#do what Bobby taught you

[kiwiplaetzchen]

A-and how does one protect their k-knob?

My dear Anon,

to safeguard your knob, treat it like royalty! Crown it with a trusty helmet, armour it with layers, and no, not layers of love. Remember, a protected knob is a happy knob, and a happy knob makes for a delightful day!

Wrap it up: No, not with a bow, silly! Use a trusty rubber knob (or knob-dom, if you will) to shield it from unwanted, pathetic grabdaddlers (don't confuse it with grabdaddies, honey). Safety first, right?

Dress to Impress: Give your knob a snazzy makeover! Make your knob feel cosy. Think of it as haute couture for your knob – chic AND practical!

And voilà! Your knob is now cosy and secure, ready for any adventure. 😌

[imreadydollparts]

I had taken an informal short video showing how I do "The Rapunzel Curls" on ponies

(ugh, tinsel...)

but never properly posted it and lost it.

People have said to me this looks just like factory curl, but if you look, I tend to reverse the direction of the factory curl when doing this. That's just how my hands want to do it, if you can do the twist in the opposite direction, you'll be closer replicating the factory curl.

The twist at the beginning is the key.

I don't do videos so it's rough, but here is another attempt.

Do you like my pajamas?

What you need:

+ Plastic straws - These are milkshake straws which are larger and thicker than regular drinking straws. I use boba straws for larger curls. I don't worry about plastic waste in this case because I will reuse the same straws for decades.

You want to cut the straws to an appropriate length (orange in the video - this one is a little too long for the hair I'm working on, but it's fine), then cut shorter segments and slice those long way once to make a little cap (purple).

+ Pipe cleaners (green), small hair clips, bobby pins, etc.

+ A source of heat (will elaborate later), or time.

Comb the hair. It should be as smooth as you can get it. I'm using a flea comb, here.

Lay the ends across the long straw a little way up the hair.

Snap the cap straw on top.

Holding the sides of the hair so it doesn't spread out in the cap straw, slide both straws to the ends of the hair until the ends are completely under the cap straw.

Roll the straw a little bit, making sure the ends are secured.

Give the whole straw set up a little twist around the hair.

Roll to the scalp firmly.

Put one end of the pipe cleaner into the straw, and wrap it around as shown.

After that you can either leave the hair alone for a couple weeks and if it's nylon, it will take that shape.

Or you can apply heat.

I usually put the whole pony/doll head into a plastic baggie (I taught Froggy about that!) put the baggie into a large cup or bowl, and fill the cup/bowl with boiling hot water right off the electric kettle. MAKE SURE the open end of the bag doesn't get down into the water so the doll/pony doesn't get wet. I lay it over the lip of the cup/bowl. Throw a towel over top to help trap the heat and then don't touch it until the water has cooled on it's own.

You absolutely can apply boiling water directly to the hair, but I don't do that for a couple reasons.

You have to wait for the hair to dry all the way through before you can do anything with it which can take a few days depending on the weather and I'm not that patient.

Pipe cleaners and bobby pins can rust.

Then you can unroll the curlers immediately or leave them in the hair for a few days and get an even more defined curl. The longer you leave the curlers in, the better the hair takes their shape.

[beefcakekinard]

"Grab a seat."

Bobby claps Buck's shoulder as he passes on his way into the kitchen. Well - sure, it's got a fridge and a stove, but Bobby's definition of kitchen vs kitchenette leans a little spoiled these days. They can't get out of this rental fast enough.

He comes back with two cups of coffee and sits opposite Buck at the table. He waits as Buck adds a heaping teaspoon of sugar to his mug, glowering at the surface of it while he stirs. He waits as Buck sighs with his whole body and flops back against his chair. Bobby blows the steam from his coffee, takes a scalding sip, and waits. Years of experience have taught him that when Buck's really chewing on something, the easiest way to get it out of him is to outlast his patience.

"I miss Tommy."

It helps that Buck and patience are barely acquaintances.

Buck's continuing the thought before Bobby can even open his mouth. "I can't get him out of my head, Bobby. It's, it's like he's haunting me! Everything I do reminds me of him, even if it has nothing to do with him, and I feel like I'm going crazy!"

Bobby waits. Buck pouts. When it's clear he doesn't have anything more to add, Bobby clasps his hands and leans forward.

"Why do you miss him?"

Buck rears back, looking confused. Bobby spreads his hands.

"You think about him when he's not around. What is it you're thinking about?" he asks. Buck considers the question and flushes. Bobby quickly adds, "Keeping it PG."

Buck scratches his nose, keeping his eyes averted. He takes a deep breath.

"I think... I think about how excited I always was to see him," Buck says to the tabletop. Bobby takes another sip of coffee.

"I think about - how I never had to pretend. Like he saw me, just me, and that was enough. I like, I liked, the way he made me feel about myself." Buck curls in on himself and picks at a thread on his jeans. "I, I miss who I was when he was around."

"Just because Tommy's not around anymore doesn't mean you can't be yourself," Bobby says. Buck takes the bait; he whips his head up to look at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"No, you, you don't understand, Bobby -" Buck leans towards him, insistent. "I miss how he cares so much about everyone even though he tries to look stoic and casual. I miss how he ugly-laughs at his own stupid jokes. I miss the way he talks to kids like they're adults and I miss how gentle he is with anything smaller than him. I miss how he fills his own dishwasher wrong and I have to fix it every time. I miss him more now than the day he broke up with me, what's wrong with me?"

The only sounds in the room are the ticking of the wall clock and the whooshing in-out of Buck's heavy breathing. Bobby waits until he calms down a bit, until he sits back in his chair again and awaits Bobby's input, looking like he's in anguish over it.

"You know he's not perfect." Bobby feels like he's lobbing a live grenade.

Buck scoffs. "Jesus, Bobby, if anyone knows that right now it's me. But I don't want perfect, I just want Tommy."

The clock ticks. Bobby drinks some more coffee. He waits.

Realization overtakes Buck's face between one blink and the next. "Oh," he says. Bobby smiles, enjoys his coffee, and waits some more.

"Oh!"

There it is.

Buck jumps up, springing to his feet like a cartoon character. "I, I have to go, I gotta - I have to go," he says, all in a rush. "Thanks, Bobby!" he calls over his shoulder before running out the front door, slamming it behind himself. The door opens a crack, just long enough for Buck to call, "Bye Bobby!" into the apartment before he's slamming it closed again. He sounds like a herd of galloping horses running down the hall.

Bobby smiles to himself. He checks the clock - Athena will be home soon, and he feels like whipping up one of her favourites for dinner. He takes the mugs - one empty, one full - into the kitchen and leaves them in the sink while he gets started.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

How would Dory react if the player got like a seriously bad injury from exploring the underground parts of the factory and such cause let's be real that place has SO MANY Osha violations

Honestly, I wouldn't last 5 minutes in that factory without breaking something.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Doey & player who got injured in the factory

★ When Doey finds you injured, his first reaction is to panic. "Player! What happened? Oh no, oh no…" before quickly snapping out of it and attempting to help. Trying to remember any of the first aid lessons Medic taught him.

★ His normally steady hands begin to shake as he looks around for anything that could help. "This is all my fault" he thinks to himself, while scanning the room for anything useful.

★ Doey realizes that this part of the factory isn't safe for you. So, he picks you up as gently as possible and brings you somewhere better. Once you’re in a safer area, he tries his best to treat your injuries.

★ It's not perfect but it'll keep you from bleeding out before he can get you back to Safe Haven. "Why did this have to happen to you?" he says to himself, voice hushed and filled with a mix of fear and sorrow.

★ After he brings you back to the Safe Haven, Doey remains by your side for as long as he can. "Let me handle that" he says whenever you try to get up to do something. He's tries to distract himself by helping you. Putting your needs above his own.

★ Even when he's busy, you're still taken care of. A lot of the smaller toys wanted to help you after hearing what happened. Word spreads fast in such a tightknit group. Bobby even brings you her favorite board game to cheer you up! If you needed a cast, it'll get covered in signatures.

★ Despite his best-efforts, time and time again, he dwells on what he could have done differently. Feeling like he somehow made this happen. Like he failed to keep you safe. But he pushes those thoughts aside, trying to focus on the present moment.

★ Doey makes you a get well soon card. The card features a drawing done in crayon of him destroying whatever safety hazard that dared to hurt you. When he hands you the card, you can tell he's proud of it.

[wendichester]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁／⋆ ۪ driving lesson,

summary. sam's an excellent teacher & he's feeling cheeky.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ( + dean )

wordcount. 981.

The motel parking lot is quiet in the late afternoon, the only sound coming from the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. After a long day, Dean passed out hours ago, snoring loud enough to shake the walls. You lean against the Impala, arms crossed, watching Sam twirl the keys around his fingers with a grin that screams trouble.

"So, are you ready?" he asks, his voice low, like he was sharing some grand secret.

You tilt your head, giving him a skeptical look. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Dean's going to kill us if he finds out.”

Sam laughs softly, that easy, boyish grin you've known for years tugging at his lips. “Relax. Dean’s not waking up anytime soon. Besides, you’ve been asking me to teach you forever. Now’s our chance.”

You snort. “Yeah, and what happens when he finds out? You know how he gets about his car.”

“He won’t find out,” Sam says, unlocking the door. “Unless you crash it, which isn’t gonna happen because I’m an amazing teacher.”

“Cocky much?” you shoot back, but you can't help the smile starting to creep on your lips. You and Sam have been friends for as long as you can remember. Sam had always been the steady one, the voice of reason compared to Dean’s brashness. But every now and then, he had his moments—like now.

“Come on, Bobby's taught you the basics. I'm just... refining your skills.” Sam says, motioning for you to get in. “Driver’s seat.”

"Refining, huh?" You say, pushing off the car. "Pretty sure he'd call this a bad damn idea."

Sam shrugs, opening the driver's side door and motioning for you to take a seat. "Yeah, well, Bobby's not here. And trust me, you'll want this on your resume. Driving Baby? That's a milestone."

You can't help but laugh, shaking your head as you slide into the driver’s seat. The Impala’s interior feels bigger when you're behind the wheel, the leather warm against your legs. Sam climbs in beside you, folding his long legs into the passenger seat with practiced ease.

“Okay, first thing—don’t overthink it,” Sam says, leaning back casually. “The Impala’s like a big, grumpy cat. She’ll behave if you’re calm.”

You snort. “A grumpy cat? Dean would kill you for saying that.”

Sam dismisses your statement. “Start her up.”

With a deep breath, you turn the key. The engine roared to life, and the sound sent a thrill down your spine. Sam gives you an encouraging nod, his gaze steady and reassuring.

“Alright, just let off the brake slowly. No rush.”

The Impala eases forward, the movement surprisingly smooth. You glance at Sam, half expecting him to be tense, but he's relaxed, one arm draped over the door as he watches you with a faint smile.

“See? Nothing to it,” he says.

“Yeah, well, don’t jinx it,” you mutter, keeping your eyes firmly on the road.

"You're doing great." Sam leans back further. “Remember that time you tried to drive Bobby’s old truck and ended up stuck in a ditch?” Sam teases after a while, grinning at you.

You groan, laughing despite yourself. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he says, his grin widening. “But hey, you’ve come a long way since then. Look at you now, driving like a pro.”

The sun dips lower as you drive, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink. The road stretches out ahead, empty and peaceful, and for a moment, you feel like the world isn’t as heavy as it usually is.

"You know," he says after a while. "Dean would never admit it, but he'd probably be proud of you. Once he got the whole 'you drove my car' thing."

You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You think?"

"Definitely," Sam says, nodding. "You've got guts, taking this out. That's half the battle."

By the time you turn back onto the road leading to the motel, you feel a newfound confidence. But it's quick to fade. As the lot comes into view, your stomach drops. Dean is standing in front of the motel door, arms crossed, and an expression that could melt steel.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, tightening your grip on the wheel.

Sam winces. “Yeah, so... about that whole ‘he won’t find out’ thing.”

As you roll the Impala to a stop, the gravel crunching beneath the tires, Dean marches over. The look on his face... oh, boy. He leans down to peer through the open window, his gaze fixed on you.

“Are you kidding me?” he barks, his voice rough with irritation.

You open your mouth to explain, but Dean cuts you off with a sharp look. “Out. Now.”

You scramble out of the car, cheeks burning. Sam climbs out more slowly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Dean, listen—”

“Don’t,” Dean snaps, jabbing a finger in Sam’s direction. “I don’t wanna hear it. You let her drive my car? My Baby?”

“She did great,” Sam says, ever the peacemaker. “Didn’t even scratch the paint.”

Dean turns his glare back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. He sighs, running a hand down his face. “Next time? You ask me. Got it?”

You nod so fast your neck aches. “Got it.”

Dean shakes his head, muttering something about “idiots” before turning and heading back toward the motel. Once he's inside, you turn to Sam, who's grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with something.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” he says, laughing softly.

You groan, but you can't help laughing with him. “I sure as hell wasn't expecting him to be that breezy.”

Sam hums in agreement, hands shoved in his pocket as he rocks on the heels of his boots. “It was worth it, right?”

You nod softly. “Damn straight.”

[jmflowers]

Swarla Kisses Rated [x]

1. "Don't get dressed." (22nd November 2024)

The loud noise that occurred at the moment this kiss aired was the sound of an entire population's proverbial panties dropping. Has there ever been a hotter line spoken? This is the power-necking the soap community taught us about. Swarla started off SO strong it's frankly terrifying. 14/10 Carla knew what she wanted.

2. "Have you?" (29th November 2024)

When the most confident dyke on the cobbles asks you if you've changed your mind about your feelings for her, you are required by law to stubbornly keep your hand on your hip. Even if she pushes your hair back from your face as delicately as humanly possible??? If Lisa Swain ever looked at me like that I would burst into flames. 11/10

3. "Is that better?" (16th December 2024)

We reached the domesticity era of their love in 0.2 seconds flat and I for one am not upset about it. The way Carla nuzzles in? The tilt of Lisa's head? The repetition? I was not expecting more kisses so soon in their story. The only way this could've gotten better is if they'd eaten each other's faces after this had been a clearer angle. 7/10 Carla Connor saying, “I want you.” plays on loop in my head at all times.

4. "Mmm... truffley." (20th December 2024)

The prolonged eye contact???? The dazed look on Lisa's face immediately after?? The fucking giggles???? The sheer power Carla Connor has and wields for good (ie. my own entertainment). Coronation Street said y'all deserve this. 10/10 Carla can hand feed me any day of the week.

5. "See you later." (20th December 2024)

Have you ever seen anyone look so peaceful about a decision before? Carla Connor said, "Today's the day I kiss my girlfriend in the street." I know y'all were waiting for that Live Sally Reaction and it did not disappoint. I hope they kiss each other goodbye constantly forever. 6/10 The way she analyzed Lisa's entire face before leaning forward made me scream both internally and externally.

6. New Year's Countdown (31st December 2024)

If you thought I wouldn't lose my mind over the image of them off in a corner of the pub in their own little world, you were wrong. I need to know if this was a scripting choice, an acting choice, or an editing choice for reasons. I'm never going to get sick of the way Lisa pulls Carla closer by the shoulders (almost) every time they kiss. Lisa closing her eyes like that makes my heart stop beating. 8/10

7. "Ooh, your lip!" (31st December 2024)

You ever just get aggressively snogged by a woman who's falling in love with you (while your lip is busted open from fighting bad guys)? Superheroes really don't get days off but they do get the girl. I miss the power-necking (literally a month ago?!?), but this was still so cute. 9/10 for the sheer fact that Carla needed a New Year's like this considering she dies like 12 hours later.

8. "Won't take that long." (31st December 2024)

Carla Connor isn't the only one who nearly fainted shortly after this kiss. Lisa said let me flutter my drunk eyelashes at you. The way Carla opened her mouth?? The breathy, "You want to go to bed?" from Lisa??? The fucking forehead lean???? I am too goddamn gay for this to be on my screen. How did we get a month into this relationship and already reach 8 kiss scenes? 10/10 thanks Coronation Street for the gay rights.

9. "Please don't leave me here." (1st January 2025)

The fact that Lisa could walk away from Carla in this moment is frankly mind-blowing; her face is the same colour as Betsy's shirt. Lisa, woman, OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES. Someone said Carla looks like she died 3 hours ago and they're not wrong. 3/10 because I'm a sucker for the domestic nature of this but also I want to punch everyone in the face for not protecting our sick baby. Gold star for the Corrie makeup department and their highlighter collection.

10. "Are we okay?" (8th January 2025)

Lisa Swain's affectionate eye roll immediately after Bobby interrupted them is like 1/1000th of how we all really felt. She lingered on this kiss for so long. The hand coming up to cup Carla's head? The forehead lean again? Carla's little smile when she realized what was about to happen? Give these ladies a room that isn't in hospital or full of their children. 9/10 we're watching f/f hurt/comfort fanfiction live on ITV.

11. Comforting Hand (9th January 2025)

We're deep in the trenches of this hurt/comfort storyline now, kids. I hope Lisa plans on sitting vigil at Carla's bedside for the rest of their damn lives (yes I'm wearing my clown makeup while I watch this soap). 4/10 because my self-deprecating baby pulled away from the love and support she deserves.

12. Good Luck (13th January 2025)

As far as kisses go, this barely passes the test, but THEY ARE FAMILY. Carla, proper bricking it. Betsy, also bricking it. Good thing Lisa Swain swooped in to wish her wife girlfriend good luck with the most vanilla cheek peck known to man. Someone get them a room and a dialysis machine whirring to drown out all their kids, stat! 5/10 cause I respect the domesticity.

13. "We'll make it happen either way." (17th January 2025)

At the precise moment that Carla Connor's head settled in against Lisa Swain's shoulder and her eyes closed and she smiled that little smile while Lisa declared them a 'we', my heart officially stopped beating and I passed away. Rating this soft head kiss an 8/10 from the grave because (whatever entity you believe is on the other side) agreed with me: that's the Connor-Swain family!

14. "I'm not scared. I'm not." (20th January 2025)

Carla Connor is absolutely not scared. And she absolutely did not inch forward slightly so that Lisa could be the one to decide to hold her and make her feel safe. Absolutely none of that happened. I'm going to forever be soft about all these forehead kisses and collapsing-into-each-other hugs. Rating this a 9/10 for the utter loving, vulnerability of it all. Now, go make sweet love about it!

15. "Ugh, in my dreams." (5th February 2025)

DOMESTICITY ERA IS A GO. They greet each other with kisses, y'all. We're really in it now... we've made it! Coronation Street said have all the vanilla lip pecks you desire, cause they live together. 7/10 Because all I'm really thinking about is them staying up all night in the glow of the dialysis machine making sweet love.

16. "...the best possible future I could imagine." (5th February 2025)

Lisa Swain: Certified Softy said I'm gonna stick by you so hard, Carla Connor. Through sickness and in lunch break. I'm obsessed with how committed she gets to these hand and forehead kisses; how long she hovers on the moment, making eye contact, making sure Carla knows what she means. 8/10 This is what love looks like.

[lostintheuniverseslies]

Part 1 • Part 2

This was only supposed to be one part but y’all’s feedback has me excited to write more.

He doesn’t remember ordering the Uber, getting into the car, or the drive to the hospital. All he can think about is Evan. Dying.

Evan. Alone.

Evan. Thinking he wasn’t the person Tommy was meant to spend his life with. Because of course, he didn’t. Tommy walked away like a coward.

He shouldn’t go to the hospital. He broke up with Evan. They’ve been apart for almost three months. He doesn’t have a right to be here. Doesn’t have a right to worry. Doesn’t have a right to sit with the people who didn’t leave Evan.

But he needs to make sure Evan is okay. He needs to hear it from a doctor, needs to see Evan with his own eyes—just once—to confirm he’s alive.

And then he can walk away.

Maybe.

But he doubts he will. Not after spending the entire minute and thirty seconds of that voicemail believing Evan was already gone.

The hospital is a blur. He barely registers thanking the Uber driver, taking the elevator up to the floor Howie texted him. He has only a moment to doubt his place here before Maddie spots him. She’s up from her chair in an instant, arms outstretched.

He expects her to be angry, to tell him to leave. But she wraps her arms around him instead, holding him tight.

And Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He holds on just as tightly, feels her body shake with silent sobs, and it unravels him all over again.

He’s never been good at showing emotions. His father, the army, Gerrard—all taught him that feelings were weaknesses. Being a boy meant sucking it up. Being a man meant swallowing it down.

It took a long time to unlearn that. But crying? That was something he only did in the shower, late into the night, where no one could see. No one could hear.

But today, he cried in his garage. And now, he’s crying in Maddie’s arms.

And he knows—if Evan dies, it will break him into pieces he’ll never be able to repair.

The breakup was supposed to protect him. Self-preservation.

But it meant absolutely fucking nothing when he knows, deep down, he was completely gone on Evan Buckley the moment he asked for a second chance over coffee.

“Do they know what happened?” Tommy asks when they pull apart.

Howie steps in, hugging him without hesitation and Tommy is too emotionally frayed to be surprised.

“I called him to see if he could pick something up on his way over for dinner tonight,” Maddie says, voice tight. “A paramedic answered. She told me he was hit by a car while saving a little girl.”

Despite everything, pride swells in Tommy’s chest.

Of course Evan would throw himself in front of danger for someone without thinking about the outcome.

“Is she okay?” Tommy asks.

“As far as I know,” Maddie answers.

“And Evan’s injuries?”

Maddie exhales shakily. “His surgeon just updated us. He’s stable enough for surgery but still critical. They’re trying to control the internal bleeding first. It could take three or four hours. The CT scan didn’t show any brain swelling, which is good. But that’s all we know right now.”

Tommy nods. None if it settles him.

Yes, Evan is in surgery.

Yes, Evan is stable enough to be operated on.

But people still die in surgery.

Maddie takes his hand, guiding him to sit and she doesn’t let him go. He doesn’t mind. It keeps him tethered. Keeps him from running.

He’s so fucking sick of running.

If Evan makes it through this, if he meant what he said on that voicemail, Tommy will never run from him again.

Within the hour, everyone who loves Evan arrives.

Bobby. Athena. Eddie. Hen. Karen.

Tommy feels like a fraud. Like he doesn’t deserve to be here. He can’t lift his head. Can’t meet their eyes. If he does, he might see them agree.

Maddie squeezes his hand. “You okay?” she asks, reading his turmoil instantly.

Something compels him to tell the truth.

“No.” His voice cracks. “What right do I have to be here? I left him.”

The words sit heavy between them, and when he finally looks up, Maddie is already watching him. Her eyes are still watery but she doesn’t look at him with pity.

“Wanna know a secret?” She asks.

The shift in topic throws him, but he nods hesitantly.

“I left him once too. Not just once but twice,” she admits.

Tommy stares. She says it like a confession. Like she knows exactly what he’s feeling.

“But I came back,” Maddie continues. “And he forgave me.” A small, knowing smile tugs at her lips. “Because Buck has a big heart, and he forgives. He’ll forgive you, too.”

Tommy lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “It’s different. You’re his sister.”

“And you’re the love of his life.”

That knocks the breath from his lungs. He makes a sound—something broken, wet, barely a laugh, mostly a sob. He doesn’t feel worthy of that title.

“He called me before help came,” Tommy whispers, voice thick. The waiting room goes quiet. He knows they’re all pretending not to listen. But he doesn’t care.

“He left a voicemail.” Tommy swipes a hand across his face, smudging away tears and grime, forgetting he didn’t clean up after changing the oil in his truck. “He called me.” His throat tightens as he struggles to make sense of it. “He was more worried about me being alone than the fact that he was dying. I don’t understand. I left, Maddie. And he called me.” He shakes his head, barely breathing through it. “I don’t deserve it.”

Maddie doesn’t argue. She just tilts her head slightly, searching his face. “Why?”

The question knocks him off balance. He blinks at her. “What?”

“Why don’t you deserve it?” She repeats, unwavering. “Why don’t you deserve to be here for him? To love him? Because you left?” Her voice remains calm, measured. “Did you leave him because you didn’t love him?”

“No. God, no. I love him.” The words come out rough, desperate. “I love him with everything I have.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m not worth it.” The confession tears out of him, raw and unfiltered.

Maddie’s gaze remains steady as she asks, “Shouldn’t that be for him to decide?”

The question shouldn’t hit him as hard as it does.

“If he told you he wasn’t worth loving, would you agree?”

“God, no.”

“Then why is it different when it’s you?”

Tommy doesn’t have an answer.

Maddie lets the silence settle for a beat before glancing around the room. “Look around,” she says. “Every single person here has made mistakes. But we fought for the people we love. We didn’t let the mistakes be the end of the story.”

Tommy swallows hard, his chest tight.

“Relationships aren’t mean to be easy every single day. You think Bobby and Athena never struggled?” She continues. “You think Hen and Karen haven’t had their battles? Me and Howie? I left him. I left him and Jee-Yun.”

Tommy blinks at her. He didn’t know that. But maybe that was the point—Maddie’s history wasn’t Evan’s to tell.

“When we’re scared, we run,” Maddie says, voice gentler now. “But people like Howie and Buck? They don’t keep that as a weapon to use against us. They remind us—every single day—of all the reasons we should stay. Until we stop wondering if running would be better.” She squeezes his hand again. “You just have to give him the chance.”

Tommy closes his eyes, exhaling shakily.

Maybe, just maybe, he can.

Hour Four: They’ve stopped the lung bleeding and removed his spleen.

Hour Six: Tommy stretches his legs and Eddie follows. He gives Tommy a hug and they don’t have to exchange any words because the pain is clear on both of their faces.

Hour Eight: Athena checks for updates on the hit-and-run.

Hour Ten: Pelvic and arm surgery complete. ICU next. And Evan’s family are allowed to visit him one by one.

Hour Seventeen: Tommy stands outside his room.

It feels like a nightmare. Machines help Evan breathe and there are wires everywhere. He doesn’t want to enter but he has something to say.

He steps inside. Takes Evan’s hand. Already feels tears welling again.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice thick. “I need you to come back to me. Please.”

One more?

Final part

[midnightdahlias]

Lone Wolf

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summery - Bobby calls you when two hunters seem to need a rescue word count - 2.8k cws - gn!reader, kinda fluff (ig), typical supernatural hunt violence, mentions of weapons, mild language, mentions of injury, lmk if i missed anything a/n - the amount of times i've rewritten this fic-, i do hope you like it though, and as always rebloggs and comments are appreciated. happy reading !

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Driving was the calm between the chaos.

For hunters like you, it was the only time life didn’t feel like one giant nightmare. No claws, no teeth, no windows to get thrown through. Just the hum of the engine, the occasional song on the radio, and miles of open road.

Being a solo hunter? Even better. No one to babysit, no one to lose. It was just you and your thoughts. Peaceful.

...Well. Mostly.

Because, let’s face it, solitude had its downsides. You weren’t a robot. Sometimes, you wanted someone to talk to who wasn’t a bartender or Bobby Singer on the other end of the line. But people were a luxury you couldn’t afford—not when you knew what this life would do to them. You’d already learned that lesson the hard way, thank you very much.

But somedays you’d find yourself working with others, and today was one of those days.

“Hey, Bobby, got a case for me?” you asked, cradling the phone against your shoulder while you tightened the strap on your duffel bag.

“Not a case so much as a rescue mission,” Bobby said, and you could practically hear the grimace in his voice.

“Rescue?”

“Couple of knuckleheads went dark in Chicago. I sent ’em a case, and now I can’t get ahold of ’em. Might be nothin’, but…”

“Better safe than sorry,” you finished for him.

“Exactly.” He sighed, and you could hear the faint clink of a whiskey glass on his end.

“Why me? Don’t tell me I’m your only option.”

“You’re the best shot I’ve got, and you know it,” Bobby said gruffly. “Now, are you gonna help or stand there flappin’ your gums?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m on it. Send me the details.”

The drive to Chicago was quiet, a welcome break from the chaos that usually followed you around. It gave you time to think: about Bobby’s call, about the hunters who’d gone dark, and about how you were the one he trusted to find them. You didn’t mind the weight of that responsibility. If they were still alive, you’d get them out. If not… you’d make sure the job was done. Either way, it was your mess to clean up.

Your first stop was the police station, where the missing hunters were last seen.

Flashing your fake FBI badge, you approached the front desk. “Couple of angets were here investigating some strange deaths. I’m their superior. Mind telling me what they found?”

The officer barely looked up. “You’ll want Detective Hayes. Down the hall.”

Hayes didn’t waste time. “They were looking into some deaths. Real messy ones. Claw marks, missing hearts, looks like a wild animal got to them. Weirdest damn thing.”

Missing hearts. Yep. Definitely your kinda thing.

He handed you the case file. You didn’t miss the way he watched you, like he was waiting for you to explain it all away. Instead, you nodded, thanked him, and left. The morgue confirmed what you already knew—this wasn’t some rogue animal. This was werewolves.

The victims were last seen at a seedy little bar on the edge of town. Sounded like your next stop.

The bar smelled like beer and poor life choices. You grabbed a seat at the far end, where you could see the whole room without sticking out too much. Years of hunting had taught you to trust your instincts, and right now, they were screaming something’s off.

Hours passed without incident. You were just about to call it a night when a hooded figure walked in, immediately drawing your attention. He moved with purpose, scanning the crowd before slipping a small envelope to a woman sitting alone, and walked out without a word.

Because that’s definitely not suspicious at all.

The woman opened the envelope, scanned its contents, then locked eyes with you.

You froze and your pulse quickening. Was it obvious you were watching her? Maybe. Did she seem like the type to care? Also maybe.

Just when you thought she might try and approach you or something, she stood and left without a word.

Again definitely not suspicious…

You waited a beat, and against every bit of common sense you had, you followed her out into the night.

You knew fully well that this could be a trap, but you also knew that this might be the only chance you’d get. You tailed her car at a cautious distance until she turned into an alleyway. Parking just past it, you got out and crept closer on foot.

The alley was dark and silent, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp. You kept your distance as she climbed out of her car, a sleek white sedan.

That’s when you saw it. A black ‘67 Chevrolet Impala parked behind her car.

Your heart stopped. No. Fucking. Way.

Everyone in the hunting community knew that car. It belonged to the Winchester brothers and if it was here, so were they.

Heart pounding, you crept closer to what looked to be an old theater near the alley. The door was left slightly ajar. Definitely a trap, but again what choices did you have other than to follow.

Knife in hand, you slipped inside.

The old theater was in disrepair. Dust covered the seats, and the air smelled of mildew. Yet the stage area seemed oddly intact, as though it were still in use. Before you could explore further, a low growl stopped you in your tracks.

Out of the shadows stepped a werewolf, its eyes glowing an unnatural yellow. You barely had time to react as it lunged at you.

“Of course,” you muttered, diving to the side. Your silver knife caught its flank, but the thing was fast. Claws swiped, catching your arm, but you kept moving, twisting the blade into its chest until it dropped.

Before you could catch your breath, a second growl echoed through the room.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned.

The woman from the bar stepped into the dim light, her face twisted, fangs bared.

“I knew you’d be trouble. You just had to poke your nose where it didn’t belong” she snarled, lunging at you.

You fought with everything you had. Her speed and strength outmatched the first werewolf by a mile. Claw marks tore through your jacket, and pain flared in your ribs, but you pressed on, besides you’d been through worse. Finally, a lucky strike drove your blade into her heart with every ounce of frustration you’d built up in the last 24 hours.. She crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Panting, you staggered to your feet, surveying the room as you did so and spotted a faint light coming from backstage. You followed it and found the Winchesters tied up and unconscious but thankfully alive. Working quickly, you untied Sam, and began your attempts at waking the younger of the two brothers up.

“Come on Sam, wake up!” you whispered-yelled, shaking him furiously. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked at you in confusion.

“Who—”

“Hunter. Bobby sent me. We can swap stories later.”

Before you could untie Dean, another werewolf burst through the door.

“Son of a—” you curesed under your breath, turning back to Sam “You handle your brother. I’ll handle him.”

The fight was grueling. This werewolf was stronger and faster than the others. It pressed you relentlessly, forcing you to dodge and counter with every ounce of skill you had. At one point, it pinned you, its jaws snapping inches from your face. Desperately, you reached for your knife, plunging it into its side. The creature howled in pain but didn’t relent.

You tried to reach for your blade again, but the creature had beat you to it and thrown it far out of your reach.

Just when you thought you were screwed, a gunshot rang out. The werewolf collapsed right on top of you.

‘’Ugh, seriously’’ you muttered, annoyed, even though someone had just saved your life.

You pushed away the werewolf, revealing Dean Winchester, awake and armed, smirking like he’d just saved the day.

“I had him,” you panted, brushing dust from your jacket.

Dean grinned, holstering his gun. “I think you mean, thank you.”

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I didn’t need saving, but appreciate it anyway.”

You sat up, your body aching more now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Your hands were shaking, but you steadied them, trying not to show how badly you hurt.

You glanced over at Sam, who had just come into the room, taking in the full scene in front of him, his gaze flicking from you to the wolves you had ganked before even getting to the boys. "Did you—?"

You nodded, your muscles protesting as you stood. The reality of your injuries hit you all at once—scrapes, bruises, and a deep ache in your ribs. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, but the exhaustion was creeping in. You’d deal with it later, when you had the space to breathe.

"Yeah, well, Bobby sent me to save your asses," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Would’ve been pretty embarrassing if I’d gotten myself ganked in the process.”

Sam didn’t laugh. His gaze was fixed on you, scanning your face, the bloodied scratches on your arm. He was looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"You’re hurt," Sam murmured, his voice softer than you expected.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, brushing him off with a wave. “Just a few scratches. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But Sam didn’t look convinced. His jaw clenched, and he took a step toward you. “You sure about that?”

You laughed, a little too sharply. "Mhm. Besides, you should be worried about yourself. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

You were used to being the tough one, the one who didn’t show weakness. But there was something about the way Sam was looking at you, his eyes filled with concern, that made it harder to pretend you were unaffected. It was sweet, but you weren't ready to let him in on just how much it affected you.

He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”

He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”

“Wait! I didn’t get your name,” he called out.

You smirked, turning to face him. “That’s because I didn’t give it.”

Sam frowned, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll just have to track you down next time.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, climbing into your car.

As you drove away, the open road stretched ahead of you, peaceful as ever. But this time, you couldn’t shake the thought of a certain tall, hazel-eyed hunter. Maybe working alone wasn’t as perfect as you’d always believed. And as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of a little chaos... didn’t seem so bad.

The hum of the engine mixed with the music on the radio filled the car as you drove into the night, your mind still running a few steps behind, tangled in thoughts of Sam, of Dean, and what came next.

You couldn't help but wonder—was this the last time you'd cross paths with the Winchesters? Somehow, you doubted it.

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masterlist

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 2 (Evan Buckley x Reader) (Eventual Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1

Chapter Summary: Buck faces a few challenges, and you're there for some of them.

A/N: This is such a niche story and I am desperate for validation, please tell me if you enjoyed reading! Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: descriptions of gun violence, mental health issues/suicide ideation (nothing overly graphic IMO)

Unlike some people who work in this building, you know how to take orders. So, instead of dragging your feet and prolonging the inevitable, you go to Bobby’s office the second you get back from the call. Hen tries to say something to you, but you’re so focused on having this conversation behind you that you ignore her. 

Despite the door being cracked open, you knock a few times. 

“Come in,”  Bobby says. 

You step in. He looks up. 

“Ah,” he remarks as if it’s a surprise to see you. “You can close the door behind you.” 

You close the door and lean against it. 

“Have a seat,” Bobby instructs as he files through some random papers. 

You let out a sigh. You were hoping to be in and out, but Bobby clearly has other ideas. Still, you do as you’re told. 

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened with Buck.”

As if you’d be in here for anything else. 

“Are you gonna write me up?” You ask instinctually. You’ve never been formally disciplined, so the question is gnawing at you. 

“Buck wants me to.”

You snort. “Buck wants a lot of things; most children do.”

“You’re a year younger than him,” Bobby points out. 

It’s true—Buck is 26, and you’re 25. But in this context especially, age is just a number. You’re a 25-year-old advanced practice paramedic with 3 years of experience who acts their age. Buck is a 26-year-old firefighter in his probationary period who acts like a frat boy.

“Are you going to write me up?” You repeat. 

Bobby gives you a look, then sighs with a crooked smile. “No. But if you do anything like that again, you’ll be hearing from me and Sergeant Grant.” 

“Fair enough,” you cede. 

There are a few silent beats in the conversation. This is why Bobby made you sit—he has more to say. 

“Why does he bother you so much?” Bobby asks.

“Literally everything I told him: he’s wreckless and he’s gonna get someone killed if he doesn’t change.” 

“So why not teach him to do better, to be better?”

“Trust me, Cap, I’ve tried,” you chuckle. “I mean, even earlier today, I taught him how to clear an obstruction in a neonatal airway. And honestly? For a few minutes, when he was running down the stairs with that baby in his arms, I thought, ‘Hey, maybe he isn’t so bad after all.’ And then he yells at Sergeant Grant, and he proves me wrong. Again.” 

“I’m talking to him and Sergeant Grant about how everything went down,” Bobby says. 

“I’m not telling you that to get him in trouble, I just…” You take a deep breath through your nose and let it out as a sigh. “It felt like no one was holding him accountable. And I’ve tried playing nice, and I’ve tried teaching him, and he still had the nerve to pretend that he can play god. And I just… lost it, and thought that maybe if I treat him like a man would, he would finally listen to me.”

Bobby nods, taking in everything you’ve said.  

“You think I don’t hold him accountable?” He eventually asks. 

You let out another sigh. “If Buck worked under any other LAFD Captain, they would have canned his ass about three months ago.”

“But is that the right thing to do?” Bobby counters. “This job is tough, and it isn’t something that can be taught overnight. Buck has potential—he could be an invaluable asset some day.”

“Is firing him the right call? Honestly, Bobby, I have no idea,” you admit. “But if people have to get hurt in order for Buck to be good at his job, then it isn’t worth the price.” 

Bobby ended up firing Buck a few days later. It wasn’t for what happened with Sergeant Grant; it was because, apparently, Bobby caught him having sex with some girl on a roof. He used one of the fire trucks to drive there. The moron didn’t realize they have GPS trackers. You got all of this information in a text from Hen. 

You turn the corner to the locker room, planning to put away your keys and wallet before starting your shift like you always do. You didn’t expect to see Buck sitting on the bench in front of the lockers. 

You plan on opening your locker, throwing your stuff in it, and leaving before Buck can say anything. The second you lift the lever, though, Buck turns his head towards you. 

He doesn’t say anything, and you definitely aren‘t going to break the silence. 

“So you heard, huh?” Buck says. 

You close your locker and spin the lock to scramble it. “Yeah, I did.” 

“Aren’t you going to say anything else?” 

“Tough break. Sorry, man,” you say with a shrug. You turn on your heel to leave.

“That’s it?” Buck says with a laugh. “A few days ago, you were slamming me against an ambulance, and now… nothing? Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘I told you so’?”

Buck doesn’t even work at the 118 anymore, and he still has a way of getting under your skin. You close your eyes, hoping you can gain some composure before you say anything.

“I’m sorry for pushing you; that was unprofessional,” you say and make your second attempt at leaving.

“But that’s all you're sorry for,” Buck says, rising to his feet. 

You turn around and eye him from head to toe. His chest isn’t puffed out in that hypermasculine way it normally is. Buck shifts his weight between feet, and when the pressure of your stare becomes too much, he breaks eye contact. 

“It’s like Sergeant Grant said: I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” you eventually reply.

“Then say it: you’re happy to see me go.”

Jesus Christ, he can be such a baby. 

“Okay, fine, you wanna go there?” you retort, taking a step forward. “You wanna know the worst thing about you, Buck?” 

He just looks at you. 

“You. You’re the worst thing about you. Because you could’ve been good. You’ve got decent skills, and you have heart, but you have no discipline. You can’t take orders, and you can’t look at a woman for more than thirty seconds without having sex with her. You’re a 16-year-old boy trapped in a 26-year-old man’s body, and ever since you started, you haven’t done anything to change it. You get in your own way and are too busy flirting or running your mouth to even realize it.”

You take another step towards him to ensure he hears what you’re about to say. “You could’ve been good. And I hope that shit haunts you. Because maybe, it’ll finally make you grow up.”

You start to make your exit again but linger in the doorway. You turn back around; there’s one more thing you want to say.

“I’m not happy to see you go, Evan. In fact, I was really hoping you would prove me wrong.”

And with that, you’re gone. 

You and Hen go out on a ‘shortness of breath’ call that ends up being a STEMI — a heart attack. You get him to the nearest hospital in five minutes, and if they can get him to the cath lab, he has a really good shot at surviving it. The patient’s wife hugs both you and Hen, thanking the two of you for doing such a wonderful job. You savor the feeling; most calls don’t end this way. 

When you pull into the station, there’s an engine missing. At first, you think it’s no big deal: the boys are probably out on a fire call. Then you see Bobby standing where the engine’s supposed to be.

“What’s going on, Cap?” Hen asks as she closes the door to the rig. 

“There’s an engine missing.”

“Yeah, clearly,” you chuckle. 

“There were reports of a residential break-in on Lambert Street in Winnetka,” Bobby continues. 

“Damn,” Hen whistles. 

You both heard something about that over the scanner on your drive back to the station; there was a suspected hostage, a young girl. Last you heard, the subject was trying to flee by motorcycle. 

“All of the 118 firemen are accounted for,” Bobby concludes.

You and Hen share a look. Who has a track record of borrowing engines without permission?

The truck pulls up and slowly backs into the garage. You catch a glimpse of the driver in one of the rearview mirrors. 

“Pretty Boy,” you say simply. 

Buck steps out of the truck, still wearing the jeans and long-sleeved grey shirt you last saw him in. “I know what this looks like.”

“Looks like you took the engine out in your street clothes,” Bobby says as he approaches the younger man. 

“I didn't really have time to change,” Buck counters. He doesn’t say it in his normal cocky tone, though. Frankly, he looks nervous. 

“Athena Grant called me, wanted to tell me what an asset you are.” Bobby continues. “Told her she was half right.”

Buck frowns. “Are you giving me another chance?” 

“You’ve used all your chances; so have I,” Bobby says, “because somehow I have failed to communicate to you how lucky we are to do what we do.”

Bobby starts to walk away, but Buck isn’t letting him get away that easy. 

“You're wrong, Bobby. I absolutely do get what a privilege it is to serve here,” Buck says, “and you know what? You were right to fire me.”

That makes Bobby stop dead in his tracks.

“I was a punk,” Buck continues, “still am one. But I'm a punk who understands what he lost. Just… needed you to know that.”

“I hope you mean that. Now go get dressed.” 

Buck stands cluelessly for a second, then turns to you and Hen. “I think I’m not fired.” 

“Your shift’s not over yet,” Hen points out. 

You go to follow her, but Buck stops you by calling your name. 

“I just wanted to tell you, uh…” Buck says, wringing his hands together. “I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

Normally, words like that coming out of his mouth would set your skin on fire. Between the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, though, something in your gut tells you to hear him out. 

“Yeah?” You ask simply, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“Some day, I’ll be good,” he says, “but until then, I’ll be better.”

Buck extends a hand for you to shake. It’s the most chivalrous thing you’ve seen him do since you met him. You look at his hand, then at his eyes. There isn’t a trace of humor in his gaze. You take his hand and shake it. 

“I look forward to seeing it.”

Your first call of the shift is to an amusement park where one of the rides malfunctioned. A rider was thrown from the ride as it was moving, and it sounds like he’ll be DOA. When the operator deployed the emergency breaks, though, it meant the rest of the train stopped at the top of a loop, which one rider is now dangling out of. 

Buck is the first to volunteer to climb the ladder and harness the passenger. You’re not surprised. He’s grown a lot in the last few weeks, but he still jumps at every exciting opportunity, no matter how dangerous it may be. Maybe that’s just how Buck is. 

“Hey, he’s asking about his friend,” Buck radios once he’s at the top. 

“Chimney, how’s the kid on the ground?” Bobby radios. 

You look up and shake your head. 

“We lost him,” Chim radios back. 

“All right, I don't need the people up there seeing that. So, do me a favor... He survived, right? Get him on a gurney. You know the drill,” Bobby instructs.

“Copy that,” Chim replies. 

Once you and Chimney get him on the gurney and out of everyone’s sight, you look up at Buck. 

“Come on,” Chimney mutters encouragingly. “Come on, Buck.” 

After a painfully long minute, you see the man’s grasp on the rollercoaster falter. Then, you watch him let go. You close your eyes before you see him hit the ground, but the sound will echo off of your eardrums for a while. 

You go the rest of the night without seeing Buck; you don’t share another call, and when you’re not out in the field, you’re asleep in the bunks. It’ll probably kill you in the long run, but these days, you learn to sleep whenever and wherever you can. 

When you wake up for morning report and breakfast, Buck is already sitting at the table. You wipe the sleep out of your eyes and get a cup of coffee before sitting across from him. 

Bobby was nice enough to make breakfast; he knows how hard these calls are. No matter how many you get, it’ll never get easier. 

Bobby sets a plate in front of Buck. 

“I’m not hungry,” he says almost instantaneously. 

“This is America, Buckaroo,” Chim replies as he sets some silverware on the table. “Eating has nothing to do with being hungry.

“Man, I was right there. You know, all he had to do was reach up and grab my hand,” Buck says instead.

“People do funny things at times like that,” you offer, sipping your drink. “ Sometimes they just freeze up.”

“I’ve never lost anyone before,” Buck says quietly. He looks up at you. “Does it get any easier?” 

Bobby answers for you. “No.” 

“Look, people die, and that’s part of the gig, right?” Chim says as he sits next to you. “See, your problem is, you're looking at every job like it's a long-term relationship. They're one-night stands, man. In that moment, they mean everything to you, but once the morning comes... it's on to the next one.”

“How silly of me to think you’d say something productive,” you roll your eyes.

Chim furrows his brows. “What?”

“You’re such a man,” you say to Chim, then turn to Buck. “Look, dude, we all go through it, and you just have to figure out a way to deal with it,.” You pause. “You know why we wear these uniforms?”

“Sex appeal?” Chim answers, which earns him a quick kick to the shin from you. 

“So people can easily identify us,” Buck responds. 

“That’s true, but… I don’t know, I like to think it’s because when we take it off, we can leave it all behind us. Right now, you’re firefighter Buckley, but when your shift is over, you’re Buck. It just… symbolizes letting go, I guess.”

“I see his face every time I close my eyes,” Buck says. “Does that happen to you?” 

“It’ll pass,” you promise. 

“And if it doesn’t?”

You stare at Buck for a moment. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same man who mouthed off to a police Sergeant mere weeks ago. 

“Then you talk someone,” you eventually say. “A friend, a therapist, a bartender… you find a way to let it out, and then you let it go.”

 

Once again, you don’t see Buck for hours. You heard on the scanner that the 118 responded to several rescue calls, none requiring an RA unit. You spent the rest of your shift bouncing from call to call and ER to ER, seeing everything from stab wounds to childbirth. It’s shifts like this that remind you why you do what you do. It’s chaotic, stressful, and bloody, but it is fun. After a certain point, you don’t even have to use your brain; the adrenaline in your veins kicks your brain into autopilot, and your pounding heart is just along for the ride. 

You step into the communal locker room, completely exhausted. You still have to change, and considering everything you’ve witnessed, you should probably shower too. Most of all, you want to go home and crawl into your bed. 

Buck is sitting on the bench in the locker room, similar to how he was a few weeks ago after he was ‘fired.’ Just like you, he’s still wearing his uniform. His head is bowed between his shoulders as his elbows rest on his knees. This time, his head doesn’t perk up when you open your locker. 

“I heard you used The Manuever today,” you spark the conversation. “Nice save.”

Buck finally looks up and then chuckles quietly. “Yeah, if only I could’ve done that a few days ago.” 

You take a seat next to him. “Still thinking about Devon, huh?” 

“I’m trying not to, I just…” Buck says, then cuts himself off as he shakes his head. 

“It’s easier said than done,” you conclude. 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” you agree. 

Both of you sit in comfortable silence for a few moments. You open your mouth a few times only to close it. You don’t want to tell this story; you hate even thinking about it. But if you’re going to sit here and tell Buck that he has to let things go, you have to do the same. It’s only fair. 

“The first person I lost… her name was Katherine Vanec. She was 17 years old, wearing a University of Washington shirt, white shorts, and black Converse High Tops. We got a call from her mother, who was at work when she started getting strange texts from Katherine. It was supposed to be a welfare check, and when the cops got there, they found her locked in her bedroom. When fire and rescue broke down the door, she had a .22 caliber revolver pressed to her temple.”

“Jesus,” Buck mutters. 

“Katherine had a history of Borderline Personality Disorder and suicidal ideation. She figured out that her high school sweetheart had been cheating on her for almost a year. They made plans together, I guess — they were gonna go to the same school, find a place off-campus to live together. He pulled the rug right out from under her, and she couldn’t take it.”

“So what happened?”

You smile sadly. “By the time we arrived, a negotiator had been talking to her for almost ten minutes. They thought she was in a good spot that all she had to do was put the gun down, and we would swoop in and 5150 her.”

“Involuntary admission,” Buck says. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “That didn’t happen. When the negotiator asked her to set the gun down, she lost it. She kept talking about how every time before, she chickened out, and she couldn’t let that happen again. She turned the gun on us.”

“Suicide by cop.”

You nod as a few tears well in your eyes. Even all these years later, that case haunts you. “Her finger wasn’t near the trigger; she didn’t want to hurt anyone. She just didn’t want to be alive anymore, and she couldn’t think of another way out. I can still hear the sound of the bullets tearing through her.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Buck asks softly. 

You wipe at your eyes and clear your throat. “Let it out and let it go,” you answer, then nudge his shoulder with yours. “Your turn.” 

Buck smiles; the expression is bittersweet. “I keep replaying what happened. I can’t shake this feeling that there’s something else I could’ve done. Maybe I could have grabbed his arm, or maybe there’s something I could’ve said differently.”

“Or maybe, no matter what you did, it was always going to end that way,” you suggest quietly. “Maybe he felt the same way Katherine did—like he had no other way out. We can try to rescue people, but we can’t make them want to be alive. Some people just don’t want to be saved, Buck.” 

“That really sucks.”

You laugh. “Yeah, it does. I guess that’s why we have each other; it makes it suck a little less.” 

“‘Each other’ as in you and me?” Buck asks in a lighthearted tone. 

You roll your eyes, but secretly, you’re thankful for the change of pace. “‘Each other’ as in the 118, which technically includes you and me.” 

“Sounds like a copout.” 

You laugh and clap a hand on Buck’s shoulder before standing. “Have a good night, Buck.”

You make it to the doorway before he says your name. You look back at him. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

You bite your lip, but it isn’t enough to conceal your smile. “Anytime.” 

Ch 3

[elihermit]

let’s ruin the friendship

— part one

pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley x fem!reader

summary: 118 throws a party for their station. You started working there 3 months ago and already feel like a part of the family. Buck caught feelings for you, but still need to confess them. How will the weekend end?

word count: 1,5k

author’s note: i’m actually obsessed with this fic🧘🏻‍♀️ hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it

p.s. i see all your requests, i’m in the process of writing them🫧

Malibu. You're sitting by the ocean and looking at the sky. You take a deep breath and feel your lungs fill with sea air, this real sea smell. The wind blows your hair, the warm sand tickles your toes and your head is free of thoughts.

118 decided to make a party for your station and you rented a house in Malibu on the Pacific Ocean. Three days of rest and fun with friends, what could be better?

And you needed it. You've been working at 118 for three months now and it's really a dream job. But because you're still new to this: it's hard, demanding and emotional at times. So getting out of this for a couple of days sounded very tempting.

The whole 118 team received you very warmly. Bobby is the best captain you could ask for. He literally became your second dad, mentor and wise friend. He taught you to take any difficulty as a valuable lesson that will lead you to a better version of yourself. Hen, Chimney and Eddie have become a resource of light. You never thought that colleagues at work could become family, but they showed you this. They are always happy to see you in their homes, put a smile on your face every shift and support you when something gets too much.

And Buck. You chuckled and admitted that you fell for him. You're not usually the type to get attached to people quickly. Honestly, you don't even know if you ever really loved. And it was Evan who made you feel things you'd never felt before. Butterflies in your stomach, counting the minutes before your shift starts to see him, “accidental” touches, stolen glances and a blush on your cheeks when he compliments you.

You looked up at the sky once more, where the stars were shining. Your dress was covered in sand, but you didn't care, because it was those moments that gave you a sense of carelessness. You were the very first to arrive at the house that you all rented and realized that this was a great opportunity to be alone with yourself. It was just you and the ocean.

“You're early as always.” — of course it was Buck. You chuckled to yourself and weren't even surprised that it was him. It's like he always appears when you think about him.

“Yeah, I didn't really calculate the time right and got here without traffic jams.”

You felt Buck sit down next to you on the sand and you both looked out into the boundless ocean.

“Aren't you afraid to get your pants dirty?”

“I wouldn't have become a firefighter if I was afraid of that. Plus, I'm willing to get my pants dirty if it means sitting in peace and quiet next to you.”

The next day went better than you imagined. You were all swimming, barbecuing, making cocktails, chatting and laughing a lot. Adults, but behaved like children, and this is exactly what everyone needed — to forget about adult responsibilities for a while and give themselves up to impulsive desires.

The day was nearing sunset and you split up. Men were playing volleyball, women were sitting by the pool with glasses of wine.

“If such a weekend becomes a tradition at your station, then I will have to change my place of work.” — Karen said and sipped her wine.

“Oh honey, we don’t have to. We are the wives of firefighters, we will always have the privilege for such parties.” — Athena said, doing a little dance.

Everyone laughed and agreed with this statement. You adored the women around you: strong, beautiful, and knowing how to have fun, even working such hard jobs.

“So (Y/N), any plans on making this official?” — Hen raised her eyebrows, pointing at you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on girl, we all see how you and Buck literally devour each other with eyes.”

“We’re just friends.”

You close your eyes, pull on your sunglasses and lie down on a beach chair. You do everything so that no one sees how your cheeks started to turn red.

“Yeah, I'm sure that friends dance in each other's arms, go to places for couples in the evenings and make local jokes that no one else understands.” — Maddie came back to the pool and put another cocktail in front of you. “It’s from Buck by the way, he said he made it just how you like it.” — she highlighted the last words and looked at you meaningfully before laughing.

“Okay you all, I don't recall using the services of a matchmaker, so I’m going to swim.” — you said, standing from your beach chair. “Anyone wants to go with me?”

“Hell yeah.”

You hear Buck's voice behind you and turn to him.

“Where did you come from?”

“I was on my way to grab some water, but swimming sounds more tempting.”

You took a towel and you went for a swim together.

“Okay, guys, I'm taking bets on whether they kiss now or not.” — Hen had a feeling that after this swim there will be one more couple on their station.

You and Evan came to the ocean and stopped at the shore. You have a feeling of deja vu, because exactly 24 hours ago you were sitting in the same place. The sun was almost below the horizon, it was getting darker and you liked it, there was always something magical about swimming at night.

“I would very much appreciate it if you stayed by my side, because rescuing you wasn’t on my bucket list today.”

“Then you’ll have to catch me, Buckley.”

You didn't wait a second and ran into the water. The warm water caressed your body, the sounds of the waves stupefied your head, the lowering sun left tempting reflections on your body.

You began to swim slowly and enjoy how the water relaxes your muscles and the taste of salt envelops your lips. In a second you were in strong hands.

“Got ya.” — Buck's warm breath was on your ear and reflexively you wrapped your legs around his torso.

“I don't think you gave me a chance to break away from you.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to.”

“How is it fair then?”

“It’s not, but it’s also unfair how you try to slide away from me every time.”

You looked into Evan's eyes and froze. You never tried to run away from him, you just didn't know if your feelings were mutual. And confessing your feelings is like going through fire for you, even though you do it almost every day. And it's still dangerous and scary.

His lips were two centimeters from yours and you fought with every part of your body not to succumb to temptation.

“I was just waiting for you to stop me from running away.”

“Let’s ruin the friendship.”

And he kissed you. A thousand fireworks exploded in your chest and your heart started pounding faster. You ran your hands through his hair, and he pulled you closer to him. You have to say that there was nothing innocent about that kiss. But it wasn't lust either. It was sensual, intimate, mixed with a long desire to be with each other.

You parted your lips and let his tongue enter inside, dancing with your tongue in unison. Buck put his hands on your hips and squeezed them, a soft moan escaped from your lips. Desire and need have awakened in the bottom of your stomach.

“I don’t think we need to give such a performance to our friends.” — even though you didn’t care right now, you knew it would be quite embarrassing after.

“You’re probably right, but I've been waiting for this since the first time I saw you.”

“You’re definitely a keeper.”

“I can’t keep denying every minute I think of you. I need to call you mine.”

“Claim me yours.”

And just like that, he kissed you again. This time gently and with all the love he had. You could both feel the invisible strings that intertwine your hearts and lives.

The feelings that flared up no longer frightened, but forced him to look into the future without doubt. Evan has been burned in a relationship so many times, but now he sees clearly — life without you is a thousand times more destructive.

You've been imagining events for so long that could lead to the beginning of your relationship, and none of them were the way you're experiencing now. You're with Buck in the ocean, your bodies are pressed against each other and you can't break the kiss because you can't get enough.

“Fuck, you’re all I ever dreamed of.” — Buck broke the kiss and said it into your lips.

You were walking back to the house and holding hands. What's the point of hiding that you're a couple now if everyone's been waiting for this?

You and Buck walked past the pool giggling and went into the house to change your clothes and most likely it won't end there.

“Okay, ladies, each of you now owns me 10 dollars.” — sipping from her glass, Hen knew she would win this bet.

Let me know if you want part 2 🫧

[voidangxls]

GRRRRRR I NEED A STILES FIC WHERE'S UR LIKE THE COACH'S KID OR SMTH AND HE FINDS OUT. IT'S NOT FUNNY I NEED STILES IN MY VEINS AAAA. Who said that guys...

ˋ°•*⁀➷ “You’re coach’s daughter!?” ♬⋆.˚

╰┈➤ requested!

pairings(s)- stiles stilinski x reader

Summary- You and Stiles have been talking recently but he finds out who your dad is.

category- fluff

warnings- american school system, coach, greenberg, slight shy!stiles, not proofread

word count: 2670

masterlist; teen wolf masterlist

a/n: I hope this fits what you wanted!!

---------------------------

You had switched to Beacon Hills High School during your sophomore year of high school. Your father is a coach and teacher for Beacon Hills so you went to a different school, you and your dad (mostly you) thinking it was for the best.

But you hated it, the reachers were annoying, the school was crazy strict and you just didn’t fit within the school so you asked your dad if you could transfer to Beacon Hills where be taught at. He was more than overjoyed to now have you attending his school, he signed the transfer papers fairly quickly.

You had only transferred at the beginning of the school year, showing up for the first day like any of the normal students.

Now it was the 3rd month of school and no one knew you were Coach Finstocks daughter except for the two of you, and the principal. Your parents split up when you were little, your dad getting full custody of you though you do see your mom here and there. When you were born you got your mothers last name, something to do with her culture or the way she was raised so that was another reason no one knew you were Bobby’s daughter, you guys didn’t have the same last name.

When you arrived at the school your attention was immediately taken by a certain boy. His name was Stiles Stilinski. As soon as you saw him you thought he was the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen, everything about him was literally perfect in your eyes. So what did you do? You talked to him…but not until like a month and a half of school had already passed

On the first day of school when you walked into class is when you noticed him, you also noticed him staring. So you walked towards the empty seat behind him and sat down. That day when you had sat in that seat, he and his friend turned around slightly and you just gave them a smile.

Almost 2 months had passed since the first say of school and that was when the two of you first spoke. The both of you remembered that day distinctly.

You walked to your usual seat in first person and sat down, right behind Stiles like usual. When the teacher began class you took a breath. You had finally grown the balls to talk to him, since he wasn’t going to be the one to do it. Leaning forward slightly in your seat, your hand reaches forward and gently taps his shoulder twice, your hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment, not enough for someone else to notice, but enough for just the both if you to notice.

The boy quickly turned around, he knew it had to have been you since you sat behind him but when he turned around and actually got view of you actually trying to talk to him he lost his breath. His mouth dropped open slightly, his jaw slightly moving as if he was trying to talk but the poor boy just couldn’t get the words out.

In response to his awkwardness you let a smile overcome your face, trying your best to not laugh at his expression. “do you have a pencil I could borrow?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb the teachers lesson. Now, after a while of wanting to talk to him all you did was ask if you could barrow a pencil (which you had in your bag anyways), but it was better than nothing!

Stiles’s mouth snaps shut and he swallows, nodding quickly he turns around and grabs a perfectly sharpened pencil out of his bag. He turns back around rapidly and holds the pencil up between the two of you like it was a prize. The smile on your face grows wider all while he just stares at you with wide eyes, as if he’s in a trance. You reach forward and grab the pencil from his hand, purposely making your hand graze against his. The boys expression hadn’t changed, still looking at you as if you were a princess or something.

Stiles could have sworn his heart skipped a beat and no actually probably stopped when he turned around to see you looking at him with a gentle expression.

He had wanted to talk to you since the very first day of school when he saw you. Before that day he had never seen you, so clearly you were new to Beacon Hills, or at least new to the high school. He just never had the guts to actually speak to you, he was never good with girls. Especially very pretty ones like you. When he first turned towards you he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you, you were up close and asking him a question and you looked like a princess. In that moment he would do anything you asked, when you asked for a pencil and finally snapped him out of his haze he was grateful. One of those reasons being because he thought he looked like an idiot staring at you like that, and second because he really liked your voice.

From that point forward the two of you spoke regularly. After a couple of days you guys ended up exchanging numbers and you talked 24/7. He still didn’t know that your dad was one of his teachers and his coach but you were going to tell him soon.

Last week Stiles was shockingly able to ask you on a date. You were shocked that he was able to stand in front of you and get the words out but you obviously said yes, happily. And when he got that answer he lit up like a kid at a candy store and did a celebratory movement. You had compromised a day in which you knew your dad wouldn’t be home, you didn’t want your dad to know just yet and you didn’t think Stiles would want to be heavily interrogated on your first date.

The date had went great, the two of you were just as amazing together as you were outside of romantic feelings. Although you guys just recently met, both of you could see a great relationship together and it was definitely something you both wanted to explore.

Just five days after your date with Stiles it was now a Wednesday and you were at school, the two of you were supposed to be having another date tonight. Right now it was your free period, usually you would go to the library to either read or catch up on work but the library was currently closed for the day seeing as the librarian had to leave early. It was too cold to go outside seeing as it was transitioning from fall into winter. So you decided you would go to your dads classroom seeing as his office is connected to the room and you knew he would let you chill in his office while he taught his class, what you didn’t know was that Stiles was in that current class.

You walk through the halls of the school, bag over one of your shoulders. Your phone in your hand with headphones connected to your phone and one of the buds in your ear.

When you make it to your dads classroom you bring your hand up and knock on the door. He opens the door and looks down at you with a confused expression “what are you doing here?” he asks, not rudely or in his usual tone of voice but in pure confusion and slight worry which shocks the other students, never having heard him using an abnormal tone of voice on a student.

Bobby steps aside and lets you walk in even further slightly. Upon seeing your frame Stiles perks up, a smile immediately casted onto his face and his curiosity spiked. “Free period and library’s closed. Can I chill in your office?” you ask your dad, slightly stepping further into the classroom, avoiding looking at any of the other students. “yeah go ahead” he looks down at you a nods. He moves back towards the front of his desk while you walk past.

As you were walking you felt eyes on you. You were about to turn around when your dad speaks up. “Greenberg! Stop looking at my daughter!” he says harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut slightly and turn towards your dad with raised eyebrows. Still feeling eyes on you, you turn your head slightly and see Stiles looking ahead at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. At further notice everyone in the classroom was looking between you and your dad in shock, well except for Greenberg, he had his head down after your dad’s comment.

“shes your daughter?” Stiles says loudly in shock, his finger pointing at you. His mouth was open in a jaw dropping way and his eyes were wide. You take a deep breath and walk into your dads office, ignoring the eyes of your fellow students and more importantly Stiles

It was now the end of the school day and you were getting longer stares from students, clearly word had gotten around. You truly didn’t care but now everyone would be questioning why neither of you said anything.

And let’s just say you were slightly avoiding Stiles, well not really…you only avoided him after that class. You were now at your locker, packing up your school bag so you could head home when a presence is suddenly next to you. “Coach is your dad!?” the voice exclaims, breaking slightly at the end. You let out a breath and grab your bag, then closing your locker.

Stiles’s face was revealed once you closed your locker. His face was filled with pure shock, he looked at you as if you had two heads. Your lips press together into a thin line and your grip on your backpack adjusts. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, I was going to I swear!” You try your best to reassure him.

His face confronts from shock and into confusion, looking at you with pulled eyebrows but his mouth still slightly open. “Wha- I just cant believe your Coaches daughter!” he exclaims loudly, everyone in the hall turns towards the two of you and in response to his loudness you raise a singular brow at him. He grimaces slightly “sorry” he whispers. “I just cant believe you, like you standing in front of me came from him, it makes no sense!” he exclaims, definitely more on the quieter side this time around.

You fight a smile on your face, Stiles always brought one to your face. When he sees you smiling a smile is immediately pushed onto his face as well. “Well I am” you respond quietly, looking up at him.

“And you know thats very scary but who cares?” Stiles shrugs, one of his hands coming up to grip onto his backpack strap. Your face lights up in response, you were scared he would want to see you anymore just because of who your dad is. You let out a small laugh at him saying your dad was scary but then you look up at him happily “so, our dates still on?” you ask, swaying your body lightly.

He pulls a face and looks at you as if you asked the dumbest question ever. “Are you serious? You’re the best girl ever of course I want to go on that date, you’re like amazing, your pretty, funny, kind, great clothes- Well uh um unless you dont want to go on the date which is totally-“ He rambles, moving his hands theatrically.

During his rambling you couldn’t help but smile. Sure the compliments weren’t out of this world creative or poetic but when you could tell they actually mean something from who they’re coming from means a lot. Before he could continue to ramble and stress about if you wanted to go on the date or not you bring your hand up and cover his mouth. “I want to go on the date, Stiles.” you assure him, nodding your head slightly with a smile

Stiles lets out a little nervous laugh and nods as you remove your hand from his face. He tucks one of his hands into his jean pocket and looks down at you bashfully “good, cause I was- am really excited about it” he tells you, bouncing on his feet lightly.

“me too” you respond, looking up at him with a matching smile.

It was now later in the day and you were ready for your date with Stiles. You were dressed in a cute turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans, Stiles said he was surprising you so you had no clue where the two of you were going.

Now, since the cat was out of the bag you didn’t see too much of a problem in the fact that your dad would indeed be home all night. So he would be here when Stiles picked you up and dropped you off, which was definitely nerve wracking knowing who your dad was and knowing how Stiles is, Oh! and the fact that your dad had no clue you were going on a date.

You were putting in your last earring when the doorbell rang, you quickly grab your jacket and throw it on, as well as grabbing your purse as you walk out of your bedroom. As you were walking down the steps you hear your fathers naturally loud voice ring out so you stop, not being seen by either of them. “What are you doing here Stilinski? and with flowers?”

“uh um your-“ before Stiles could even finish his sentence where he was going to tell Bobby the flowers were for you he jumps in.

“for me?” He asks dryly, knowing they weren’t for him yet at the same time not knowing they were for his daughter that was currently eavesdropping.

“Yeah! actually! As a thank you for being the best coach” Stiles stammers, pushing them forward and into your dad’s hands. From on top of the steps behind the wall you let out a giggle and finally decide to put Stiles out of him misery.

Your dad looked down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand then back up at an awkwardly smiling Stiles in pure confusion. Not a single thought in your dad’s brain or a feature in his face didn’t hold confusion.

You walk forward, now stepping in between the two boys. “Dad. Stiles and I are going on a date” you tell him confidently. To be sure to win your father over him you show him one of your award winning smiles that always had an effect on your dad.

“Stilinski? You’re going on a date with Stilinski? Actually no, my daughter’s going on a date?” Bobby exclaims, pointing his finger at each of you accordingly.

“yup” you say happily, popping the p

“oh god” Stiles whispers, silently praying for his safety

“since when do you go on dates?” Your dad asks uncomfortably yet in his usual stern voice. He didn’t like seeing his little girl grow up.

“since now, dad” you respond, quickly pulling him into a hug and pecking his cheek. “Make sure to put those in water!” you say hurriedly while grabbing Stiles’s hand and speed walking to his car

“Have her home by ten!” Your father exclaims, his hand holding the flowers raising and shaking sternly with his words.

“Yes Coach! Oh uh Sir!” Stiles exclaims back to him, clumsily almost tripping over his feet but your hold was there to balance him. He opens the door for you and lend you a hand to get inside before running around to the drivers side of his precious Rosco.

“At least it wasnt GreenBerg” Bobby mutters, running a hand over his face and through his hair as he closes the front door.

[mariswxt]

Five-Star

Summary: You’ve been dating Dean Winchester, which is nothing short of a fever dream. A brilliant fever dream. But when you decide to test him on how much he wants you, you don’t get the answer you expected to have.

A/N - Welcome to the Karak Chaii-verse! I had an idea to write Dean with an Indian POC, since I’m one myself. Creds to @zepskies and her brilliant Midnight Espresso-verse, and you should definitely check that out. This is a small drabble that I thought up.

Your family had moved to the US around a year after you were born. That’s because the monsters in India were far more dangerous than in America due to the origination of them from the depths of Indian mythology, such as a rakshasa or arunasura, but you found that here was far more escalated.

At least, you’d found out when you met the Winchesters.

You came from a long line of crazy good Indian hunters, so you were already a great one yourself. Back in India, your parents would pose as part of the CBI, but you had to resort to finding someone who could make you a believable FBI badge once you turned eighteen and got into hunting solo, which was around 1997. There you met Bobby Singer, who hooked you up with what he called the ‘All-American Hunting Kit’, which consisted of an array of fake IDs and a lore book. You were glad your training, done by your dad, was done by the intensity of monsters in India rather than here, otherwise it’d be harder to get by.

On a hunt for a vampire and wraith hybrid in Grant Pass, Oregon, you came across the Winchesters, the shorter of the two having dubbed the hybrid ‘Jefferson Starships’. That man was Dean, and you were taken by his charming, goofy attitude that switched to an attractive sort of intensity when faced with imminent danger. You just didn’t expect ‘imminent danger’ to be the mother of all monsters.

Once your parents had found out that you were hanging out with the Winchesters, who were at the centre of any and all supernatural trouble in America, they sent you a thousand calls telling you to get your ass out of there before you got killed. You being you, you didn’t listen. Not when you knew that you’d get withdrawal symptoms from not seeing the million dollar smile of Dean Winchester, which quickly won you over (and his lips too, which knew damn well what they were doing).

As for Sam, you quickly saw him as your little brother figure, who also helped you manage your unruly hair by recommending the right hair products that you now had stocked up. You’d both nerd over monsters, you’d tell him about all the ones you’d encountered in India while Sam told you stories about all that he and his brother had gone through.

Which was no less than a lot. And you thought India was a harder place to live, by what your parents told you. Here there’s the friggin’ Apocalypse.

Dean was obviously your favourite Winchester. He’d told you he really liked you about two years and a half after you met amid averting eyes and stammered words as he spewed compliment after compliment, standing there in the Bunker’s kitchen like a nervous melon in his grey robe, black shorts with hot dogs on them and black undershirt with fuzzy hair.

You’d cut his nervous ramblings off by pulling him in by the lapel of his robe, lips puckered in surprise as they met yours as the tangy taste of cherry and sweet, buttery pie crust flooded your taste buds and even more so when Dean quickly took control of the kiss, hands tangling in your hair and grabbing at soft curves like his life depended on it.

One thing Dean loved about you was your cooking. Your mom had taught you a wide array of Indian dishes that you could cook, and the moment the first bite of your rajma and rice graced Dean’s mouth, it was hook, line and sinker. You’d taught him how to eat chole bhature, roti and sabzi and which masala was which so he could know what the hell did you put to make him fall for you over and over again.

You were scrolling on your YouTube shorts one day when you came across a video of a woman asking her husband what his favourite snack was to see if he’d say her or not. You didn’t look like the definition of a snack right now, with your unwashed hair tied up in a bun that your mom taught you to do with no hair tie whatsoever in grey sweatpants, Dean’s undershirt and fuzzy mismatched socks, but you decided to try it out anyway as Dean came into the bunker’s living room, approaching you from behind with a delicate yet possessive cup of your chin and a kiss to your temple.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He greeted in that low voice of his that was effortlessly seductive even when he wasn’t trying, his hand sliding down to comfortingly rub over your chest and shoulder as he passed by. “Doin’ ok?” He sat down beside you, arm around your shoulder as his fingers began to play with your hair, warm green eyes trained on you.

You nodded, setting your phone aside. “Doing alright, yeah.” Then you decided to try out the question. “Dil, what’s your favourite snack?” You called Dean dil sometimes because it meant heart in Hindi, and he had yours.

The question got a chuckle out of him as he jerked his head to the right in amusement. “Awh, sweet girl, that’s hardly fair. I’d say beef jerky, but that new thing you, uh, introduced me to really raised the bar.” His brow furrowed in thought for a moment in contrast to the large grin on his face. “The aloo whatzitsname.”

“Aloo lachha.” You corrected with a giggle, barely holding back the urge to say what the answer was.

“Yeah, that. Or, uh, pie, but that’s a dessert and not a snack. Maybe that rajma stuff, but that’s a meal.” He continued rambling on any and all snacks he’d added to his palette since meeting you, until a bout of laughter from you slowed his roll. “What? What’s so funny, huh?”

“So… your favourite snack isn’t me.” You teased with a smirk, which got the cogs in his head turning. “You failed, sorry, honey.”

The words got a raise of his eyebrow and a slow and subtle roving of his eyes down your body and a bite of his lip. To him, you looked absolutely delicious. Like the best thing at a five star restaurant.

He stood up with a low grunt, facing you before grabbing you by your hips, hoisting you up so fast that you had to wrap your sweatpant-clad legs around his waist with a small shriek. “See, baby, that’s where you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss that bordered on reverence and somehow the intention to devour at the same time, which had you moaning already. His tongue slipped into your mouth, briefly getting a taste and giving you the distinct flavour of the aloo chaat you had made for lunch mixed with beer before he pulled back and nipped your bottom lip, groaning at the feeling of your fingers now tugging at his hair.

“You…” Dean paused for a breath and a low chuckle, staring at you hungrily. “You are the whole damn buffet.”

TAGLIST:

@k-slla @hobby27 @supernatural-jackles

[jessjad]

Please? I have a Dean Winchester x reader request. The idea I had was the reader coming back from trying to have a normal life after 2 years but being saved by Dean from her abusive ex-boyfriend, who was possessed by a demon. She calls him from a motel after escaping from the attack and almost getting killed.

Feel free to message me if you want to ask questions. I can't wait to read it.

A/N: So, this request from @ravenrose18 immediately sparked some ideas. And I was changing things over and over again. This could've gone so many ways and I think I got the best compromise out of it all. I hope, you like it, lovely! Thanks so much for sharing your request with me! 💜

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2948

Warnings: 18+ only!!! (Only for the violence), tension, abuse, cuts, wounds, angst, feelings.

My Masterlist

Voice from the past

Dean was nervous. Really nervous. He was driving toward Arkansas City. As Baby purred gently across the streets, AC/DC played softly on the radio. The almost four-hour journey from Lebanon seemed to never end, even though there was so much distance behind him. He was only about thirty minutes away to be exact, but it still felt like a long way away. But even if he had had to drive another four hours, he would have done it.

He kept thinking back to last week. The day he got a message that he hadn't really expected. It came from Y/N. Sam would now say 'the Y/N' and somehow he was right. Even though Dean wouldn't admit it, of course.

But Y/N had been a part of his life for a long time. She grew up with Bobby after he was the only one who saved her from the clutches of a werewolf. Unfortunately, her family wasn't so lucky. And since Dean and Sam were often at Bobby's and somehow grew up there themselves, they had become friends over the years.

Y/N had also grown up as a hunter and Dean had taught her to shoot at some point. She got better and better as time went on, becoming more fearless and brave. And Dean had to admit then and there that he had fallen in love. Feelings that still persist to this day.

That's exactly why he didn't like thinking back to his last conversation with her. It was almost two years ago when Y/N explained to him that she wanted to give up the hunter life. Dean hadn't really known how to react. Over the years they had solved cases together and traveled together, even if their paths had always diverged. But the fact that she wanted to quit because of a guy surprised the older Winchester.

Todd. His name was Todd. Urgh...was there a name that sounded even more wimpy? He wouldn't be surprised if he drank warm milk. Dean cleared his throat briefly at that thought. Okay, maybe the jealousy came out of him for a moment. And maybe also the disappointment that he simply couldn't find the heart to tell her that he wanted to keep her by his side. That she was important to him.

But well, maybe now he had a new opportunity to do so. Because according to her own statement, Todd was now a thing of the past and she wanted to go back to the hunter life. A second chance. And Dean was determined to use it too.

A moment later his cell phone rang and when he saw Y/N calling him, his heart beat a little faster. This was the first time Y/N actually called since she contacted him. He answered the call with a small grin.

"Hey, sweatheart. I'm not even twenty minutes away. I could stop and bring us some greasy burgers. What do you think?"

But he didn't get an immediate answer.

"Hello? Y/N?" he asked again and then he heard it.

Heavy breathing and a slight wince. He furrowed his brows and worry spread through him. But again it took a few seconds before he got an answer.

"Dean?" came faintly and with a pained undertone from the other side.

This was definitely not what he expected and he automatically stepped on the gas a little more.

"What happened?"

It stinked. This motel smelled. The worn out carpet, the musty bed linen, the tattered curtains. Even the wallpaper seemed to give off a foul smell. And yet Y/N was happy that she had somehow made it here. The hotel was abandoned, no longer in use, and she was lucky that the door to this room at the back of the building wasn't locked. Even if it had taken a lot of effort for her to even get in.

Now Y/N was crouched behind the bed in the corner and the adrenaline that had given her the strength and stamina to make it this far was slowly wearing off. And the more she calmed down, the more her body began to ache. The cuts on her arms and legs were the least of her problems. Her ankle was now throbbing quite badly and she knew she had several bruises.

Her heart was racing and she tried to calm down, but it wasn't that easy. Every time she tried to take a deep breath, her chest would rebel and her left shoulder would experience stabbing pain. She didn't have to question the fact that this was probably the worst injury.

Y/N carefully tried to pull the jacket off her shoulder when she noticed that she was losing more and more feeling in her left arm. She huffed and moaned slightly. The makeshift bandage that Y/N had pressed over the gaping wound was now soaked with blood and small red rivulets were making their way down her arm.

She was in pretty bad shape.

This was not how Y/N had imagined her return to hunter life. She slowly tried to sit up a little, but failed. With a dejected laugh, she briefly closed her eyes and tried to suppress the tears that wanted to make their way down her cheeks. When did everything go so wrong? She had just wanted to meet Dean to get up to speed. And now here she was, lying on the dirty floor of a disused motel, probably bleeding to death.

But then her memory got a little jolt. Dean! She had to call Dean. And so, with a blood-stained hand, she strained to fish her cell phone out of her back pocket. It still took three more attempts to dial his number.

As she listened to the beep, she realized that she was slowly losing consciousness. Y/N is finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate and stay awake. But as soon as she heard Dean's deep voice greeting her happily, it gave her another push.

But she still found it difficult to speak and her body seemed to ring like an alarm with every movement.

"I'm... not in Arkansas City... anymore." she replied almost breathlessly.

"Where are you?" came the question in a firm and determined voice.

"I'm... in an abandoned... motel outside... of Winfield." Y/N suppressed a painful groan. "Dean... I'm... hurt pretty bad."

There was a brief, almost unsettling silence before Dean spoke again.

"Okay, listen. Don't move and try to stay calm. I'll be right there. The only thing you have to do is stay awake. Alright? Don't fall asleep."

She agreed to this as best she could and after giving Dean the name and room number, they hung up.

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Y/N heard her pulse racing and the blood rushing in her ears. Still, she tried to stay awake. With her right hand she lightly pressed the wound on her left shoulder. The small pulses of pain that the pressure sent through her body helped her. That, and the thought of Dean. His green eyes, the mischievous smile, his dark voice.

Y/N had been in love with him for such a long time now. She couldn't even remember when it happened. But she had known that she had to free herself from him at some point. Because it was clear that he would never feel the same for her. All the women he spent the nights with, at one point it had been to much. And when Todd showed up in her life two years ago, it was almost like a sign.

But she didn't think that the exit and the distance from Dean would draw her back to him. She loved him and she wanted to at least try to win him over.

So she had talked to Todd. He had been nice from the start. He had been charming and always seemed as if there were no problems in the world that couldn't be solved somehow. He had embodied freedom and somehow Y/N had wanted that too. The hunter's life was hard and you had to renounce many things.

She had really liked him, but nothing more had come of it over time. And then over a year in, he started to change. He got more and more aggressiv, until he had hit her the first time. That was three monts ago. At first she had not known how to react to that, but the more the abuse happened, the more she knew she had to get away.

So she explained to him that she wanted to go back to her old life. She hadn't mentioned that that also meant Dean. Todd didn't take the decision too well. He was furious and she had feared that he would attack her. So she bolted to Arkansas City. But of course he found her there and his black eyes stared into hers as he stabbed the knife into her shoulder.

"How could... I be so stupid?" Y/N said to herself. “Why didn’t I... notice anything?”

Her head started to spin and every second felt like an hour. She slipped in and out of consciousness. She had to try harder and harder to stay awake. And just when she thought she could not do it anymore, the door busted open and she heared Dean calling her.

When Dean spotted Y/N behind the bed and knelt down in front of her, he had to swallow. She looked pale, weak and fragile. Not at all like the young, cheeky woman he remembered. But he just couldn't let that show. He carefully touched her lower leg and Y/N opened her eyes.

As soon as she saw Dean, her tears flowed and relief was written all over her face. It almost broke his heart because it had taken him a little longer to find the motel and the more time passed, the more she probably lost hope that he would find her in time.

"What happened? Can you move?" He immediately saw the blood trickling down her left arm and looked around for something he could use as a bandage.

"It was Todd. He followed me down to... Arkansas City. He... was possessed by a demon. I... I didn't notice." As she spoke, she tried to stand up, but she lacked the strength.

"Okay, slow down." Dean was immediately at her side, stabilizing her so she didn't collapse.

"It must have... happened when... he was out and about. The... demon wanted revenge. I killed... a friend... probably three years ago."

"Huh." Dean responded, but that wasn't rare at all. "Is he on your heels?"

Dean had taken off his shirt and balled it up and was pushing it onto her shoulder. They couldn't stay here long. Y/N had to go to a hospital.

"No. I... shot him with a devil's trap bullet." now Dean looked at her in surprise. "The weapon... you gave me."

Relief flooded his heart now. The gun had been his parting gift. You could never be sure. Still, he would send out a hunter bat signal so someone would check on Todd and make sure he was no longer a threat.

"Okay, Y/N, I'm going to pick you up now. Or do I have to do a once over?"

The young woman next to him laughed dryly. "No. My shoulder is messed up. My ankle is most likely busted. But other than that I'm fine."

Dean had to grin. There was a little glimpse of the Y/N he knew. But they didn't have much time left. He could see that she was losing her strength. So he carefully took her into his arms. Something she couldn't endure without a pained groan.

Soon she was safely seated in the front seat of the Impala. By now Dean had changed his fully drenched shirt with a spare towel he had in his trunk. He gritted his theeth, because it seemed that Y/N was pressing the towel down on her shoulder like she was holding on for dear life.

Dean slid behind the steering wheel and immediately drove off. It was oddly quiet in the car and his knuckles turned white. He glanzed over to Y/N every now and then to make sure that she was still awake. The hospital in Winfield was still a ways away, but he was determined to get there as quickly as possible.

Dean heared Y/N whimper everytime he drove over a bump on the street. He apologized everytime, too. But otherwise he did not know what to say. The silence almost killed him but time was not flying by fast enough. And then, Y/N decided to talk.

"Dean?" her weak voice bled over the engine of the Impala while she kept pressing the towel on her shoulder. "I have to tell you... something..."

"Don't speak now. You need all your energy that's left in you, sweetheart. Just stay awake, will you?"

Dean's knuckles once again became white while he was holding the steering wheel. He also increased the speed he was driving at. The hospital was not far away anymore, but she had lost a lot of blood by now and that was what really worried him.

"But I... have to tell... you." She said again, but her mind became foggy and she started to feel sleepy.

"Nothing can be that important right now. And when you're thinking of sayin' goodbye to me, quit it. Not gonna happen. So, hold on. We're almost there."

For a second he thought he'd won, buit then Y/N crushed his heart.

"I love you." her words rang in his ears, although he could not really believe it. But she then made sure her message came through. "I've been in love with you... for such as long time... now and... I just wanted you... to know that."

And with her last breath she closed her eyes, not being able to stay awake anymore. Dean's voice accompanied her into the darkness, calling out to her.

An annoying beep woke Y/N from her sleep, but waking up wasn't that easy. Her head was pounding a bit and a bright white light made it difficult for her to open her eyes. When she finally made it, she realized she was lying in a bed and was hooked up to monitors. They had made it to the hospital.

She looked around further and spotted Dean sleeping in a chair next to her bed. His head hung back a bit and his mouth was slightly open. It almost looked like he was drooling a little. How could such a strong man be so adorkably cute?

Suddenly he jumped up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he saw that Y/N had woken up, he got up and came over to her.

"Y/N! You're awake. How are you? Do you need anything?" Inwardly he wanted to take her hand in his, but he held back.

"No, no, I..." she tried to sit up a little, but it didn't really work.

Dean helped her position the headboard high enough to jer liking. He also gave her a glass of water that she didn't actually asked for. Nevertheless, she accepted it gratefully.

"So? How about me?" Y/N asked and Dean scratched the back of his neck lightly.

"Perhaps a doctor should explain this to you." he replied, already making his way to the door.

"Wait!" she stopped Dean. "Explain it to me. Please."

How could he say 'no' to that? So he came back to her and looked at her with a crooked smile.

"You have several cuts and bruises on your body. A bruised rib and your ankle is sprained. But that will probably sort itself out over time. Your shoulder did need surgery though. Something with the spina specu... spina... spinach something."

Y/N giggled, but put her hand over her mouth so Dean wouldn't see it as he continued. "But that too could be repaired and in a few months... you should be back to your old self."

"Well, that's what I call an exciting reunion." She joked, but Dean didn't seem too keen on it.

"I could have thought of better things than taking you to the hospital covered in blood and seriously injured."

And he was serious. It would be a lie if he said that seeing her like that didn't bother him. The thoughts he'd had about her when they'd left him sitting in the waiting room. When no doctor or nurse wanted to talk to him, update him. When his heart had been gripped by an iron hand that had almost stopped him from breathing.

Hopefully he would never have to go through this again.

"I'm sorry." said Y/N with a small voice and lowered her head.

Dean balled his hand to fists and turned fully to her. "I was really afraid for you. Especially when you suddenly stopped talking in the car."

And suddenly Y/N remembered the last thing she said to Dean. Her eyes widened and she didn't have to look up to know that the elephant in the room was now literally there. Nevertheless, she suddenly felt a little nervous and couldn't say anything.

"The doc said that you need to stay a couple more days in the hospital and after that... I'll take you with me to Lebanon." Now Y/N looked up again. "We need to talk."

"Dean, I..." she started, but when she saw that Dean walked up to her to take her hand in his, she felt silent again.

"I love you, too." He then finally said and Y/N looked up at him in surprise. "And if you let me, I'll never let you out of my sight again."

A/N: That’s it. It was really fun and I hope you liked it. 😊 Let me know what you think. Feedback is very much appreciated! 💜

Everything Taglist:

@lyarr24 @k-slla @nk1023 @iloveeveryoneyouramazing

[girlboysam]

wincest fic rec list

a collection of my favorite fics sorted by my favorite genres. most of these are not smut based, though they contain it (and if anyone’s interested i can make a pt. 2 with smutty ones). proof i read too much fanfiction…

pov outsider

Do you wish you could still touch… her? by ace__BETHANY (6,100 words) - “Every time Jessica Moore hears the name Dean and the consequences following it”

Rift by Fenix21 (6,511 words) - “John thought he knew what he was betraying. Turns out, he didn't.”

Daisy Boyhood by AnonDude (1,229 words) - “Bobby quickly discovers that the boys have no concept of the idea that their particular brand of closeness may not be right.”

Welcome Home by Samcursed (12,373 words) - “The hunters of the bunker don't know what to make of the strange man and the even stranger relationship with his brother when Dean shows up after being possessed by Micahel.”

weecest

Guardian Ad Litem by fraukatzen (24,389 words) -“Sam has always called Dean “daddy” when dad’s not around. Dean likes it a lot.” slow burn, kinky but also sweet

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux (57,490 words) - “This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love” a classic, popular for a reason. the weecest of all weecest

The Salt-Filled Skins of Ptolemaea by BlindSwandive & Maven_Morozov (92,128 words) - “Sam has always felt like a freak in his body. As long as he can remember, his life has revolved around his brother--but as he begins to transition from a child to a teenager, he's forced into a reckoning of his feelings for Dean, and a strange angel appearing in his dreams that calls itself Azazel.” this is my favorite long form fic ever. changed my life a little. featuring trans!sam as well <3

house song by according2thelore (55,501 words) - “Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences”

susceptible to falling by kermiethefrog (7,957 words) - “Dad says keep Sammy safe. Dad says take care of Sammy. Dad says make sure Sammy stays close, no matter what. So Dean does. No matter what.”

Too F’n High by ladygizarme (9,032 words) - sick fic with dark undertones, very smutty, be warned

It Started Out With A Kiss by intrepidheart (17,291 words) - “Sam has a date. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam's asking Dean to teach him how to kiss. The problem is that this kiss changes everything.”

Crush by BewareTheIdes15 (23,401 words) - “Dean looks at him different now, Sam just can't figure out what the difference is.”

obsession/codependency heavy

mother is pretending by hathfrozen (19,936 words) -“Sam and Dean get reckless about how they're handling the pain of season 2, and whoops! slowly develop a Mommy kink along the way.” hathfrozen has the best fics ever. this one is one of my all time favorites, a must read

Monsters are always Hungry by untraceablegirl23 (27,460 words) - “Nonlinear depiction of the time Sam and Dean are found out and how it all comes to in the months beforehand which are Heaven and Hell at once. Or an acknowledgement of just how far they’d go for each other, even when it’s beyond wrong, because how can you hide when you’re entirely made for someone else?”

Hands Away by objectlesson (13,298 words) - “When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick.”

case fics

The landscape after cruelty by zorrosuchil (16,428 words) - “After getting coordinates from Dad, Sam and Dean head north to Oregon to find a house that's making people sick for no apparent reason. Dean's antsy because of his unfinished business in that town with a violent spirit from four years ago, a machete-wielding murderer that simply vanished. But what he doesn't expect is the return of his feelings of obsession from four years ago - not over the case, but over Sam, who was away at college that summer. Dean tries not to get too worked up over all of it, but Sam's always been too hard to ignore.”

The Things We Carry with Us by lovesrain44 (47,604 words) - “Sam and Dean are on the road, saving people and hunting things, like they always do. Dean discovers that Sam is attempting to turn himself into a monk, and so he does his best to get Sam laid. Sam resists because, of course, who needs to have sex with a girl when Dean’s around? It's about going on a roadtrip with your brother. It's about the food you eat, and the maps you follow. It's about the things you carry with you.”

What Went Wrong Yesterday by SinnamonSpider, stormbrite (16,224 words) - “With Broward County in their rearview and a new case in their laps, Sam struggles to come to terms with the six months he spent alone after Dean’s death - and the fact that it never happened at all. And on top of it all, he now has to deal with the feelings for his brother that have been dragged to the surface.”

others

nothing's gonna hurt you, baby by orphaned (17,652 words) - angst slow burn getting together

Feel About the Same Most Every Day by orphaned (4,747 words) - angst unrequited smut

i don’t smoke by brotherfuckin (loved hands) (18,783 words) - “After John's death, Dean blames himself, puts up walls, and barricades himself from love. Sam tears it all down.”

Stranger Than Fiction by nyxocity (50,644 words) - “Meta-comedy/drama set immediately post-4x18” featuring dean being obsessed with wincest fanfiction

[anonymousaccountuser]

Okay. I watched Lupin Zero a while back and I’m losing my goddamn MIND over the metaphor of Lupin, a thief, stealing Jigen’s heart. It has been MONTHS and it plagues my mind still. I’m practically tearing my hair out.

Like… Imagine you are a boy. A lonely boy, a boy who’s been hurt his entire life, a boy who was given a gun at the age of five and taught to kill mercilessly without hesitation. You’re constantly told you’re not good enough, that nobody will ever want you for you, that you’ll only ever be a weapon; you’re worth nothing more than that, nothing less. The more skill you have, the more value you hold; if you do a job well you’ll be worth something, if you fail you’ll probably get beat or tossed out, considered less than dirt by your own shitty father. You’re not a boy, not really. You’re a gun, and the minute you miss a shot you’re worthless. You learn that no, you can’t be a kid—being a kid is not for you. You don’t have time for stupid birthday parties or immature little kid games when you’re too busy fighting in war zones or getting shot at in Cambodia. You teach yourself not to feel; remorse and regret are pointless when you’re a hitman, and so is love—you never have childhood crushes or fancy any of the pretty girls at your school. You think it’s stupid. You’ve never been interested in girls anyway, and your father once threatened to shoot you if you ever tried the alternative, so you lock your heart away, stuff it into a box and cram it into a safe and set fifty different code-combination locks and wrap chains around it so that you can’t feel.

And then one day, some skinny rich kid with sticky fingers shows up, and just won’t leave you alone. Okay, you think to yourself. No biggie. He’s just some spoiled brat with too much time on his hands who doesn’t know what he’s getting into. But then this kid starts treating you like you’re worth something, like you’re some sort of treasure he values, something he wants to chase; and not for your quick draw, either. This monkey-faced little brat seems to only want to know more about you, and play stupid kid games with you. He’s annoying, but the trouble he gets into is fun enough, even if you always end up having to bail him out. You find out that this kid is a thrill-seeker, and much to your surprise, he considers you thrilling. You’ve never had friends before, but this feels like something else. The way he looks at you makes your stomach fuzzy with a feeling you’re not entirely sure what to think of, and no matter how many times you walk away you always find yourself drawn to him. You’re reminded of what your father threatened to do at that, so you tuck that feeling away with all the others.

But then, this bastard “friend” of yours does something you never expected; he chips away at the walls you’ve built, carefully picks the locks holding chains around your heart with nimble, practiced fingers. He pries at that safe of yours like it’s fun, like it’s some sort of challenge for him (he likes challenges, you’ve come to find) and finds out those combinations of yours with thieving expertise. And then, as if none of your past matters, as if all those thousands of walls of defence you built and security lasers you set and safety precautions you took are absolutely nothing to him, he reaches forward and places a skinny hand over your chest and takes what he wants, like he’s always done. He holds you in the palm of his hand like you’re something precious, a valued piece of artwork in a renowned museum that he’s taken the liberty of nabbing, and you let him. You let him steal you like some pretty piece of jewelry. You let him pull you from the shitty life you live with that shitty dad of yours and steal you away, even though you’re scared out of your mind of intimacy. You’re alone in the dark of that cramped little safe that you’ve locked yourself away in your entire life, and he picks the lock with a bobby pin and reaches for you and grabs your hand; and then suddenly, you’re not so alone anymore. Suddenly you’re more than a gun, you’re Jigen Daisuke, and Lupin the Third wants you like he would a priceless ruby on display in the hall of a rich man’s mansion.

DO YOU SEE MY VISION, PEOPLE??!? DO YOU SEE IT!!?!1!?

[unholyhelbig]

any chance for a kate x reader angst?

Title: Firecrest (Part 1/???)

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Wordcount: 4075

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual activities, fire, mentions of childhood abandonment, horrible grammar (I don't proofread lol), and things I'm sure I'm forgetting.

[A/n: how about enemies to lovers angst? How about Enemies to lovers with a little fake dating sprinkled in there? Let me know if this is something you all would like to see continued!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Your mother had the in-depth beauty of a street dog. Her features were angular, yet soft and welcoming. People were often tempted to reach and run their fingers through her fur. But she tended to gently correct. She had the perfect demeanor for a government spy. However, you had always known her as a brilliant biochemist. Alluring in her brilliance.

The soft lights of the city shaded her face in the back of the taxi. The air had warmed significantly, but the low hum of the air conditioner made you pull your suit jacket close to your breast. The maroon had felt like too much at first. But the impressed nod from the woman next to you was enough to ebb away any doubts.

Your mother popped open her compact and swiped her finger against the corner of her mouth, taking away the smudged gloss that wasn’t noticeable in comparison to her presence. There was not much you feared in this world, but her wrath. Her annoyance. Her disappointment. None of which she flashed often.

“Remember what we talked about, y/n.”

“Of course. Would you like me to repeat it?”

She snapped the compact and leveled you with amusement. Her eyebrow lifted, the start of a smile at the corner of her lip. She couldn’t be serious. You made eye contact with the taxi driver in the mirror. He showed the same amusement that your mother did, yet somehow, hers stung more.

A groan escaped you, but bled into the mantra that was drilled into you for the past two weeks. “I will be the perfect lady who is grateful for the success of Lance and his political circuit.”

“And?”

“I will not start anything I can’t finish with Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, And I’m an adult perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“That wasn’t part of it.” Your mother corrected softly. Her hands were suddenly on you, smoothing down the lapel of your suit. “But It’ll do. Mostly, because we’re here.”

Eleanor Bishop often held her galas in the historic buildings of downtown Manhattan. There were small pamphlets lingering by the extensive hand-carved doors. They’d detail the rich family that had built it from the ground up. The architecture was always admittedly beautiful, and Eleanor had a subtle, expensive taste.

This venue was no different; stretching hallways and men in suits that mirrored yours in a tasteful black. Your mother never stepped ahead of you, instead holding a hand out and helping you from the back of the taxi. You’d left a generous tip, careful not to shove your hands into your pockets.

“This used to be a museum for fine arts and culture. The last I heard; the city was going to tear it down but made it a historical site. They use it for banquets now, I suppose.”

“Oh? You’ve read the informational booklet, then?”

She jabbed her elbow into your ribs and mocked a scowl. “No. I robbed it. How do you think we paid for your college tuition, kiddo?”

That was an exaggeration. You were 90% sure- maybe 75%. Bobbi Morse was a force to be reckoned with, and that was something you had learned from a young age. She’d let you sit on the counter of her lab while she worked, and you’d watch her with absolute awe.

Your mother had taught you, without fail, a variety of fighting skills. Starting with Aikido and ending with Taekwondo. She was a master at her craft, both in the field and in her lab and had worked with you since you could walk to train you in the same.

“Mm,” You hummed your response, “Which priceless painting did you take?”

“It was a vase, smart-ass.”

You pulled in a breath to retort before effectively being rendered silent by the performance hall. Eleanor Bishop had gone all out for the benefits that she backed. This was a vast space that was adorned in white sheer and glittering lights. A slideshow of the sponsored bird sanctuary flashed on the televisions scattered throughout the space.

There was a band on the stage, string instruments that you could feel in the center of your chest. The low notes shuddered through you as you took in the crowd. There were few that you actually recognized, usually hazed in expensive alcohol and lingering by the food, or some form of fresh air.

“It’s ironic that it’s about birds, right?”

She leveled you with an unimpressed look and squeezed your shoulder fondly. It didn’t take long for Lance to make his way over to the both of you. His eyes lit up and a smile spread across his freshly-shaved face. He gave you a small wave, gently exiting the conversation he was having with a congressman, a millionaire, or an architect that was just the right amount of desperate.

Lance Hunter had stolen your mothers heart when you were ten years old. You always assumed it was the accent, but the more you got to know him, the more you understood his charms. Lance had never forced things with you, had never claimed to be your father.

There were quiet moments when he’d join you on the wrap-around porch of your family home and just sit. The two of you would watch the way the sun dipped behind the horizon, sipping on syrupy cans of soft drink. Eventually, you talked to him, and he listened with diligence.

“My girls,” he said, placing a chaste kiss against your forehead before sidling up next to Bobbi. They had effortlessly matched in a deep and royal blue that contrasted the ignited red of your own suit. You were the perfect epitome of a political family.

Eleanor Bishop had given you a brief nod of the head, signifying your presence. It was a silent warning told through blackened eyes: Behave.

Her diligent attention was enough to split your family up. You preferred to linger away from the stuffy socialites. Bobbi and Lance were required to mingle. You plucked a flute of bubbling champagne from a passing tray and moved towards one of the elegant support beams decorated with what you now learned, was real foliage.

The floral scent tickled the back of your throat, so you took a generous swallow and let the alcohol warm your stomach diligently. There had to be something interesting around here, away from the rest of the party. A plague or two that would further explain the venue.

A burst of forced laughter greeted your parents as they sidled up next to Jack and Eleanor. Lance had produced some campaign buttons, which the group took without hesitation. You had to admit, he was loveable and politician-worthy.

“Look at us, we match.”

You swallowed back a groan, not bothering to look over. A small noise still escaped you, and the grumble conveyed your exact disposition towards Kate Bishop. Disgust. Annoyance. The slightest bit of attraction. She overwhelmed your senses with her crisp, winter scent.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you glanced over at her. She was in red too, incredibly vibrant against her soft expanses of exposed skin. The dress had a dipping neckline, revealing the freckles that created constellations against her collarbone. She beamed with irritation. You’d never admit that she was captivating.

“I thought you were given explicit instructions to leave me be.” You said between gritted teeth.

She hummed and grasped the drink from your hand. Kate was calculated in her movements, wrapping her lips around the smudge of lipstick that you’d already created on the rim of the glass. She didn’t break eye contact, those slate orbs boring into you.

“We both know you’re the most interesting thing at these parties.”

“I’m not falling for your… charms, Kate Bishop. Your mother may have bought you out of our consequences last time. But, I have more at stake.”

She scoffed and set the now empty glass down on the nearest table. You knew damn well that Kate wasn’t absolved of accountability after your run-in a few months back. She held herself differently now, and it was a minute expression of her posture that caught your attention.

There was a small split at the corner of her lip, and a healing bruise just at her hairline. She’d attempted to use makeup to cover the abrasions, but you had a trained eye. You were your mother’s daughter. These were defensive wounds. And for just a moment, you worried that the Bishop’s had a heavier hand than you’d anticipated.

But then, Kate’s muscles flexed and her head lilted to the side, dark curls splaying over her shoulders. She had grown stronger. It wasn’t noticeable, or at least, it shouldn’t’ have been. But you knew every inch of her body and despite your forced separation, she’d grown steady of herself.

“Why should I be punished, when you’re the one who set the curtains ablaze.”

You leaned close enough to feel her body heat. To her credit, she didn’t step back. A ghost of a smirk was on her lips. You snarled your words. “And who’s fault was that?”

“I don’t see how I was supposed to know you’d get trigger happy with your powers when I went down on you.” She gave you a cocky pout. “Is that a new thing, or have you never been able to handle yourself in moments of pleasure?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from grasping at the strap on her dress, pulling her closer to you out of a burst of anger. The phantom look of confidence spread into a full-blown grin. You were exasperated, the familiar heat burning just under your skin.

It was true, you’d lost control for just a moment, with Kate Bishops head between your legs, one hand buried deep in her mess of tangled hair. As an orgasm washed over you, thighs shaking, your other hand had drifted too close to the drapes and had caught them ablaze.

Despite the both of you being adults, you were separated within an instant. Dragged embarrassingly away by your respective parental units after the fire was put out. The last you’d seen of her was reflected with the flashing red lights of a rumbling fire engine.

Kate had a devilish look in her eyes. “Harder, baby.”

“Ladies,”

It was a resolute sound that had you pulling apart as if she was a toxic entity. In your book, she was. Both hands landed in your pockets and the two of you looked sheepishly at Eleanor. She’d been keeping an eye on you, you were sure. And had made a direct line to you the second Kate had given you that salacious look.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bishop. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

Kate coughed out something that sounded like ‘Kiss ass’ and covered it up with a doe-eyed look of innocence. She may not have been afraid of her mother, but you were terrified. Bobbi had a soft hand. It commanded you like a weapon, and you were happy to do what you were told.

Your own punishment had consisted of heavier training. Both mentally and physically to perfect control that you’d had mastered years ago when you were nothing but a girl with streaks of tears dripping from your chin. The fire had been too strong then, overwhelming and horrible.

“Good evening, Miss Morse, I trust you’ve found a way to entertain yourself during the benefit that isn’t antagonizing my daughter.” Before you could answer, she turned her attention to Kate. “And you. I specifically allowed you to bring a guest in attempts to keep you away from Bobbi’s little arsonist.”

She had been under the full impression that you’d taken a zippo to the hanging drapes. It was the white-hot flames that leaked from your own fingers that had done the damage. Kate was thankfully tight-lipped about the fact, and you let the socialite think whatever she wanted. She hadn’t pressed charges.

Kate pulled her shoulders back, almost looking offended at the name you were tagged with. Almost. “Clint got stopped at the front for an autograph, mom. I’m just biding my time.”

“Bide it somewhere else. We’ve talked about this.”

Eleanor gave you a tight-lipped smile that had noticeably softened compared to the venomous expression she held for Kate. A light squeeze was delivered to your arm. It had always scared you how quick she could switch like that. Her shoulders pulled back as she wandered back over to her group.

Lance lifted his chin in your direction. Silently asking if everything was okay, and it was. His quiet reassurance brought the heat licking at your stomach to a bubbling halt. Why you cared more about Eleanors disposition towards Kate, then her acidity directed at you, was beyond something you were willing to confront.

“Who’s Clint?”

“Why? Jealous?”

“Can we have a normal conversation, please. Is it so shocking that I’d take interest in your friends?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Yes. If you must know, he’s not a friend. He’s a mentor. He’s, my partner.”

Both of your eyebrows lifted. Partner in what? It wasn’t something you would audibly voice, save you show any concern past the normal amount that you usually had for Kate. The tautness of her muscles, and the superficial injuries made that discomfort return to the pit of your stomach.

Kate was an archer. You knew such from the trophies that littered her dresser the one time you’d been privy to her room. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid much attention. You were backed against her door and her teeth were scraping against your pulse point. But the little gold figures and the child-sized bow on the wall was enough to of a giveaway.

You only knew one archer, and you knew him distantly; from photos that your mother had blacked out with a sharpie. She’d later told you that she regretted the fact because the memories of the three of you would always remain.

The taste of bile filled your throat and Kate lilted her head to the side, like a golden retriever that had heard a piercing noise. There was a surprising amount of concern in her voice. “You okay? You’re looking a little green.”

“Hm? Yeah. Totally. The champagne is just sitting weird.”

A frown had found its way onto your face, and you directed your attention back to the crowd. It seemed that Eleanor was satisfied enough with the two of you lingering in silence. You were trained to know where the exits were in any venue. Kate’s stare shockingly darted in the same pattern as your own.

People had trickled in until the floor was bustling with conversation. You let your shoulders relax in the slightest bit, swallowing back the acrid taste in your mouth. Eleanor had lost her viewpoint of you and her daughter, and you weren’t much in the mood for fighting her on pure proximity.

“There you are, god, I didn’t know this many people cared about birds.”

This time, you couldn’t stop your narrowed eyes from flashing to the intrusion. Whatever distracted Kate was enough to be deemed a savior in your book. But the voice was familiar, painfully so. It was as if your body reacted by busting out in goosebumps, chills rushing down your spine.

Now, you wanted your mother to be able to see you. You were a strong, and capable adult that knew at least six different ways to kill a person without a weapon. You’d gone on missions with your mother, with your Aunt Daisy, too. A simple man in a simpler suit should not make your knees weak.

Yet- here he was. In a charcoal black ensemble with a pocket square that was a flash of purple. It was a color you’d grown to despise. It was an eyesore, as was the man that stood at a height taller than Kate, but just a few inches.

You’d found a singular picture of him that wasn’t defaced in your mother’s nightstand. A polaroid of the three of you on the beach. The sun had turned your cheeks a flushed pink. He had you in his arms and beamed at the camera. Eyes matching the blue of the ocean.

They were the same now, the same vibrancy that you’d thought about. He looked other, worn from parenthood and the effects of time. Of course, you’d seen him on television, but Bobbi had always been quick to flick it off, only lingering during the Sokovia accords.

His mouth fell open in disbelief, but you were careful to keep your jaw stock still. You weren’t going to give Clint Barton the satisfaction of rattling you. Not here, not if he ever decided to show up when you had a family of your own. Not on your deathbed. He couldn’t invoke that from you.

Kate had learned to pick up on body language, and she had learned fast. Her stare shifted between both you, and Clint. She had the right amount of perception to keep her mouth shut, even taking half an inch step back. She was in a position to hold the two of you apart, if need be.

“Holy shit,” He breathed out, “Sparky.”

“Don’t call me Sparky.”

You were taken aback by your own ability to produce words. They were pinched and had dropped down an octave to true anger. Not the type that Kate Bishop was used to. Sure, you had aggravation directed towards her, but nothing short of teasing.

Clint took a slight step towards you, and you took a large one back, nearly bumping into the support beam wrapped with vines and vibrant flowers. Your hand reached out to grab onto it for support, but Kate’s fingers wrapped gently around your wrist. Right. Yes. That would be the safe bet.

You needed to find Bobbi.

Chances were, Clint hadn’t seen her with the growing attendance. You could slip out through the large storm doors that were a few feet behind you. At least then, you could burn scorch marks into the grass and not into this historical building.

“What is happening?” Kate said, refusing to remove her hand from your wrist. You didn’t wrench it away, either. It was a force, a grounding factor. You refused to let the fire move past your fingertips in fear that it would burn her. “Clint?”

“She uh… She’s…”

The words died in his throat. You couldn’t’ stand looking at him, pale as ice and wringing his hands nervously. He couldn’t hold still, but you were like a stone. Almost as if he would vanish the second you averted your stare.

“I’m his daughter.”

Kate’s hand did move from your wrist and to your hand, almost out of instinct. Your relationship, or lack-there-of, had never required this kind of closeness. But She was hanging on tightly, nails digging into your skin. The slight sting brought you back.

Clint croaked “How’s your mother?”

Kate winced and you felt the spring in your spine loosen. He was more nervous than you were and that gave you an advantage. “You can ask her yourself. She and Lance are mingling.”

“Lance is here?”

“Of course.”

He was running for congressman. It would damage his campaign if he hadn’t shown up. The gossip blogs that followed the lives of New Yorks Elite had picked up on the rift between you and Kate. There were a few grainy photos of the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in foil blankets that made you look like Baked potatoes. There was soot on her chin, and you had wiped the darkness away with your thumb. Of course, that had been the moment they caught and wrote about, and plastered all over the internet.

Clint worked his jaw and cupped the back of his neck with a tepid smile. It wavered incessantly. He was boyish in his charm and that would always be the case, no matter how old he got. You knew he had a family now. A real family that didn’t’ consist of a secret agent and their match-happy daughter.

You gave Kate a squeeze with your free hand, signaling that you were fine. The last thing you wanted to appear was weak. She seemed to get the message loud and clear, wrenching her touch away with a nervous clearing of her throat.

“I’m sorry… Can we back up for a second?”  

Clint had a dejected look in his eyes that almost made you feel a twinge of guilt. Almost. Your own ego often got in the way of things, and this was one of them. There was a flood of emotions between both of the archers, a silent pleading to hear him out.

“You and Mrs. Morse dated?”

“They were married.” You snatched another glass of campaign, this one all for yourself. You swallowed the acrid drink and let the bubbles assault your throat. “When did the divorce finalize, again?

“Y/n”

“No, I was never really privy to the details myself.”

“We shouldn’t do this here.”

You finished off the rest of the drink, a certain amount of your defenses lower. You felt warm, but not warm enough to do something stupid. He was right. You shouldn’t do this here and if you had your way, you wouldn’t’ do it anywhere. You were perfectly content to let this man slip back into oblivion and train the Bishop heiress that you had a habit of bedding.

Clint seemed to let out a sigh of relief when you nodded in agreement. He scrutinized you both, the rush of initial shock ebbing away like a melting lake. Chunks of ice broke off and gave way to the familiarity and closeness the two of you held. It was relaxed, despite the rivalry that landed you here in the first place.

“No,” he drawled out, “No, no, no. Kate, you didn’t’.”

The tips of her ears were red enough to match your suit and the color that painted her own lips. She hid her face in her hands with a groan. But you wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her against your side.

“Does that bother you, old man?”

It clearly did. Kate leveled you with a delicious glare that was unmatched but didn’t’ move from your hold. Was she letting you have this? You weren’t entirely sure. He was whipping his head back and fourth with enough force to break his own neck. It was making you dizzy, but giddy all the same.

Your moment of joy at his dismay was short lived. You caught the sharp scent of your mothers perfume. She’d cut through the crowd and furrowed her brow at your closeness to Kate. It took her a few moments to realize that Clint was here. To realize that he was the man that had spurred your act of rebellion in doing the exact opposite of what she’d requested at the start of the night.

Her cool eyes took him in just as yours had. Kate was still next to you, swallowing a dryness in her throat that you could nearly hear. Bobbi didn’t attempt to separate you as Eleanor had. Instead, she gave you a quiet stare. “Darling, I think it’s time we go. There’s a situation we have to attend to.”

“Of course. It’s been a pleasure.”

It hadn’t been, but you shocked yourself and Kate by leaning in and pressing a kiss just behind her ear, still blazing with blush. She froze but gave you the slightest bit of nod. Clint opened and closed his mouth like a surfaced fish, but kept quiet.

Your mother walked with a purpose, her shoulders pulled back and an elegance to her sway. You didn’t look back, keeping time with her as she weaved through the crowd and towards the lobby that was ten degrees cooler and much, much more welcoming.

“Is there actually a situation, or is this your attempt at a rescue?”

She ignored your question, stopping and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a soft look in her eyes that made your stomach squirm. “Are you okay, sweetie? I had no idea that he’d be here. I never would have made you come.”

“I’m fine, mom.” She didn’t seem convinced, so you added “Really.”

Eventually, Bobbi relented with a shaky sigh and cupped your cheek in a comforting manner. “Good. Okay. Good. Because we do have a situation.”