered in grease, while bobby stood nearby, arms crossed as he watched carefully.

“not bad, kid” bobby grunted as dean tightened the last bolt.

dean grinned, wiping his hands on the rag bobby threw him. “coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment”

“don’t let it go to your head” bobby muttered, though there was hint of a smile beneath his gruff tone.

meanwhile, you were helping sam in the library, sorting through some of bobby’s older books.

“your dads not as scary as he looks” sam said as he shelved a worn book.

you chuckled “he definitely grows on you”

sam nodded, his expression thoughtful as he continued shuffling through the books. “dean likes him, he doesn’t say it. but i can tell”

you raised any eyebrow, a bit caught off guard.“really?” you think so?”

“yeah” sam said, smiling faintly. “dean does respect a lot of people, but your dad? he respects him”

you felt warmth in your chest as you heard dean & your dads laughs “good to know”

-

the sound of the impala pulling into the yard came unexpected & unwarranted, john never called & let anyone know when he was coming nor what day. john stepped out of the impala, looking as worn & serious as ever.

“boys” he called out, dean & sam appeared almost instantly with their bags slung over their shoulders.

“thanks for lettin em stay” john said to bobby, his tone gruff but sincere.

“don’t make it a habit” bobby replied, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

john nodded, then turned to his sons. “get in the car.”

dean glanced back to you before climbing into the passenger seat. “see you around june”

“yeah” you said, leaning against the porch railing “see you”

sam gave you a small wave from the backseat, & you returned it. your smiled tinged with sadness

as the impala to life & disappeared down the road, you felt an ache in your chest you couldn’t quite understand.

-

comment to be on my tag list 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Old School

****

Buck didn't know what to say the first time someone asked him. It didn't make any sense - he was in a same-sex relationship, that was the whole point. What did they mean by "which one of you is the woman?"

Casual homophobia wasn't something he had prepared himself for when he and Tommy started dating. He'd braced himself for outright hatred, for angry confrontations, but these casual, almost friendly questions caught him off guard. The comments that people didn't even realize were offensive.

One particular incident was at a badge and ladder bar near the 118. Buck and Tommy had been on opposing shifts and were excited to see each other, so maybe they got a bit zealous with their hellos.

"Which one of you is the chick in bed?" a drunk man in an LAFD hoodie asked, stumbling closer to their table.

Tommy was usually so even-keeled. That's what made his reaction all the more startling to Buck.

"You think it's okay to talk about people's sex lives?" Tommy asked, his voice dangerously calm.

"Sorry, man," the drunk firefighter slurred, "but you guys just don't seem fruity."

"Oh fuck," Buck thought, recognizing the calm before the storm in Tommy's expression.

"Fruity?" Tommy repeated, still maintaining his dangerous calm. "So because I'm not prancing around in a rainbow tutu, I don't fit your narrow view of what a gay man should be?"

"Dude, I'm sorry, it's just weird to me. I like the ladies," the man said, swaying slightly.

"So does he," Tommy said sharply, pointing to Buck. "Sexuality isn't a black and white thing. But you're too drunk to have that conversation, and I'm too annoyed to try."

"Whatever, man," the drunk firefighter said, waving his hand dismissively. "Enjoy making out."

"We will," Tommy replied, pulling Buck into a deep kiss. When they broke apart, he kept his eyes locked on the drunk firefighter. "And we'll enjoy a lot more than that too."

Buck couldn't help but grin, both at Tommy's response and at the man's reddening face. He wrapped an arm around Tommy's waist, pressing closer. "Much more."

The drunk firefighter muttered something under his breath and stumbled away.

"Sorry about him," another man said as he approached their table. "He's not homophobic, he's just an idiot."

Tommy and Buck exchanged a look - they'd heard that before.

"If he's not homophobic, what would you call those comments?" Tommy asked, his earlier calm now edged with frustration.

"He's just old school, you know? Not used to seeing two guys together. Especially not guys like you." The man gestured vaguely at them.

"Guys like us?" Buck's voice was sharp. "You mean firefighters? Or do you mean guys who don't fit your stereotype of what queer men should look like?"

"Look, I didn't mean—"

"No, you did mean," Tommy cut in. "Look, I appreciate you trying to apologize for him, but casual homophobia is still homophobia. And 'old school' isn't an excuse for intolerance. Neither is being drunk."

"Hey, sorry we're late," Bobby called out as he approached with Hen, Chimney, and Eddie. His eyes quickly assessed the tension at the table. "Is there a problem here?"

The other firefighter shifted uncomfortably. "No, no problem. Just heading out," he said, retreating quickly.

"Just some drunk guy making comments about me and Tommy," Buck explained, his jaw still tight. "Then his friend trying to excuse it as him being 'old school.'"

Hen raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess - 'you don't seem gay?'

"Bingo" Tommy deadpanned.

"But apparently it's fine because he's not homophobic, he's just an idiot," Buck finished, mimicking air quotes.

Chimney let out a low whistle. "No wonder it looked tense over here."

"You two sure you're okay?" Bobby asked, studying both of them with concern.

"Yeah, we're fine," Buck replied.

Hen let out a dry laugh. "You should hear how many people refer to me and Karen as 'besties' even after I introduce her as my wife. Like they just can't compute it."

"Tell them about what happened at Harbor last week," Buck said to Tommy, shaking his head.

Tommy rolled his eyes. "One of the guys thought he was hilarious, and called Evan my 'little wife' when he brought me lunch."

"Like bringing food to your partner is somehow a gender role thing," Buck added.

"As if every relationship has to fit into their narrow little box," Hen agreed.

As their friends sat down, the tension slowly eased. The night shifted into something better - trading stories, sharing drinks, laughing together. It wasn't perfect, Buck thought, watching Tommy joke with Eddie about something. These moments of casual prejudice would keep happening. But having people in their corner sure made it easier to handle.

[melancholicstation]

Salvatore can wait, now it's time to eat soft ice cream — bobby f. kennedy

As Jack's wife many may propose your sex life to be exuberant and quite frequent: in reality it's nothing of the sort. After having your beautiful baby-girl Enya, you'd expressed fears and insecurities of being intimate about your new post-baby body with Jack to which he kindly dismissed them telling you that he loved you even more now. While hearing those words from a man you've loved half your life warmed your heart his sentiments fail to quell your fears. However, what sets you free from all your present worries and gives you release is in fact his own brother and your brother in-law: Robert.

taglist: @vile-harlot @dulcegal @rockstarfreddybby @starsprangledgirl @bluelancergirl @hisamericanmuse @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @rocker-chick-7 @reptaysgf @castiellover77 @salvatoresablondie @mckinleygirl98 @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @monturi @darcyspirits @unmarlou @remotewatch @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @fortheloveofjos @strip-weather-forecast @ultr4v1ol3nt @acrowdedstreetin1944

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, postpartum insecurities, possible inaccuracies to do with pregnancy and postpartum as i have never been pregnant before, infidelity, nipple play, desperate catholic man, unprotected sex, drunk sex, fingering, being eaten out, 18+

words: 2,950 words

It was a quiet morning for you. A statement that you could rarely ever leave your mouth truthfully due to your residence being that big egg-shell coloured house located at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington—or how it's more commonly referred to as the White House. But you weren't in the White House, no, you for now were in the land of fado, wine, and poetry: Portugal.

Taking advantage of the barren land in your calendar managed by your assistant spacing between the 21st and the 28th you had decided to go visit your sorority sister, Alma, and her sprawling Lisboa estate 'Quinta da Abrigada'—or at least that's what she'd called it in her letters inviting you to the country house. You'd been initially apprehensive, a cross-country flight with a 6 month old baby seemed to be a recipe for complete and total disaster. Not to mention the press coverage, nit-picking your choices labelling you as an unfit mother, while hailing Jack as the dotting husband and father. Which he was, though that was when he was there which proved to be scarce.

Despite this worry of yours the person who truly convinced you was not Alma herself and her gushing about the residencies sparkling woods and breathing taking views of the Serra do Montejunto. In fact it was your very own tousled hair, chiseled jaw, president of the United States husband: Jack.

Apparently, in his astute opinion, he believed that some time away from the unrelenting US press and the ever thinning tightrope of public opinion would be good for you and the baby. Initially you'd worried that it would be to distressing for your little Enya to be away from her father that much for more than a couple days—you swore that you'd read a dreadful story in women's weekly of a baby forgetting the face of one of their own parent! You retold this story to Jack to which he only chuckled, and delicately cupped your face teasingly tapping the tip of your nose. In response to this he'd told you that once he'd finished up scheduled business in Palm Beach that he'd fly to Lisboa on the SAM 26000 Boeing. That was on the night before the 21st, and after listening to your husband you'd confirmed with Alma that you were in fact coming.

However it was now the 24th and Jack still hadn't shown up, and you were given no indication that he was ever going to.

Your melancholy about your marital situation was intermittently interrupted for a few days by Alma keeping you an incredibly busy working woman. You see, she was trying to convert the Portuguese country home into a fully functioning hotel and a wedding venue—she would never admit it to you or to herself but you had a sneaking suspicion it was a true vanity project in every sense of the word. You'd heard rumblings between European socialites that her Argentinian polo player husband was growing weary of her shopping sprees down at the Avenida da Liberdade and the last straw was a wine-filled rampage of the strip boutiques on Castilho Strett that ended in a bill of over sixty-two thousand euros.

Despite positioning your Portugal stay as a vacation Alma really put you to hard labour. Or at least your version of hard labour at 6 months postpartum which was lugging the ostentatious amount of floral and foliage arrangements for the happy couples who'd chosen the Portuguese country home to be a witness to their holy matrimony.

By 4 pm you were done for the day having laid out the varied bouquets of chocolate cosmos, primroses, hollyhocks, and wisteria. Some were incased by crystal glassed vase, like a trapped ballerina forced to spin inside of a music box. While others were allowed to roam free, tangled up the arched walls of the chapel, propped up by short and stumpy neoclassical stone pillars.

You'd initially underestimated how unhappy it would make you to see couples—each more happy than their former. It made you want to take a microscope to the state of your own marriage and shred it open. How unrecognisable you both were to the versions of yourselves that had walked down that Rhode Island aisle that day. Your marriage to Jack wasn't bad by any means: it was just different than it had been at the beginning. After having a child your relationship with Jack had morphed into more of a companionship rather than a romantic relationship. He'd become more distant: working later hours and coming to the west wing smelling of palo santo and black current bud.

A stark contrast to your personalised musk of waffle cone accord and vanilla...

But you were committed to make your marriage stick. For your sake, for your children's sake, and for the sake of Jake's whole presidential career. You were each other's best friend but sometimes, all of the time, you'd just wish he would touch and cherish you like a lover. You just wish he would be soft with your heart every once in a while.

You'd hoped a European getaway for the both of you would make some difference, but it seemed that Jack had made his choice. And so will you.

Because you had been such a help around the home Alma decided to watch Enya while you helped the florists prepare, the last time you saw your baby-girl was only a few short hours ago and yet your heart felt like it was being ripped from your chest.

Dusting yourself off, brushing away the cut stems of flowers and pollen from various flowers that were sure to stain the surplus of linen matching sets you had brought along with you, you made a bee-line away from the chapel and towards the main house. Maybe Alma truly was on to something about making the sprawling estate into a hotel what with its ample land of approximately 1,350,794 Sq Ft.

Due to its overwhelming size Alma had allowed you to stay in the third wing of country home which had been newly renovated to accommodate for her aspirations of it one day becoming an auberge, but much, much large. With its many rooms you and Alma, and Jack if he bothered to show, were more than comfortable. Though you could afford it with the shear square footage of the wing, Alma's cot stayed with you directly to the side of your king sized bed, a welcomed addition of the renovations by you.

You couldn't believe that Alma was taking this kind of project on, to you just planning it all out seemed hugely anal. What with all the construction needed to implement tarred streets, sidewalks, public lighting, water pipes, sewage, electrical and network cables at the entrance of each lot. I mean it was a lot.

As you push open the door connecting the wing you immediately b-line for the washroom: eager to get the confused scents of opposing flowers off of you this instant. You thought back to your conversation with Alma, remembering that she would be watching her until 5pm: delightful. Despite the absence of your daughter resting on your chest being deeply felt by you, it was a blessing to be able to take your time in the shower. A privilege that you had taken for granted in your twenties.

Apparently your darling Alma, along with Alma's own older children, was going to get a private tour of the romantic woods, the various sycamore trees, and even the proprietary chapel in between the scheduled weddings that day. You'd gathered that by now, taking a look at your watch while you start to disrobe for the shower, Alma and Enya would have already stopped by the church by now.

During your shower you lathered yourself with your 'garden essentials' body wash the scent of California lavender leaving you with a camphorous scent, awakening your senses invigorating you for the evening. Next, you applied a scotch pine shampoo bar to your scalp-a gift from one of your Californian friends from elementary school who'd turned to the all natural life—whatever that meant. Once out of the shower you palmed a hair oil blend of argan oil, natural antioxidants and fatty acids, pear seed oil, and castor oil throughout your locks. Since getting pregnant and after giving birth you had seen a direct decline in the thickness of your hair and an increase in hair loss, a symptom of postpartum you absolutely detested. Activating the arrival of your baby soon you'd decided to get your hair out of your face, since her favourite pastime of late seemed to be yanking your strands of hair with remarkable strength.

Speaking of postpartum symptoms... since you had started breastfeeding your baby girl, your nipples had gone increasingly sore and sensitive especially at nights. As a preemptive measure you put some nipple cream given to you by a midwife and went along with your out of shower routine slathering on your personal favourite body oil that you'd dispersed into a travel size bottle.

Moving out the bathroom after dressing your put on immediate edge. Despite its size you hear noises coming from the room adjacent to the bathroom you'd just stepped out of—the bedroom you and Enya had been staying in.

Ice hot horror had bleed into every crevice, and every vein in your body. Jack always told you to be wary of going places without security—always fretting over your security and your penchant for leaving unannounced, and now you were paying for it.

In an almost comical defence, you grab the nearest thing in your line of sight: ironically an erotic sculpture ground by a plinth that looked like it weighed a far few. Hands shaking you, grasp the brass handle and quickly turned the nob: trying to look as menacing as possible to an intruder.

But what was behind the door was anything but. There was Bobby, in all his grecian tragedian beauty, holding Enya with his big pilose arms supporting her head like a true natural parent—which you'd hope he was after having enough children to start as sports team.

Both of you looked equally surprised as each other.

"Christ, hun what ever are you doing with that thing?" Bobby says chuckling, while rocking back on the soles of his feet and motioning to the stone sculpture.

"Oh Good Heavens, Bob you nearly gave me a damned heart attack" you say clutching a hand to your chest. To which Bobby shamefully and discreetly looks at your chest—in his defence you were wearing a more than revealing top because you really weren't planing on any visitors.

"Oh I'm sorry, c'mere sweetheart how are you? It's been ages!"

"Bob we spoke over the phone two days ago!"

"Oh, c'mon now you that phone calls don't suffice for either one of us."

Bashfully you smile, but realise Jack has not accompanied Bobby, wondering where he is you ask,

"God Bobby it's good to see you too, tell me where is Jack around? did you tell him that there's stables he's probably there he'd love th-"

Interrupting you Bobby explains, "Sweetheart, he couldn't make it I'm sorry."

A bit embarrassed, you try to play it cool. Noticing your discomfort Bobby gently dislodges Enya from his chest to yours, and it's cheesing to say but the weight of her on your chest salves the wound ever so slightly.

"Bob how did you get her? I thought Alma was watching her?"

"Oh she was but we met down at the chapel and I offered to take Enya—she looked a bit occupied with her own roady children. I didn't want Enya to be forgotten about." he says while stepping closer to you, trailing the back of his hand against her cheek and then moving his eyes to you.

Flustered you take your time analysing him back: dressed in a rolled up button up white shirt, and khaki coloured slacks. Blushing, Bobby says,

"She seemed pretty sleepy when she was handed to me. Why don't you have some time on your own and I'll watch her for you?"

"Oh please Bobby i've had plenty of 'me' time. Your ramblings would do me good, would take my mind of Jack. Matter of fact I'm starving aren't you?"

"Famished! I tell you a palm beach flight to Portugal is no joke."

"Well that sorts it! we'll take her bassinet and have some food out in the grass."

"Sounds perfect, maybe some champagne. I know you can't drink but you can live vicariously through me!"

Chuckling you nod, and he follows you out of the room.

Moving into the kitchen you start to prepare the snacks. Looking at your bleak options since you haven't gone to the market you decide on hors d'oeuvres chicly displayed on a walnut cutting board gifted to you by a baroness. Gathering the necessaries: crisp bread, casalingo salami, foie gras parfait, chicken liver paté, and finally a bottle of pierre mignon for your beloved Bobby.

Delicately balancing the board with one hand, and the bottle in the crevice of your arm, you glance back into the bedroom with Bobby and Enya. Despite your unintentional eavesdropping you hear Bobby rocking Enya to sleep,

"You are so lucky to have your mom, huh? She's the best mom anyone could ask for don't you think?"

The comments warm your heart but you're unable to dissect that feeling as Bobby steps out of the room moments later and like a gentleman: immediately steps to take the bottle of wine and board from your hands.

And one thing leads to another, the hours pass, and by 10 pm you both felt drunk—and probably look it to any outsiders passing by. Despite not drinking a single drop you feel utterly intoxicated by his very presence.

Luckily, Enya had been picked up by Alma to be watched for the night after she'd landed upon you two in the grass: with Bobby's head in your lap, giggles emitting from the both of you.

As the night drew on you'd gotten immeasurably close physically, simply tripping over yourselves trying to catch each other up on both of your lives when you weren't with each other. Bobby being Jack's brother meant that a great portion of your life was spent next to Bobby, and even going a few days apart felt like a whole year for the both of you. Possibly a little co-dependent considering you both had parents but you both didn't want to question it to hard—the papers did enough of that themselves, always questioning your friendship or rather the existence of something more.

Once you two had sufficiently caught each other up on your respective lives, the conversation turned more soft and touchy. Bobby was extremely tactile when tipsy. You and Bobby had kissed a couple of times over the years but you'd never gone the distance, always stopping yourselves.

However this time neither of you wanted to stop, in a haste Bobby motions to take off your top, that was until Bobby's soft caresses of your body reminded you of the insecurities plaguing you for the last 9 months.

Feeling you freeze up Bobby, worried that he'd done something wrong, asks if you're feeling okay,

To which you reply, "It's nothing on you Bob, it's just that ever since Enya I'm so different to how I was. Now i'm sore and I ache all the time, and I feel so damn unloveable."

"Oh Hun, you're nothing of the sort. I see, before me, a woman not only worthy of love but of worship. Let me worship you, please I promise it'll be-"

Captivated, you nod almost immediately but cringe as you release you hadn't had time to wipe off the nipple cream you'd lathered on hours before.

Once your breasts are revealed to him you can't bear to look from embarrassment expecting him to recoil, but he doesn't in fact—your worries are bulldozed by the fervid pleasure of his mouth of your bud, sucking delicately for your pleasure and your pleasure only.

Taking his warm mouth of your bud for just a second Bobby says with batted breath,

"Take a deep breath, baby, C'mon"

Overcome, you arch your back like a Persian kitten. Your nails scrambling, and tearing into the soft grass: your moans turning into soft, delightful screams.

Overcome with gratitude and deference to Bobby you scream out, so loud that you're not entirely sure that Alma can't hear you,

"Baby, baby, baby, I'm-i'm your man"

Who knew you could cum from that? Certainly not you, that's for sure but alas you did.

You take several minutes to come out of it, to which he just cradles you brushing a few short strands of hair, dotting kisses along the concave of your breasts.

As if to give back you raise a hand to his chin, and engulf him in a sweet kiss, nothing reminiscent of dominate coming from either side: just tenderness.

"Oh I can taste champagne on your lips, Bobby!"

"Y'know I do have an idea on how to get rid of that taste" to which Bobby dramatically lays you on the ground and gets down to business on his hands and knees, fingering and teasing your mound: warm and inviting.

By the whole end of the ordeal you've had 5 orgasms and made enough noise to rival the neighbouring cats and dogs screeches and barks.

All the nipple butter has been removed from your breasts and is now squarely strewn around on Bobby's face and lips—they do say lanolin is a good moisturiser for the lips...