[moonlightspencie]

bloodmoonlit

Description: Six years of friendship with more simmering beneath the surface. They thought they had no chance (but that’s romance).

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: drinking (a lot of it tbh), both of em being massive dorks, 18+ pls bc it gets mildly spicy at the end

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: glitch is one of the best songs on midnights & nobody can convince me otherwise. anyways i didn’t proofread this sorry but i’m selfish

She was a hunter. He was… Also a hunter. Classic meet-cutes get a lot less cute when you’re meeting over the corpse of a wendigo.

Dean looked at her with awe and wonder after watching her use a flamethrower to take down a few wendigos that had started in on him. She lowered it like it was nothing after they stopped screeching into the night.

“Hey,” she greeted with a little smile. “You’re one of the Winchester boys, aren’t you?”

“Dean.”

“You’re like a modern-day folklore story, you know that?”

He chuckled, sure to make a comment about the flamethrower at the first chance. He got her number at the second chance.

They made fast friends at that point, both relentlessly flirting. Both never quite sure to what degree the other meant it.

Dean always found himself making trips towards wherever she was more often that what may be considered necessary. She never intentionally ran into him, but if she saw that impala roll up to a case, she always obliged her time. Especially if that meeting happened in a crowded bar where she could relish in the feeling of his attention being placed on her rather than anyone else who would immediately say yes to a night at his motel. Those green eyes sparkling as he chatted her up like they were the closest of friends.

Until they were the closest of friends, of course.

“How’s, uh…” Dean trailed, trying to think. “Was it Matthew?”

She snorted. “Didn’t last long.”

“Why not?”

“Never do,” she said curtly, sipping at her drink. “Non-hunter relationships don’t exactly work for me. They end up with too many questions too quick.”

He hummed, looking down at his own drink. She watched him for a moment, letting herself take a moment to admire the way neon lights bounced off his face. He always seemed to look extra pretty that way.

“Situationships,” she stated as a start, “That’s what pretty much everything I get into ends up as. Whatever works in the moment, no real strings.”

“And yet you always talk about wanting to be tied down,” he said with a smirk.

“Always is a big word,” she replied with a laugh. “I think someday I’d like that. Just don’t think it’s compatible with who I am right now.”

“You think you’re gonna change?”

“I’m always changing. That’s life, right?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve changed much.”

She laughed.

“I’ve known you for a year, and even in that time you’ve gotten a little different.”

He quirked a brow. “How so?”

“Laugh a little less, but still seem a bit happier. More accepting of life as it is, I guess.”

He sat with that for a moment, then nodded.

“I’ve had to. Every time I get stubborn, I end up screwing everything up.”

“Hey,” she said softly, pulling him out of his own head before he dug too deep, “You’re always learning. Always growing. Don’t beat yourself up.”

He smiled softly, letting her words carry him out of that out. They tended to do that more and more as he faced everything the world threw at him. His affection slowly morphed into more, and he tried not to panic about it. He did what he always did best: buried it as deep as it could go.

She realized her own feelings shifting, but her realization slammed into her like a truck. They were supposed to be just friends.

It all started with little chance meetings which turned into weekly calls which turned into “Do you want to stay with Sam and I? We’ve got a permanent place now”.

She ended up moving in shortly after the boys did. Three years of knowing them, she never expected to be living with them. Especially after all they’d gone through.

Granted, she helped with some of it. She was there when they had to cram Sam’s soul back in his body. She was there for the rise and fall of Dick. She was there when Dean came back from Purgatory.

She just wasn’t constantly with them. Only a kind of side-character in their grand adventure. Now, however…

“I think that’s all,” she said, dropping a few bags on her bed.

“Oh, right, because this isn’t over-doing it at all,” Dean said, humor lacing his voice.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then looked back around the empty room.

“I just— I’m excited to feel at home. I haven’t had a real place in…” she stopped, sighing.

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean spoke up, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “I was so excited to have my own bed, you have no clue.”

“I have some clue. You sent me like fifteen messages about it within the span of ten seconds,” she laughed.

“I love that memory foam, what can I say?”

“How about you get useful and help me set up shop here?” she asked, smiling at him as he already started pulling items out of the bags.

The bunker was like a hunter paradise in her eyes. She got the chance to have a place to call home. She got her own room, a million lore books, Dean, a place to do some baking, her favorite mug…

Wait. She couldn’t find her mug.

“Dean, where’d you put my mug?” she called out before he even got to the kitchen

“Stop calling me out before I’m even in the room. It’s creepy,” he said with a chuckle, walking in.

“Can’t help it. I know how you sound walkin’ around in here.”

She turned from the kitchen counter where the coffee was brewing. He watched her for a moment, smile still stuck in place.

“So?” she asked.

He raised a brow. “So…?”

She sighed. “My mug?”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, walking further towards her to open the fridge. “Made soup the other day and didn’t have any clean bowls.”

He pulled out the soup-filled mug, handing it in her direction. She quirked a brow, looking inside of it.

“I ain’t cleaning that out.”

He sighed dramatically, walking towards the sink.

“Guess I’ll do it. Princess can’t handle a few chunks of chicken in her precious mug.”

She smacked his arm lightly, scoffing.

“You’re the one who put chicken in it in the first place. You know that’s my favorite mug.”

He smirked, silently cleaning it out for her. When he was finished he turned, handing it off as he leaned against the counter.

“If my coffee is soup-flavored I’m going to have Cas smite you,” she mumbled, pouring it full.

She filled up another mug she’d pulled down in the meantime, sliding it to Dean.

“And yet, you still get me my coffee,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She hid a smile, shaking her head as she prepared hers.

“You know you love me,” he sang to her, heading towards the library.

She followed after, not even realizing what she was doing until she was halfway there. It was like they were attached at the hip.

They practically were over the following months, never not wanting to do everything together.

“Come on, Sam,” she whined. “You’re no fun.”

He smirked, attempting to leave the kitchen.

“Not all of us want to get plastered on a Tuesday night.”

“Speak for yourself” Dean said with a sparkle in his eye. He looked at Y/N. “You love getting screwed by me, right? Oh, sorry, with me.”

“Oh, yeah. My favorite activity, actually,” she said back with a smirk.

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he stood.

“I think I’m about done listening to you two flirt, anyways.”

“Aww,” she started, leaning closer to where he stood. “You gettin’ jealous, Sammy?”

“I’m getting grossed out,” he laughed. “Goodnight.”

The two at the table said a quick goodnight, turning back to their drinks and their jokes in an instant.

“Maybe we just need to sweat it out,” he jokes, brows dancing suggestively.

She laughed. “In your dreams, Winchester. We’ve gone almost six years without a slip-up, do you really think now’s a good time to break that record?”

He contemplated for a moment, fully believing it was a good time to break it. He couldn’t think of a better time with the exception of five-and-a-half years ago. But, he decided to actually use his brain.

“Guess you’re right.”

She smiled, pretending not to be thinking about the fact that she definitely thought she was all wrong. She really though that he should have known better than anyone that she believed records were made to be broken.

“I’m always right.”

“Now you’re dreaming,” he said with a chuckle, tossing back the rest of his drink.

He poured two shots, sliding one to her.

“Here’s to almost six years— what, like, five years and ten months? Something like that?”

She nodded. “July 7th.”

He stilled a moment, not thinking about the fact that of course she would remember the day they met.

“How many days is that?”

She hummed, playing into his little game as she pulled out her phone. She typed away until she got her answer:

“2119 days if I did the math right.”

“Nineteen or ninety?”

“Nineteen.”

“What do you say we have a special celebration if we get to twenty one ninety, then?”

She snorted. “What do you constitute as special?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he winked, tossing back his shot.

She mirrored his actions, then quickly typed away again.

“What do you know? 2190 is exactly the six year mark,” she smirked. “Alright. Deal.”

Weeks passed, and life was shockingly normal in that time. Well, normal for their standards, which still included all the things that go bump in the night. After a particularly long hunt, getting back to the bunker was a relief.

All three of them went to their respective rooms to get some rest, but, as had become a pattern, Dean went knocking on Y/N’s door. She opened with a tired smile, inviting him in.

They sat around, talking about whatever topics came to mind, listening to music playing in the background. When conversation fell quiet, an idea struck her like lightening.

“Come on, Dean. A little dancing wouldn’t kill ya,” she said, moving a little to the music.

He laughed, watching her from her bed. She held out her hands, and finally took them after a few seconds. She could be very convincing, he thought.

They jumped around the room in an un-choreographed, ridiculous, messy dance that left both of them giggling and out of breath. Her music wasn’t always his style, but he sure didn’t mind listening to her sing every word with a passion as if she’d written them herself.

“See? You love this,” she exclaimed as the upbeat song faded out.

“Only because you’re making me,” he smiled.

She laughed again, starting to turn when a slow song started going. He didn’t let her get far, however, pulling her back into his chest by the hand. He played it off all nonchalant at first, ignoring the smile on her face as a bit he always liked to play anytime he started being affectionate in an unconventional way.

“Really?” she asked.

She reached up, fingertips brushing against his jaw so that he’d look at her again. He smiled softly when she did, just watching her for a few seconds.

“You wanted to dance. We’re dancing,” he said, swaying along to the melody.

“Such a gentleman.”

He smirked, not letting up in the dance. She gave in, resting her head against his shoulder as the music played. He closed his eyes, resting his cheek against her and letting the smell of her perfume lull him in the dance more than the song could. Her gentle humming put a smile on his face that he was grateful she couldn’t see: he was certain he’d look like a lovesick puppy.

As the song faded out, she finally pulled away enough to see him again, both of them still moving as another faded in. She looked at him with a glimmer in her eyes. He took in a slow breath, watching her face for a few moments, their movements slowing. He wanted to kiss her more than anything. So, he took an action:

“I’m gonna grab a drink.”

He untethered himself from her, quickly making an exit to leave her alone and deeply confused.

She sat in the library a few days later, reading a book she found on werewolf mating habits.

“What do ya got, there?” Sam asked, walking into the room.

She glanced up, a brow raised. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

Sam snorted. “Alright.”

“You need something?”

She closed the book, setting it down on the table.

“Yeah. Do you want to hang out? I just hooked up a new TV in my room.”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “When?”

“I’m making popcorn right now.”

She laughed, agreeing as she got up. She got comfortable in his room, back against the headboard of his bed. He walked in a minute later, handing over the bowl of popcorn as he settled in.

“Is Dean coming?” she asked.

“No. He went out for the night.”

“Ah,” she said softly after a beat.

Sam straightened up, looking at her.

“He didn’t invite you?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“He always does. Why not now?”

She sighed, settling into the cushions, still looking ahead.

“I think I freaked him out. We were in my room the other night, and I asked him to dance with me. He did, but then… I don’t know,” she shrugged. “After a couple songs he left fast and he’s definitely been pulling away from me since then.”

“Hey,” he called, grabbing her attention. “Anyone who doesn’t appreciate you isn’t worth your time. You know that, right?”

“Thanks, Sammy,” she smiled, looking down again. “I just keep getting in my own head.”

“When aren’t you?” he joked.

“You jerk,” she said, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “I’m trying to be, like, open right now.”

“I know,” he drawled, leaning his head against hers.

She brushed a few pieces of his hair off her forehead.

“Maybe I just need to go out and have some fun myself,” she said after a moment.

He perked up.

“Dude, yeah!”

He stood abruptly, holding out his hands for her. She took them, standing slowly, and looking around the room for some stray confidence so that she wouldn’t back out.

“Tell you what,” Sam started, giving her the hope she wanted, “You go get ready, and we’ll head out together. I’ll be your wingman.”

She smiled. “That sounds great. I immediately wasn’t sure about heading off by myself.”

“I could tell,” he laughed.

She got ready in record time, putting on her favorite dress for good measure. They left the bunker, hitting a nearby bar that didn’t have an impala parked anywhere close.

“They’re just… giving me nothing,” she said with a sigh, slumping in the seat next to Sam at the bar.

“What do you mean? That last guy looked really into it.”

“He was. He was also into talking about his ex-girlfriend within the first few minutes of conversation,” she snorted. “I think I’m asking too much. I should just find someone and make out with ‘em.”

“You sure about that?”

She looked at Sam again, a smile breaking out.

“No. But if we do another shot, I might be.”

He sighed, obliging her only because he knew she’d do it without him anyways. They threw back the shots, and he wished her luck as she went off in search of someone who wanted nothing but a good time.

Well, kind of a good time. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to take some dude home.

She went onto the dance-floor, deciding she’d let someone come to her rather than prowling for herself, and got her wish pretty fast. A moderately attractive man caught her hand as she swayed around by herself, asking for a dance. She plastered on a smile as she agreed, letting him take the lead.

“What’s your name?” he asked over the music.

“Do you really want to know?” she teased.

He smirked. “Guess it’s more fun not to know, huh?”

She smiled again, pulling him down to her lips as they moved to the music. She closed her eyes, appreciating the ease at which she got what she wanted. The only problem is that she couldn’t help imagining it was Dean instead of Unnamed Bar-Goer.

Regardless, she justified that they were merely using each other, so who cares if she let her mind run a little wild?

She only backed away when he started getting a little handsy for her tastes. She thanked him for his time, walking away and back to Sam. He raised his brows when she came back.

“Hey, looks like you got it,” he said, watching her sit. “Also looks like you aren’t too happy.”

“Still giving me absolutely nothing,” she said with a sigh. “Not a damn thing.”

He chuckled. “Maybe this plan didn’t work out so well.”

“Still got to drink with my favorite giant,” she noted with a wink and nudge.

“Ha ha. Real flattering, thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, but let himself smirk when she wasn’t paying much attention. They sat talking at the bar for another hour or so before Sam decided to call it a night. She linked an arm around Sam’s as they walked out of the bar, definitely a little more drunk than she intended to get.

Dean walked into the bunker, spirits effectively dampened. His attempt to get his mind off of his I-almost-kissed-her moment didn’t work in the slightest, and now he was in a sour mood as a result.

His mood only worsened when he saw Sam and Y/N stumbling into the kitchen, the latter a drunken mess in an outfit he liked a little too much. He watched as Sam helped her into the room, practically propping her up against the counter.

“What the hell?” Dean asked as his brother got a glass from the cupboard.

“What?” Sam defended, filling up the cup with water.

“For one, why is she laughing at herself against the kitchen counter?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We went out.”

He walked over to Y/N, handing her the glass. She sipped at the water, then set it down just as quickly.

“Done,” she cheered.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam said, picking up the water and giving it right back to her. “Come on, you’re going to be hungover tomorrow.”

She refused the drink, kicking off her shoes. Then, she turned to level her gaze at Dean as he sipped on a beer.

“And where did you go run off to?”

He raised his brows. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” she stated with finality.

“Out.”

“Get lucky?” she asked, more bitterness in her tone than she meant to let out.

“No.”

She rolled her eyes, then glanced at Sam again.

“Wanna go hang out and read? I found a book about how werewolves get it on,” she said, giggling as she ended the sentence.

“What?”

Dean spoke up again. “Since when do you go out and get drunk without a reason?”

She snapped back to him. “Since I was celebrating me. I’m done chasing after guys who don’t want— What was it, Sam? Like if they don’t appreciate me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked back, setting down his drink.

“Sammy, I wanna talk to Dean by myself,” she managed to say, hardly looking at him.

“I don’t know—”

“Sam,” she cut him off, watching him.

He put his hands up in defense, walking out of the room. She watched until he left, then looked at Dean again. He glanced sideways at her as she swayed slightly while she stood.

“You know, those six years are coming up real soon, De,” she said, staring from across the counter.

“Are they?” he asked, wondering where this was going.

“Mhm. One more week I think,” she hiccuped. “Sorry.”

He furrowed his brow. “You’re drunk.”

“I tried kissing someone today,” she said, words tumbling out fast like she couldn’t control them. “I hated it.”

He paused, unsure why she was saying this. His heart hurt more than he thought it would, hearing her admit that.

“Why?” was all he could manage.

“Why’d you go out without me?” she countered. “You never go out without me, not since we met.”

He sighed, eyes closing as he braced himself against the counter. He heard her as she got closer, eventually leaning her head against his arm.

“I’m glad you didn’t go home with anyone today.”

He swallowed, unable to look at her. “Yeah. I— I was gonna try, to be honest, but…”

“I’m gonna throw up,” she said, suddenly moving to the sink.

He followed after swiftly, helping her as best as he could. He pulled her hair back gently as she emptied her stomach into the kitchen sink.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he said softly, rubbing her back with the hand that wasn’t holding her hair. “Get it all out.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, sniffling.

“I’ve seen you worse,” he said with a smirk. “That upset about what I said?”

If she had been a touch more sober, she might have realized he was joking. Unfortunately, she took it completely literally.

“I didn’t mean to. I just thought about you and some—”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on, I wasn’t—” he paused as she stood again, running the sink to clear it out. He turned it off again, impatient. “What are you talking about?”

“What?”

He watched her as she straightened herself out, pulling down the skirt of the dress she was in where it had ridden up.

“You threw up over me mentioning—”

“Dean.”

“Why?”

She sighed, leaning down to rest her head on the counter.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You kissed someone. I didn’t even get that far.”

“Why do you care?” she asked, standing again, and nearly falling over.

He caught her gently, but kept his hard tone as he responded to her.

“Why do you?”

“Because I just do, Dean.”

“You’re so freaking stubborn,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“You’re one to talk. This is all your fault anyways.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, annoyance in his voice.

“It’s your fault,” she said, punctuating the phrase with a slap to his chest.

“Yeah? And how’s that?”

“You should’ve just kissed me instead of chickening out and running away like a little boy.”

He was stunned into silence, his anger dissipating and then quickly returning.

“If you hadn’t made me dance with you, I wouldn’t have been all in your face in the first place,” he shot back.

“You’re such a dick,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Six years of not chasing anyone but you, and for what? You’re acting like a bitch.”

“Well, jokes on you, sweetheart,” he exclaimed, opening up his arms. “Hasn’t even been six years.”

“Great! Let’s hope we never get there, then!”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one who ran off to get a hookup because I couldn’t handle my feelings.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, you just ran off to make out with someone because you couldn’t handle your feelings.”

“Why do you feel the need to make everything so difficult?”

“Because you’re the most difficult person I’ve ever met,” he said, voice raising to an octave you didn’t often hear. “How else am I supposed to deal with you?”

She groaned in frustration, pushing past him to leave. She stalked out of the kitchen, only making it so far as the hallway before she was getting pulled back.

“Stop it, Dean,” she all but yelled.

He rolled his eyes, pulling her closer and leaning down to kiss her. One hand found her face, a surprisingly gentle touch in comparison to how intense the kiss was. She felt like she couldn’t catch her breath, a smile on her face as he finally gave in. He pulled back a moment later, though not without an internal struggle.

“The douchebag at the bar kiss you like that?” he mumbled against her lips.

“Not exactly,” she sighed. “What took you so long?”

“You weren’t making moves either, loser,” he said with a laugh.

“You didn’t exactly make yourself out to be available, De.”

“And you did? You literally told me I wouldn’t get you in my wildest dreams a few weeks ago.”

She paused, a smile spreading to her face.

“Touché.”

“How about now?”

She quirked a brow. “You propositioning me, Winchester?”

“If I was, what would you say to that?”

“I’d say that I think there must be some technical malfunctions in the universe for me to get that lucky.”

He smirked, slowly backing her until she was pressed against the wall.

“Early celebration?”

“Only if we still celebrate when we hit twenty one ninety,” she said with a smile. “Gotta safeguard, here. Easier for me to make sure this doesn’t become a one-time thing.”

“You think I’d be able to stop after one time? It’s you,” he said, moving in closer. Her arms wound around his neck. “I’ve been holding out for six years.”

“Not quite.”

“Mm. Close enough.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, this time slow and soft. She kissed back, glad to finally know what his lips felt like against hers. He let his hands wander, holding to her hips and sliding down further.

“You look real pretty in this dress,” he mumbled between kisses.

“Was hoping you’d see it and like it,” she smiled, nipping at his lip. “Just don’t rip it if you decide to take it off me.”

He smiled against her as he leaned back in. He kissed her, deepening it immediately as one hand dragged down her leg. He slotted his own thigh between her legs, adding a little friction that had her gasping into his mouth. He started hiking up the skirt of the dress further. Slowly, purposely teasing her with it. Teasing himself just as much.

Then, heavy footsteps started coming down the hall. They separated quickly and ducked inside the kitchen, hoping Sam would walk past. Unfortunately, they were wrong.

Dean stood behind Y/N quickly, concealing a problem he didn’t exactly have time to fix.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, seemingly not noticing a thing. “I didn’t hear yelling coming down and needed a drink. You two all good?”

She nodded. “Great.”

“Awesome,” Dean said at the same time.

Sam nodded, giving a tight smile as he walked past.

“We were actually about to head to bed, so…” she said, looking at him as he stood at the fridge.

“Okay,” he nodded, nonchalant. “Night.”

“Night.”

Dean waved a quick goodbye, following after her quickly. They broke into his room, giggling like a couple of drunk toddlers.

“He didn’t hear yelling,” Dean said, closing in on her once the door was shut.

She reached for his belt, quickly undoing it as they got closer to the bed.

“He didn’t.”

He grabbed her by the waist, tossing her down on the mattress, slowly climbing on top of her.

“Wanna test and see if the walls in here are just as soundproof?”

She looked up at him as he finally tugged her dress up around her hips.

“I love a good experiment.”

She laid back in the early morning hours, not even bringing herself to be annoyed that she was being suffocated by a large man on top of her. Mostly because if Dean killed her that way, it certainly would suck, but what a way to go.

She sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as he rested against her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair until he eventually woke up with the sweetest sleepy smile point at her.

“Hey,” he said, adjusting himself to see her better.

“Hey,” she greeted, accepting a soft kiss. “I think we should’ve done that forever ago.”

“I don’t know. Might be like a wine situation. We let it sit so long that it got even better by the time we actually got some.”

“Very poetic.”

He smiled, a hand coming to rest on her side as he kissed her again. It was slow and lazy and altogether too sweet. She was almost embarrassed that she had to be there to witness how mushy that moment was, if not for the fact that she was on the receiving end of the mush. She pulled away from him first, leaving him to whine.

“You’re so dramatic,” she said in a whisper. “Whining?”

“You were doing plenty of that last night,” he smirked.

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes playfully. “Why don’t we get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

His hand started moving downward, inching up the shirt of his that she was wearing.

“I could eat.”

“Dean,” she warned.

He started scooting down the mattress slowly, not giving up.

“Come on. Kitchen.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Cut it out,” she laughed. “Kitchen for actual breakfast. I don’t waste time when it comes to breakfast.”

They made it to the kitchen for that breakfast successfully! Twenty minutes later, anyway.

“Hey,” Sam greeted, not looking up.

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean said, going straight towards the cabinets for cereal.

She realized suddenly that there may have been something she forgot in his room.

“Is that Dean’s shirt?” Sam asked.

She looked down, realizing that it was clothes she had forgotten. Sam paused, raising a hand.

“On second thought, I don’t want to know. Glad to know you’re at least not fighting. Just— Maybe some pants next time.”

She laughed, following Dean to the table as he set down two bowls of cereal. They all sat eating in a comfortable silence. Then a slightly less comfortable silence as Dean grabbed her thigh halfway through breakfast. Sam quickly excused himself after that, a knowing smile on his face as he left.

“So… We’re in the kitchen,” Dean said, leaning towards her. “I don’t think Sammy’s comin’ back anytime soon.”

After definitely not doing anything weird in the kitchen and then totally not feeling bad and scrubbing down the entire room for the day, things fell into a new rhythm. It was comfortable and surprisingly less of an adjustment than they were expecting. All of those years of relentless flirting must’ve made for an easy transition.

Dean cleared his throat a few days later, grabbing her attention as she lounged in the room he’d set aside for TV-watching (with the fun new addition of a couch).

“Yeah?” she asked, looking away from the screen to see him.

“Guess what?”

“Hm?”

“2190 days.”

She smiled. “Yeah? Is that today?”

He hummed, giving a nod.

“What were those special plans of yours?”

He raised a brow. “You really wanna know?”

She merely nodded. He paused the show they were watching.

“I, uh— I was gonna tell you how I felt if I didn’t chicken out.”

“You’re kidding,” she replied after a beat.

“I’m not,” he said with a chuckle.

“Man. Almost twenty two hundred days of a blackout before we finally lit it up, huh?”

He laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

She paused, turning to put her feet in his lap. He immediately, started rubbing her leg, enjoying the uninhibited ability to touch her.

“Wanna know something funny?”

He raised a brow in question.

“Years ago someone told me they knew we’d end up together.”

“Who? Bobby?”

She shook her head. “Garth.”

He rolled his eyes as she laughed, poking him in the arm a moment later.

“Got to give it to him, he’s always been perceptive,” she noted.

“Guess so,” he nodded, reluctant to admit it. “Freakin’ Garth.”

She watched him a moment, then retracted her legs. He looked at her, almost hurt with those big puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, poor baby,” she cooed. “Don’t worry, I’m comin’ closer.”

She crawled over to him, settling in his lap. He ran his hands up her legs, a small smile returning to his lips.

“I can think of a few other ways we can celebrate today, you know?”

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning into the cushions.

“Five words: apple pie in the freezer.”

“Oh, baby, you know how to talk dirty to me,” he groaned, pulling her down for a kiss in a fit of laughter.

—————

dean winchester taglist:

@deanwithscissors @hyunjaebaby

[winchester-girl67]

Imagine... Dean Not Wanting To Sleep Alone

Summary: The reader usually shares a bed with Dean when they stop at a motel for the night. But when Sam goes home with a girl from the bar, she decides to take his bed for herself much to Dean’s dismay.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Motel room @supernatural-jackles​​

Word Count: 809 

Warnings: nightmares, brief implied smut, cuddling, fluff

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles​​’ Tell Me a Story bingo.

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Keep reading

[winchester-girl67]

Imagine... Wearing Dean's Boxers

Requested by anonymous: “Hi , idk if we can request but can i have a dean or Sam x reader. Where she comes out of the bedroom in his boxers with just a bra on and everyone (aka cas , jack etc.) just observe her because she hasnt notice them yet and dean/sam is just stunned. She probaly just came for water . Plz and thank you . Is it possible i can be tag also . No rush.”

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 828

Warnings: language, implied smut, talks of safe sex and procreation, mostly fluff

A/N: I kind of love Cas and Jack in this one :) Enjoy!

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Keep reading

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Not You

Summary: While Dean and the reader are working a djin case, the hunt goes wrong and they wind up stuck in the djin’s perfect little world made just for them. Dean owns his own successful line of garages and the reader is a school teacher and stay at home mom to their three small kids. Dean and the reader know it’s not real and that they have to find a way out before they get sucked into their own bubble of happiness…

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,300ish

Warnings: language, fight

A/N: Enjoy!

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Keep reading

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine…Dean Getting You Hurt On A Hunt

Pairing: Dean x reader

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Keep reading

[carryonmywaywardone-shots]

And Baby Makes Four (Sam x Dean x Reader)

Original Request: Hi! Would you please do a Fic where the reader was a former Hunter, but is currently 9 months pregnant with Dean’s baby? And she is kidnapped by a demon whos chasing the Winchester bloodline. The brothers manage to track her and save her, but she goes into labor an its too late to go to the Hospital, so they have to pull over on the side of the rode and Dean and Sam bring the baby into the world inside of the Impala… The baby is fine but they have to take the reader to the hospital, she lives

Word Count: 2053 

A/N: I think this is the longest one shot I’ve written so far! I apologize for it being so long; I just wanted to give enough attention to each aspect of the request. Also, this is the first birth story I’ve ever written, so if I got something wrong, I apologize ahead of time. Enjoy! :)

*********************************************************************************

Eight months ago, you had been scared. It was when you were sitting on the bathroom floor of a motel, crying as you feared how Dean would react to this turn of events. You had stayed in the bathroom, even cried yourself into a nap, which was where Dean found you in a panic, thinking you had fallen and hit your head on the tiles. You had woken up, though, and through tears, told him that you were expecting his baby. He hadn’t said anything for a few moments, during which you were nearly convinced that he was going to react badly, but he surprised you by holding you close with a teary smile, ceaselessly reminding you that this made him happy. Your tears and fears faded as he held you and told you he loved you. You stopped hunting so as to keep your growing baby safe, and it had been a blissful pregnancy…until now.

Keep reading

[ohtobeleah]

I just want to run my nails down Bob's back and leave him all marked up cause we all know that boy FUCKS and he deserves to wear some markings...maybe that's why he kept his shirt on in the movie...boy fucks and fucks well

Bob Floyd leaves his shirt on during the beach scene because the night before his girlfriend (you) cut up his back so violently with your new set of acrylics that he cried in the shower when the hot water kissed his supple skin.

But with every move he was reminded of how much of a good fuck you really were. 

[ohtobeleah]

Congrats on 4k Leah!🤍 I've been reading you work for a while now but I just started a new account so I can start writing something too and I'm here following you again🤎🤎 I love your writing so much! Please, never stop writing🤍 // This is my first time requesting on here so if I do it wrong, I'm so sorry🙇‍♀️ I'd like to request situation #28 and sentence #13 with Bob, please. Thank you so much🤍🤎 #PL2

Situation 28 - Love confession

Prompt 13 - “Tell me what you're thinking right now.”

The Waitress Song //

“Mama?” Your daughter asked as you held her hands as she stood on the edge of the pool table, balancing as your husband and his colleagues celebrated their promotions with a few rounds at the local watering hole. The Hard Deck. “How did you meet daddy?” 

***~***~***~***~***~**

“What can I get you today, Flyboy?” There's a place Bob goes for breakfast every afternoon. The coffee’s rubbish and the bacon’s always hard to chew, and the toast is always soggy, but— he hardly notices. 

And the food takes such a long time to get made, even when he’s the only person in the cafe. And his table is always wobbly—but he hardly notices. 

You're probably thinking why he’d even bother eating there on a daily basis? There's heaps of other places on offer, why not change to another place if the bacon is rubber and the taste of the cuppa makes him pull faces and splutter?

It's the waitress. He loves her, the way she clears plates with a clutter, you make his heart race and flutter. He is absolutely aware that it's crazy to love you—A lady that's basically just a stranger with an apron down your brother. 

Bobs doesn’t need to ask your name and number because this relationship is built on breakfast, all he does is wait on you just so you can wait on him. 

“Just the usual?” You asked shortly after. Bob smiled softly as he handed you back the menu that’s always on the table prompt and ready. You took it with grace and fished the blue ball point pen from your bun. Finding a blank page in your notebook to write down Bob's order. 

Realistically you didn’t need to write Bob's order down. You knew it off by heart, you just liked having an excuse to talk to the cute naval aviator that would go out of his way to stop by after whatever shift he’d just come off or was about to start to order some less than mediocre food from the 24hr diner your uncle owned and operated for the last twenty years. 

“What’s it usually? A medium coffee to go, bacon and eggs with a side of toast and beans?” Bob couldn’t help but to chuckle softly. A beautiful crimson red crept across the apples of his cheeks that let you know he felt a little gooey on the inside that you’d memorised his order. 

First you started off just saying hi to him bye to him that'll be $5.95 to him but Bob didn't really mind, that was always alright with him, he just smiled and ate. He’d watch you float around and clean the counter. Admiring from afar. 

Sometimes the two of you might not have spoken for like a week, you knew in Bob's quiet times he liked to be alone and write a poem with his headphones on—so you’d let him do just that and admire from afar. 

“Uh—can I change it up a little today?” Bob asked as he rubbed the back of his neck. The longer he kept you standing there, looking all kinds of perfect—the longer he had to work up the courage to ask you out. “If that isn’t too much trouble?” 

“Sure thing Lieutenant Floyd.” You say almost delighted that you get to stay a little while longer. “What can I get ya this morning?” 

“A Newspaper please? bacon, a fried or poached egg, whatever’s easiest and a slice of toast, long black too if the coffee is any good today.”  The beans were always burnt, Bob thought to himself after having ordered them time and time again. And he knew if the cup was dirty you would just clean it with your shirt.

He couldn’t help but to wonder if you were his ideal girl, and what would happen if you dated in the real world. ‘Nah’ He shook the thought from his mind, he didn't think it would work. Bob wouldn't wanna risk what you have and have to tip 'cause of that. 

“Coming right up—“ You nodded and placed your pen back in your bun and tucked your order pad into your apron. “I’ll bring your coffee out first.” 

“Thanks.” It had been like this for months. The both of you were too afraid to make the first real move, so the move never came. Lieutenant Robert Floyd was one of your three regulars and the only one who’d managed to steal your heart. There was no way he ate here day in and day out just for the food—if he did he was crazy. But regardless you kept entertaining his foolishness. Wondering if he’d ever work up enough courage to just make a move. 

“Alright, one black coffee for you Bob.” You wanted to say that the food wouldn’t be too far away but you knew Bob would know that you were lying. It always took forever.

“Amazing, thank you so much Y/n, I feel like I’ve been up since forever.” Bob sighed as you carefully poured him a cup of fresh coffee. Placing the freshly brewed pot down on the table as you mulled over your next question. It wasn’t like you to be so forward, but you simply had nothing better to do. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” You asked as you watched the way Bob raised his eyebrows at your question. “I don’t mean to impose—I just don’t have an awful lot to be doing right now and I’d rather sit and talk then just think about talking to you from behind the counter.” Bob thought his head was going to explode with how hot he was running. 

You? Sitting with him? Could he just give you his last name already? 

“Uh—yeah no by all means.” Bob tried to hide the probably overbearing and possibly psychotic grin that threatened to consume his face as he watched you slide into the chair across from him. Sighing with relief that you were finally off your feet. “You work here every day don’t you?” 

“Yep.” You popped the p as you let your chin fall into your hand as your elbow prompted you up on the table. “Feels like one big eternal shift.” You explained as Bob took a sip of his coffee. Hiding the fact he wanted to splatter at the bitterness. “I’m sure my diner delirium is nowhere near as exciting or as thrilling as being a pilot for the navy though.” You gestured down to Bobs flight suit—this had been the longest conversation the two of you had ever had and Bob thought his heart was going to beat through his chest: 

He was infuriated with your smile, the effortless way it could be the brightest thing in the entire diner. He loved your laugh—for the very few times he’d been blessed with the sound of it. Surely it was the very sound that people were blessed with when they entered the gates of heaven. Then there was your hair. So uniquely gorgeous that he saw it in his dreams, dancing across the white satin pillow cases of Bob's bed. 

“Oh I’m not a pilot.” Bob corrected you with a humble glint in his eye. Swirling baby blue oceans that completely captivated your heart. “I’m a weapons systems officer.” Just as you were going to ask for more detail, more information—the sound of the little orders up bell rang out through the empty diner. 

“I’ll be right back with your food weapons system officer Floyd.” You beamed, sliding out and sauntering off towards the pass. Bob turned his attention around to follow you—his eyes lingered down from your neck to your back to the swell of your ass, he blushed a bashful hume of crimson red when he felt his flight suit rise in his crotch. You were perfect. His ideal girl and Bob didn’t even know you. 

Bob had to pretend he was looking at the light fixtures above your head when you turned on your heels, his order in hand and folded newspaper under your arm. 

“Orders up Flyboy—“ You chuckled as you sat back down. “So, what does being a weapons system officer entail?” No one had really asked Bob that question before, so as he looked down at the mediocre meal he’d ordered and chuckled softly to himself at how surreal this moment felt—he couldn’t help but to look at you like you hung all the stars in the night sky just for him. “What?” You smiled. 

“Nothing—“ Bob beamed back at you, his cheeks flushed and ever telling. “It’s nothing.” 

“Tell me what you're thinking right now.” You demanded through a grin so pure it stole Bob's heart, he watched as your hand crept across to steal a slice of slightly burnt toast off his plate. The moment you took a bite Bob knew he was in love with you—his mysterious diner waitress. Like you’d cast some sort of spell on his mortal body, Bob felt himself giving in, falling weak on his knees at the idea of spending every waking moment getting to know you more. 

“I uh—I was just thinking that I think I’m in love with you.” You froze, not expecting the shy eyed man sitting across from you to expose himself so openly. It was endearing though. “I’m so sorry—that was really out of pocket.” 

“No no!” You tried to hide the fact your head was filling with all the little scenarios you’d daydreamed about while working. Thinking of the future and what it would be like if Bob was really your future husband. “I uh, I don’t mind actually.” 

“Really?” Bob let out a sigh of relief as he looked at you across the table with all the love in the world dripping from his baby face. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure—“ You took another bite of the triangle but of toast before swallowing. “I think I might be in love with you too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“He used to come into mummy’s diner baby.” You explained. “When uncle Roger used to own it, before it was really good.” 

“Dad says uncle Roger can’t cook to save his life.” Your daughter countered as you felt Bob come to stand behind you, his hand snaked up across your hip before he was kissing your cheek.  

“Dad stands by that statement.” Bob added as he smiled against your skin, floral notes of jasmine and amber rose filled his senses. “He lost ten pounds from eating your uncle's food every day just so he could talk to mama.” 

“Could have just asked me out on a date, Flyboy—“ You teased, turning to kiss your husband softly. Bob hummed a laugh against you as your daughter climbed into your arms. 

“Ah, that would’ve been too easy.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Leah’s 4k celebration 🎊

[ohtobeleah]

PL2

6 - In bed at 2am, blissfully drowsy

&

37 - “You're stuck with me, like it or not.”

With my favorite WSO good ol' Baby On Board (Sorry Fanboy)

I see you, and I raise you Bob Floyd with the Admirals Daughter.

Warnings: None :)

Bob had been freaking the fuck out ever since he’d gotten the call from the county hospital that you’d been admitted. The worst part about knowing you were in the hospital was the fact he couldn’t just up and leave in the middle of a tactical response seminar. But the second he was finished? The second Mav had stopped talking and dismissed the group of Elite Naval Aviators that sat before him, Bob was racing off down the hall, collecting his keys from his locker and making a rush to the county hospital across town. 

Because of course they couldn’t take you to the Base Hospital could they? No—that would’ve been too easy. 

“You have a patient here, Y/n Y/l/n—what room is she in?” There were two things about Robert Floyd that still seemed to shock people when they figured him out. 

“Miss Y/l/n, is resting and—“ Bob didn’t let the nurse sitting at the nurses station finish her sentence. 

“I asked what room she’s in.” The first thing that seemed to shock people about Bob was that he lost all sense of politeness and rationality when the people he cared about were in pain or in any kind of danger. Phoenix found that out one night at the Hard Deck when some guy touched her ass. Robert Floyd, who at that point had shown no sign of aggression or intention to ever engage in any sort of physical contact, stood up after he finished his last sip of lemon lime bitters and threw the hardest right hook he could. 

“As I was saying, she can’t have any visitors.” Bob didn’t like that response at all as the nurse went back to her paperwork. 

“Listen to me—“ The second thing about Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd that shocked people when they finally connected the dots, was that he was dating none other than Admiral Beau Simpson's daughter and had been doing so for a number of years before he even crossed paths with Cyclone at Miramar. “I’m gonna ask you one more time—“ But Bob already knew Cyclone from the many dinners he’d been over for during holiday seasons and family get-togethers. It didn’t however change the hostility the pair shared. “What room is my girlfriend in—“ Because there was something Bob hadn’t done yet that your father thought he should have done by now if he was serious about his baby girl. 

Bob hadn’t Proposed. 

“Floyd.” Cyclone called out from down the hall as Bob turned in the direction your fathers voice had come from. “She’s in room 1024.” Bob waisted not a second of time as he made his way towards your dad. 

“You’ve seen her?” 

“It’s locked.” 

“I don’t care—“ You were Bob's entire world, his best friend, the love of his life, his better half. “I need to see her.” As Bob tried to push past your dad, Cyclone put his hand on Bob's shoulder, catching his attention and stopping him from taking another step forward. 

“What are you gonna do kid? Are you gonna break the door down?”

“Yeah—“ Bob nodded as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If I have to.” All Beau did in response was let his hopefully one day soon son in law go, watching as he made a direct line towards your hospital room. 

“I spoke to the doctors, they said she fainted at school but she’s fine Robert.” 

“If she fainted then she isn’t alright now is she!?” Bob spat back at your dad as he continued down the hall. Cyclone stayed hot on his tail. 

“They said she’s run down and a little dehydrated but she’s okay.” 

“Alright so then why won’t they let anyone see her?” Bob asked as he stopped in his stride and turned back to Cyclone who looked just as worried as Bob. 

“Because she’s sleeping, she needs it.” Bob knew better than anyone how hard you’d been overworking yourself. Between working full time and studying you were spread pretty thin. Bob thought you needed to take a step back, he saw the way you had been neglecting your own health in order to fit study into your already jam packed schedule. “Bob, she’s fine.” Bob let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in ever since he got the call you’d been taken to hospital. “She’s gonna be okay kid.” 

“What are you even doing here?” Bob questioned your dad as he ran his hands through his hair. 

“I’m one of her emergency contacts, they called me.”

“Yeah I know that but—“ Bob didn’t mean to sound rude, he was just stating the obvious. Beau Simpson had never been an overly passionate father figure. And it seemed as though Beau caught onto what his somewhat son in law had been insinuating. 

“You mean what’s a heartless shithead like me doing in a place like this?” 

“Yeah something like that.” Bob replied, was he proud of himself? No not really, but he knew his point had been made. 

“I would’ve come for you too if you ever worked hard enough to pass out.” Cyclone tapped Bob's shoulder as he smiled softly. “But you never have.” Bob chuckled softly too as both men saw a nurse stepping out of your room, gesturing that they could enter if they wanted to. “You go, I’m sure she wants to see you before anyone else.” 

“Thanks Sir.” Bob replied as he nodded and pressed his lips together. “Thank you for caring about her enough to come.” Bob left it at that, not quite hearing what Admiral Sysmpison said under his breath.

“You too son, you too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The next day after Bob had admittedly refused to leave your side overnight, you were both getting home to an empty house that had been left unattended overnight. 

However, as you slept soundly while Bob kept a watchful eye on you, he asked Fanboy and Phoenix if it wasn’t too much trouble, if they could swing by and just spruce the place up a little bit. 

They did without hesitation because they knew if there were still things that needed to be done around the home you and Bob shared, you truly wouldn’t be able to rest. And all you needed right now was rest. And plenty of it.

“Alright so here’s what you’re gonna do.” Bob cooed as he cupped your face and pulled you close the moment you both stepped through the threshold of your humble abode. “You’re gonna go upstairs and take a long, hot shower and relax while I cook us some food.” 

“I can help you cook.” You tried to argue but the look you got from your boyfriend in return was enough to tell you that he was serious about you doing nothing. “Alright alright, I’ll be in the shower.” 

“When you're done it’s straight into pyjamas, no ifs or buts.” Bob shouted after you as you walked up the stairs. You were so thankful to have Bob, someone who cared enough about you to want to take care of you and tell you to slow the hell down. You thought you were fine until you weren’t fine. Which was why Bob felt it was important and absolutely critical that he stayed home with you for a day or two to make sure you weren’t going to start back up into the almost psychotic routine you’d been putting yourself through to fit everything in. 

“Okay so I know you aren’t sick but I also know you can’t be feeling too crash hot so—“ Bob cooed as he opened the bedroom door a little wider with his foot to see you getting ready to hop into bed. “I thought chicken soup and toast might be good.” Bob explained as he padded across the bedroom, carrying two bowls of delicious soup on a tray.

“Is that your mum's chicken soup?” You asked curiously as the smell captivated your senses as Bob moved closer. “Oh god it smells so good.” Bob was as careful as he could be as he sat down beside you in bed, holding the tray he’d brought in with two bowls of soup and buttered toast to go with. 

“I didn’t have time to make it from scratch so I just got some out of the deep freeze.” You really did love Robert Floyd, and for what it was worth you’d say yes in a heartbeat if he ever did ask you to marry him. But it was something you weren’t too pressed about—you were just happy to enjoy the moments you had with him. “But here, we’re gonna sit down and we’re gonna eat this soup and we’re gonna watch Shameless because I know that you’ve been needing to find the time to finish it and now a time has presented itself.” Bob babbled as he passed you your bowl and took his own as he expertly manoeuvred his legs under the covers. “Don’t argue either.” 

“I feel fine, I promise—“ You tried to argue anyway as you blew on your spoon full of soup, sending Bob the biggest puppy dog eyes you could conjure up. “But this is perfect, thank you for this.” 

“Anytime.” Bob leaned in to kiss your cheek before the pair of you settled in for an afternoon in bed binge watching Shameless and trying to not think about the copious amounts of studying you had and the fact you had to miss work. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

2am rolled around a hell of a lot quicker than it normally did. Maybe it was because you and Bob had spent the majority of the afternoon in bed together or perhaps it was the fact that after your bowl of Bob's mum's chicken noodle soup, you felt a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Blissfully drowsy in a love filled embrace you snuggled into the warmth of Bob's exposed chest as he wrapped you into him, half dazed and sleeping. 

“I could stay like this forever.” You mumbled as you tried to get yourself back to sleep. Bob had always been a little sleeper. So much so it felt like sometimes he was always alert to what was going on around him, especially you. “But I know reality is chewing on our heels.” 

“You're stuck with me, like it or not.” Bob cooed as he pulled you in closer. “I took the next few days off to just be with you.” He explained, knowing that in the next day or two he was going to finally ask you to marry him. “So, reality is gonna have to wait, miss overachiever, because you're stuck with me.”

Smiling into Bob's armpit, you beamed at the thought. Damn, he really cared huh. 

“I don’t think that sounds all that awful at all baby.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Leah’s 4k celebration 🎊

[tropes-and-tales]

moving person a by their waist with our boy bob floyd?

The Hard Deck is more crowded than usual.  It’s standing room only, the press of bodies making the bar loud and hot.  Lieutenant Bob Floyd, resident wallflower, can’t seem to move without bumping into someone or brushing against someone else.  Every time he breathes he’s elbowing someone, then apologizing profusely.

It’s a bad night to be so flustered.  Hangman’s cousin is back in town and charming the crowd by switching off on the piano with Rooster.  You’re the only person who can rouse everyone to sing along, even the more reserved fly-boys in the crowd.

“Helps to know more than one Jerry Lee Lewis song,” you told Bob once, and then you’d dropped him a wink, cementing the fatal crush he’s been nursing for you.  

It’s not ideal, falling for an extended member of the Seresin family (though your last name is different), but you’ve cast your smug cousin in a more sympathetic light for the Dagger Squad.  Jake’s less smarmy, more soft when you’re around.  Family smooths out his rough edges, it seems.

Tonight, you and Rooster trade off.  Rooster, galled by your success at the piano, has tried to learn some new fare.  His results are middling, and Bob can see the way he pouts as he cedes the piano stool to you once he wraps up his faltering version of the Beatles’ “Hey Jude.”

Bob can also see the brilliant grin you flash Rooster as you settle into your seat and start to play Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.”

Which the crowd eats up, of course.  You know what the fan favorites are.

-----

Bob has always been content to just watch you, to nurse his crush from afar.  You swing through San Diego every other month, and you always stop to see Jake.  Bob is usually there for at least part of your visit—at the Hard Deck or on the beach—but he rarely is proactive to speak to you.  Any conversation is driven by you.

Tonight, he loses sight of you once the dueling pianos bit ends.  He finds you again chatting with Nat, and a beat after his eyes fall on the two of you, Nat catches his gaze and grins at him.  She jerks her head in a “c’mere” gesture.

Bob obliges.  He weaves his way through the crush of people until he’s standing by you and Nat.

“You looked lonely, standing by yourself,” Nat says.

He shakes his head, offers a rueful grin.  “Oh, no, I’m fine.”

“Are you sad the musical portion of tonight’s programming ended?” you ask.  “It’s a little obnoxious, right?”

He demurs that too, tells you that maybe Rooster is obnoxious with just playing the same song over and over, but no—he likes your piano-playing, he thinks your voice is lovely…he rambles for a long moment until he catches movement:  Nat shaking her head faintly with a bemused smile on her face.

“Ah,” he says, cutting himself off.  “I’m ramblin’.”  His accent comes out and he winces inwardly, worried you’ll think him a hick—

You laugh and reach out, smack his shoulder lightly with the back of your hand.  “Bobby, you can ramble any time if you keep paying me compliments.”

Bobby.  You’ve always called him that, back when Jake introduced you.  He loves the way it sounds coming from your mouth.

Your sudden touch, your light teasing…it makes his brain short-circuit.  He gapes at you wordlessly for too long of a moment, then he notices your empty glass.

“Can I get you a refill?” he asks, but it comes out too fast and too high-pitched.  

You laugh again and hand him your glass.  “That would be really nice.  Thank you.”

He takes it and practically sprints away.  He misses Nat’s knowing look.  He misses the way his pilot nods, turns to you, and says, “he’s got a crush on you.”  And he misses the way you nod back at Nat and murmur that yes, you’ve noticed.

-----

The bar is just as crowded, if not more so, and Bob finds himself lost in the crowd.

He tries to flag down Penny and the other bartender, but there’s always someone flashier, bigger, louder to pull attention away from Bob to themselves.

Which is typical.  Bob Floyd has always faded into the background.  And it’s usually a blessing, since he’s introverted anyway.  But sometimes?

Sometimes he wishes he could stand out, just a little.  Just enough to maybe catch the eye of a certain Seresin cousin—

His train of thought is cut off by the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, this time a gentle, tentative press to get his attention.  He turns his head and sees you, smiling softly at him.

“No luck?” you ask.

He lifts a hand, lets it fall helplessly.  “It’s too busy.  I’m sorry.”

You still have your hand on his shoulder.  You squeeze him gently, say, “here, let me,” and then your other hand is on his waist, gently leading him aside, pushing him away from the bar to make room for you.  He’s so flummoxed by the touch—probably just a casual, friendly touch for you, but it’s gasoline on the flames of his infatuation—that he lets you move him.

Then you release him, and you lift your hand and whistle, getting the attention of the bartender.  You order another drink for yourself, and you get one for Bob:  a Coke with a splash of grenadine.

“How’d you know my drink?” he asks.  He’s still flummoxed:  first by your touch, now by you knowing his non-alcoholic beverage of choice.  It feels like his world is tilting off its axis, throwing everything askew.

“I noticed,” you answer with a shrug.

“No one’s ever noticed before.”

Another shrug, this time paired with a smile.  “I did.”  

[tropes-and-tales]

For the inexperienced smut thing, can I request "“(If you like it), we can go all night.”" with our favorite guy, Bob Floyd?

AN: 18+ only for talk of sex (though nothing too explicit)

It’s not that Bob Floyd is a virgin, technically.  

Technically, the issue of his virginity was settled when he was nineteen.  For a paltry handful of minutes, he and his girlfriend fumbled their way through their respective first times.  Bob thought with that awkward first time out of the way, he and his girlfriend could practice, get better…but she dumped him the next morning.  Later on, Bob found out that she had been planning on breaking up anyway but had wanted to shed her pesky virginity before she did.

Bob, though?  Bob was heartbroken.  He spent his college years, his basic training celibate.  Why risk his heart again?

It was the right decision at the time.  Bob has never been a player.  He’s always craved what his parents have:  a stable, loving relationship.  Steady.  Full of love.  But even if it was the right decision, it puts him in a delicate situation now that he’s dating you.

Bob Floyd, dating the woman he is certain is his soulmate.  Bob Floyd who isn’t a virgin, technically, but who has so little experience he might as well be.

And you, who have no idea why, even months into dating, Bob refuses to do more than kiss you.

-----

It comes out because it must.  Bob knows he can’t fake his way into experience, and he knows he just has to come clean.  His stomach roils as he sits you down after dinner at his place, and you look at him warily.  When he reaches for your hand, you pull away, keep your hands folded in your lap.

“Just say it,” you tell him, and when he blurts out the truth, you laugh.

Then your hand flies to your mouth, clasps over your mouth.  “Oh!” you say, muffled.  “I’m sorry!  No, I’m not…shit, I’m not laughing at you—”

“No, it’s fine.”  He shakes his head, chuckles sadly.  “I should have more—”

“No, Bobby!”  You move your hand to his arm, grip him.  “God, I do this…this nervous laugh thing, and when you sat me down, you looked so serious.  I thought you wanted to break up—"

“Oh, no!  Not at all!”  He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly.  Steadies himself as if he were back-seating in a plane.  “I thought you might break up with me…”  He trails off, doesn’t finish the sentiment.  That he thought you’d dump him once he came clean about his pathetic lack of experience.

You shake your head.  “It’s not that big of a deal, you know.”

“It is.”  He doesn’t add that his angst around his lack of sexual prowess has only grown since he’s joined the Daggers—Rooster and Jake, Fanboy and Payback, Harvard and Yale…hell, even Nat joins in with the bawdy joking, the bragging about their past conquests and their posturing around future ones.  Then he met you, started dating you, and suddenly all he can think about is sex:  taking you to bed, giving you pleasure, finding pleasure with you.  

And once he starts to think about it, he starts to obsess about it…which is why months have passed with little more than a handful of spirited make-out sessions with you.

But he’s come clean now, and his face is flaming hot at the embarrassment of it, the shame of being his age and having a single encounter to his name…but you don’t seem mad or frustrated, and your bout of nervous laughter bleeds off some of the tension.  You sit beside him and gift him with a soft smile.

“It’s really not a big deal,” you repeat, and you reach out to take his hand finally.  You give him a reassuring squeeze.  “If you want to, we can take it however you want.  No pressure at all.  We can wait as long as you need.”

Bob is tired of waiting.  He’s tired of wanting you but being overruled by his anxious brain.  He’s tired of kissing you, of feeling your desire for more, of pushing down his own desire for more.  He’s tired of cold showers and confusing internet searches and worrying that he’s waited too long to tell you—

He leans forward and kisses you, breaks off his own busy thoughts by slotting his mouth over yours.  It’s an awkward angle at first, the two of you side by side on the couch, but you must feel the dam breaking in him because you twist towards him.  He reaches out a hand and lays it on your hip, and maybe he has little to no experience but it feels like second nature to guide you into his lap until you’re straddling him.

Perched above him, you cup his face between your hands, peer deep into his eyes like you’re trying to read his thoughts.  

“Is this okay, Bobby?” you whisper.  “I don’t want to push my luck, but I really, really, really want you.”

The weight of you in his lap, the swell of your breasts close to his face, the soft scent of your perfume…it’s better than okay.  It’s perfect.  He tells you so.

“I’m not gonna last, honey,” he adds in a whisper.  It’s his greatest fear—coming too soon, disappointing you—but he’s in too deep now.  There’s no turning back towards the shore.

“Hmmm.”  You dip your head and kiss him, and there’s so much promise in it.  You don’t rush it.  You let the moment stretch out, let the kiss linger.  You trace over his lower lip with the tip of your tongue, then nip at him lightly.  When he groans at the sensation, he feels the little huff of silent laughter—which he stops by sliding his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss.

You break away first, then lay a trail of soft kisses across his face and down the side of his neck.  You find the ticklish spot underneath his ear (you’d found it before and remembered where it was) and nip him there, making him squirm underneath you.  You must feel him—he’s already hard, has been perpetually hard since the first month of dating you.  You move in his lap, do a little swivel with your hips.  You grind against him, and it makes him squirm again.

“I’m not gonna…I won’t last,” he repeats, a little breathless, a little dizzy, and you hum again.  You reach up and cup his face again, and you peer into his eyes again with that same sincere expression as before.

“If you don’t last, we can go again.  Hell, Bobby…if you like it, we can go all night.  That’s the beautiful thing about sex.  You don’t last very long?  We wait and then go again.  Or I can show you other things we can do.”

He smooths his hands up your back, down your back, settles them on your waist.  You look so earnest, so eager.  He wonders if you love him.  Neither of you have said it yet, but Bob thinks perhaps you do.  

He knows he certainly loves you.  

“You sure?” he asks.  

“Of course!  It’s time spent together.”  Your earnest expression cedes to a sly smirk.  “You know, time spent together.  Naked.  In bed.  Sounds pretty good to me.”

He’s still anxious, but it’s less now.  It’s giving way to relief, to excitement.  The heavy stone of worry that had been sitting in his gut, in his chest seems to have been replaced by a sudden lightness.

Bob realizes that it’s hope.  This was the first real test of your relationship—him opening up about a painful part of who he is—and you both got through it.  

“Time together,” he murmurs in agreement.  He gets his hands under the heft of you, then stands up with you still in his lap.  You laugh, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he hoists you more securely.

“Let’s find a bed then,” he adds as he carries you towards his bedroom.  “And then we can see about the naked part.”

“I love a man with a plan,” you tease, and though you’ll share your first I love you’s in only a few short hours, this is what he will always count as the first time you say it to him.

[tropes-and-tales]

AAAHHH! I can't choose, so I'll let you do it. I like "you’re really good at that." ; "you don’t have to be gentle. i won’t break." ; or "take off your clothes" for cutie patootie Mr. Robert "Bob" Floyd. Pllleeeeeeeeaseeeee!

AN: 18+ only. Smut-ish.

You’re the one that broaches the subject.  You and Bob are sitting on his couch, watching a movie half-heartedly as you snuggle up against him.  He has an arm around your shoulders, his fingertips tracing abstract shapes against the bare skin of your upper arm.  Every so often, he turns his head and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

It’s still pretty new, this thing between you and Bob.  He had been content to admire you from afar, and you might have never even known about his crush on you if Bradley hadn’t intervened.  Now here you are:  six months into your relationship with Bob Floyd.  Comfortable, but still learning about each other.

You love your time with Bob, but you wish he wouldn’t treat you like glass.  You know much of it is just his polite nature, raised to be a gentleman…but he’s so precious when he touches you.  So careful, so deferential.  

You wonder what Bob Floyd might be like if he loosened the reins a little. 

“Movie’s almost over,” he murmurs against your head.

“Bed then?”

He hums in agreement, and you take a breath to steady yourself.  Still facing the television, not quite brave enough to look at him, you say, “Bobby…in bed?  You don’t have to be gentle.  I won’t break, you know.”

His tracing fingertips still at your words.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you wanted to try new things, we can.”

He splays out his hand, shifts to cup your shoulder.  “New things like what?”

“I dunno.”  You shrug against him.  “What about something like roleplay?”

“Huh.”  Against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat quicken.  Just a little.  But then he says, “like teacher and school girl?  I don’t think I’d like that.  It’s kinda gross, isn’t it?”

You snort and turn your face against his side.  “What about something where everyone is an adult?  Like….I don’t know.  Patient and nurse?  Or professor and student?”

“Huh,” he says again.  There’s a long moment of quiet, and you know he’s turning it over in his mind like he does a lot of problems.  He’s examining it from all sides.  “I could be a state representative and you could be my disgruntled constituent.”

It’s one of the things you love best about Bob.  He’s quiet by nature, and people infer that to mean he’s weak or perpetually anxious.  He’s neither of those things—he’s actually quite adventuresome, willing to try new things.  He just needs a minute to mull it over.  And he usually—like now—addresses it with humor.

You giggle against him.  “Stern librarian and patron returning overdue books.”

“Cop and criminal, but the cop is a parking cop and the criminal is someone whose meter expired.”

“Dentist and patient who is clearly lying about their flossing habits,” you say, and it makes him chuckle.

“That’d be a good way to work in an oral examination,” he adds, and you gasp in mock-outrage, pull away from him and place a hand over your heart.

“Robert Floyd, you are a pervert,” you tease.

He reaches out with both hands and squeezes your waist.  “You’re the one suggesting role-playing, sweetheart.”  He leans forward and kisses you, a loud, playful smack, but there’s heat behind it.  

You grip his biceps, dig your fingertips into the hard muscle there.  “So….what do you think?  Want to try it?”

People often infer that Bob Floyd is some sort of innocent, a sheltered boy instead of a career military man who graduated from TOPGUN, an elite training program.  You think it’s his big blue eyes, but if people could see how dark his eyes get, how easily his pupils go wide with desire, they’d rethink their innocent baby Bob image.

His big blue eyes go dark now.  “Absolutely,” is all he says.

*****

Bob doesn’t want to oversell it, and he plays it as cool as he can, especially around Nat and the other Daggers—but he loves you.  A lot.  He thinks someday he’ll have to pay Rooster back for asking you out on Bob’s behalf.  He can picture naming his son Bradley someday in thanks.

Because you?  You’re the coolest, nicest, funniest girl he’s ever known.  And for some unfathomable reason, you’re with him.

Bob’s had girlfriends and lovers before, and he’s always enjoyed sex, but he never realized how…well, how fun it can be.  How light-hearted.  Sex with you is deep and meaningful and special, sure, but it’s also fun. 

You laugh in bed with him.  You make him laugh.  You joke around, and all that merriment and laughter makes a lot of space for playing around.  For trying new things.  Released from the terrible pressure of perfect performance, Bob has the latitude to play in the bedroom with you.

Like this now:  role-playing.

“Okay,” you say as you stand near the bed.  He’s sitting on the edge, watching you with a grin at your obvious glee.  “I got it.  You’re an admiral with the navy, and I’m a private with a lot of disciplinary problems.”

His grin widens.  You aren’t military and you know little of it aside from what he’s taught you or what you’ve seen on TV or movies.  “The Navy has seamen, honey.  Sailors.  Not privates.”

“There you go!  I’m so bad at the Navy life that I don’t even know what I am.”  You try to put a pout on your lovely mouth and add, “that’s why my admiral needs to set me straight.”

“Alright.”  He leans forward.  “I’m Admiral Floyd.”  He takes a breath and tries to slip into the role.  He has no desire to ever be an admiral, but he pretends.  He needs to be stern.  He needs to be decisive.  Maybe a little mean, and that might be difficult when it comes to you.

He also needs to keep it understandable.  He has to simplify the language—otherwise your natural curiosity will ruin the role-playing and he’ll find himself explaining JAG and military disciplinary procedures instead of losing himself in you.

“You’re out of regulation, sailor,” he says, and he drops his voice a quarter-octave.  “Your shirt is untucked and your hair is too long.”

You try.  Goddamn, but it’s cute how hard you try.  You stand up straight and salute him (wrongly) and say, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Admiral.”

“I’m sorry, Admiral.”

He shakes his head, stands up.  He stalks around you, pretends to study you closer.  “You’re a goddamned disgrace to the United States Navy,” he says.  “It’s a sorry goddamned state of the military that we accept recruits like you.”

You turn your head (wrongly) and shoot him a contrite look (also wrong).  “Is this because I stole that boat and crashed it into a sandbar?”

Bob has to bite the inside of his cheek at your idea of Navy sins.  His voice comes out, shaky with suppressed laughter.  “That’s the least of your problems, sailor.  And eyes forward.  Don’t you dare look at me.”

Your eyes do slide away from him and fix on the far bedroom wall.  “I’ll take whatever punishment you see fit, sir….Admiral.”

He scoffs.  “Yes, you will.”  He comes to rest in front of you, and he peers into your eyes.  You’re a fast learner, though.  You refuse to meet his gaze.  “Take off your clothes, sailor.”

That draws your eyes.  They stutter on his before they return to watching the far wall.  

You’re a fast learner, though.  You lift your hands and start to unbutton your shirt, then shrug out of it.  Then you unbutton your jeans, unzip the fly and push them down your legs, giving a little wriggle as you work them over your hips.  You kick them away and then pause in your lingerie until Admiral Floyd adds, softer, “all of your clothes, sailor.”

It takes another moment to undo your bra and draw it down your arms, then to bend down and push your panties off of you.  When you’re finally naked in front of him—your eyes slipping to his for a beat—he orders you to undress him next.

Which you do.  You go slow, easing his shirt off of him, undoing his belt.  You kneel down to work his pants and boxers off of him, and you shoot him a curious look while you’re at his feet.  A question in your eyes.  Which Admiral Floyd answers for you.

“Not that, sailor,” he says with a stern shake of his head.  “You can’t get out of your list of infractions that easily.”

The problem is, you’ve sprung this on Bob.  He’s game to play at this, but now that you’re both naked—and you took your time stripping him, let your fingers linger over his bare skin as you did it—the fantasy falls away.  He can’t quite think of anything he wants to do as Admiral Floyd because he, your Bobby, just wants to toss you on his bed and make you laugh until your laughter turns to sighs and moans.

You sense it.  Maybe you see it in his expression.  You stand up and tilt your head as you study him, then you say, “we can stop, if you want.”

“It’s fun.  Really.  I’m just…my thinkin’ kinda goes out the window when you’re standing in front of me lookin’ so good.”

You give him a heated look, pointedly scanning him from head to toe and back.  “Likewise, solider.”

“Sailor.  Lieutenant.  Weapons Specialist, actually.”  He grins as he bridges the distance between you, takes a step until he’s right in front of you.

“Hmm.”  You move towards him too, press the length of your naked body against his.  His hands find your waist and pulls you firmer to him, and you lay your palms on his chest.  “Would Sailor-Lieutenant-Weapons Specialist Floyd be interested in taking a me, a mere civilian, to bed?”

He pretends to think about it.  He screws up his face in concentration until you swat him, and then he answers you.

“I think Sailor-Lieutenant-Weapons Specialist Floyd would be honored, ma’am.”

“Ah.”  You tilt your head up at him, and then you lean forward and kiss him—slow, lingering, the tip of your tongue tracing along his lower lip.  “Then take me to bed, sailor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He breaks his hold on you quick, scoops you into his arm and then walks the two steps to the bed, tosses you onto it.  “As you ordered, ma’am.”

[sebsxphia]

I have mentioned this time on my own blog but, Rhett is unable to form a cohesive thought or sentence at the sight of wet pussy. He only licks his lips and asks for the okay to dive in with his tongue or his dick-

pike my love, this thot is the realest thot i’ve ever heard 😵‍💫 you are so real for this!!!!!!!!

it could be anywhere. on the side of the kitchen counter when you hitch up your dress, in the passenger seat of his truck when you pull back your panties, when you spread your legs on your bed, if rhett sees your cunt wet and glistening, his brain short circuits.

his heavy hooded gaze is zoned in entirely on your wet pussy and it makes heat rise in your cheeks every. single. time. his tongue dips out to wet his bottom lip and he parts them to speak, drawl low and grunting.

“gon’ let me have a taste, sweetheart?” he’ll eat you out every time within an inch of your life as if he’s never eaten a meal in his life.

if there’s no time to waste and his cock his aching, he’ll let out a small growl as his tip meets your wetness. “shit, i need to feel you, darlin’. you’re so fuckin’ wet, you drive me crazy.”

hehe

thank you so much for this insane thot my love, i love it sm! 💌

[sebsxphia]

But what if you catch nineteen year old rhett with his jeans pooled at his ankles with him fisting his cock right as he comes-

￫ c/w: m!masturbation, swearing and voyeurism.

￫ this is part of my ‘rhett and his childhood sweetheart’ here! my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

cecelia gave you a fleeting wave through her office window as you walked up to the porch of the abbott home. being daytime and their house being in the middle of nowhere, the door was unlocked and you made your way in.

“hi, hon’.” cecelia called out from her office to the side of the front door. “rhett’s upstairs. you and your ma doin’ okay?” she leant against the doorway to her office as you kicked off your boots. you flashed her a polite smile and nodded along in agreement. “yeah, all healthy and happy. i’ll see you later for dinner. i’ll get rhett to give you a hand.”

you made your way upstairs and onto the landing. you were stood outside rhett’s bedroom door with your knuckle raised and ready to knock when you heard it.

rhett’s low, southern drawl cursing and repeating your name, followed by deep grunts. your hand reached for the doorknob and turned it gently and quietly. you were determined not to disturb rhett because you knew immediately what he was doing and you wanted to catch your childhood sweetheart in the act.

the door creaked open an inch and you gritted your teeth at the sound, but when you peered your head round the door, you spotted the cord of his earphones attached to his computer. you took in the rest of the sight in front of you. rhett sat on his chair in front of his computer, thighs spread wide, his jeans pooled at his ankles and his large hand fisting his painfully throbbing cock. you took a glance at his computer screen and your heart thrummed in your chest. he was watching videos of you.

videos he’d taken of you in pastures with your sundress rising up your thighs. videos of you laying in bed on sunny sunday mornings and playing with your breasts. videos of you spreading your thighs in his truck and flashing rhett your wet cunt.

you were drawn back to rhett as he grunted deeper and let out a guttural groan from within his chest. “fuck, baby. that’s it, shit.” the strain in rhett’s voice told you instantly that he was close and you made light footsteps to come closer to him. you could see his eyes now scrunched tightly shut in bliss with his jaw slack. “i’m gon’ come, f-fuck!”

rhett’s whole body squirmed in his seat as he came. thick and white ropes of his cum spraying from his red tip and covering his plaid shirt. his eyes fluttered open and the sight of you standing near him with an all knowing smirk on your face made rhett jump back in his seat.

“jesus!”

“sorry, cowboy. did i disturb something?”

“fuckin’ yeah, you did!” rhett exclaimed with a laugh in his throat. you snorted in response and hiked yourself onto his lap, with his softening cock resting against your thighs.

“sorry, baby. you just looked so fuckin’ hot. i had to watch.” rhett smirked and pressed a searing kiss to your lips as you lightly ground your legs against his. rhett moaned softly into the kiss and pulled away with his cobalt blue eyes gleaming back at you with that look.

“give me ten and i’m gon’ have you again. for real this time.”

[sebsxphia]

Soft reunion love (and baby) making with Jake. That's it, that's the thought...

oh and what a thought it is 🥺

jake comes back from being deployed and you’ve both agreed you want children now, more than ever. normally when jake comes home after being away for a while, it’s hot and heavy, but this time you’re taking it slow and sensual.

you’re still both feral for each others touch, but in the low light of your bedroom, his hand is pressed into yours in the mattress and he’s muttering in your ear.

“i love you so much, sweetheart. i can’t wait to make you mine, give you baby, fill you up with my love. i’ve missed you, oh, baby, baby, baby…”

his strokes are deep and drawn out, the sound of skin pattering on each other. you’ve never felt so connected to him. it feels as though it’s only you and jake in the whole entire world right now. it’s something you’re only privy to.

i’m EMOTIONAL

thank you so much for this sweet thot my dear anon! 💌

[lewmagoo]

Rhetts belt buckle leaving an imprint on your bare ass when he comes up behind you and starts kissing on you

i bet he does it on purpose. pulls you back into him and makes sure you’re pressed against that belt buckle. and when he lets you go he looks at the mark in your skin and he’s like “it’s like i branded ya. now everyone’ll know you’re mine >:)”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

💀 for Rhett Abbott plz

Send me an emoji prompt! An injury headcanon

He gets hurt? Don't worry about it. He's fine. He broke a bone? No worries. Concussion? Not his first, s'all good, honey.

The second you get hurt?

Oh my god.

He is all over you.

You have a papercut? Do you need antiseptic? Would you like a band aid?

You have a headache? He can get you some water, some toast, some aspirin—

Try not to roll your eyes at his attentions, even if it seems excessive

If you tell him to just calm down, baby!, even with a laughing tone, he's gonna look at you with those big plaintive eyes, that cute lil pout

He just wants to help

But if you want him to back off, sure, he will

But he's gonna linger, like, a room away if he can

Just to be in ear shot in case you change your mind