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slightly belated ;; HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIZZYBEAR ~
CONTENT: Drabble!
FOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lanapedia
FANDOM: Supernatural.
CHARACTERS: Bobby Singer, mentions of Sam and Dean Winchester.
WORD COUNT: 443;
RATING: NC-17. It's hot and heavy, kids. (not really)
NOTES: FOR LIZ'S BIRTHDAY! PRETEND IT'S NOT A DAY LATE OKAY.
The phones had stopped ringing. He grabbed a piece of that cobbler that'd been taunting him since this whole mess started, a fork, and plopped himself down in his favorite chair. The fork was full of crumbly, peachy goodness and halfway to his mouth when his cell rang. "... Balls," he muttered, setting the plate aside and picking the little annoying plastic decive to answer. The conversation with the boys was short and annoying, after everything he'd just been through. But they'd saved his ass, and he was grateful - so he listened. He gave feedback. And when they finally shut up? He shut the phone, and went back to gearing up for eating the most delicious cobbler in the history of all cobblers.
But the damn FBI phone went off.
Bobby sighed, giving up on the idea that he'd ever get to put that damn cobbler in his mouth. After the call was finally over, he gave up. He put saran wrap over the plate, shoved it in the fridge, and was positive that he'd either get to eat it later, or it'd go bad before he got the chance.
Two hours later, the phones finally stopped ringing.
And they stayed stopped.
The poor man was convinced that if he went to the kitchen to dive into that cobbler, a phone would ring. He went about it all very slowly and methodically. He took the plate out, uncovered it, and heated it back up. Luckily, he had about a half carton of vanilla icecream in the freezer (from god knows when, but he was eating this a la mode anyway), and spooned a little on top of the now-piping peach dessert. Bobby grabbed a beer, grabbed his fork, and plopped down in the chair again.
The fork caught a bite of the icecream, and a good chunk of peach. Bobby was skeptical that the helping would make it into his mouth before the phone rang, but he wasn't about to rush it. If he got to eat this, he'd better damn well be able to enjoy it and take his time doin' so. About halfway between the plate and his mouth, he froze. He waited.
No ringing.
"I'll be damned," he muttered, before finally. FINALLY. Scooping a bite of that sweet, succulent crustless pie into his mouth. He closed his eyes and let out an audible groan as he savored it. For one moment in his crazy existence, even if it was just this moment, Bobby Singer found himself in a jobless, huntless, phonecall-less existence. It was heaven.
After all, whoever said the love of his life had to be a person?
FOR:
lanapediaFANDOM: Supernatural.
CHARACTERS: Bobby Singer, mentions of Sam and Dean Winchester.
WORD COUNT: 443;
RATING: NC-17. It's hot and heavy, kids. (not really)
NOTES: FOR LIZ'S BIRTHDAY! PRETEND IT'S NOT A DAY LATE OKAY.
The phones had stopped ringing. He grabbed a piece of that cobbler that'd been taunting him since this whole mess started, a fork, and plopped himself down in his favorite chair. The fork was full of crumbly, peachy goodness and halfway to his mouth when his cell rang. "... Balls," he muttered, setting the plate aside and picking the little annoying plastic decive to answer. The conversation with the boys was short and annoying, after everything he'd just been through. But they'd saved his ass, and he was grateful - so he listened. He gave feedback. And when they finally shut up? He shut the phone, and went back to gearing up for eating the most delicious cobbler in the history of all cobblers.
But the damn FBI phone went off.
Bobby sighed, giving up on the idea that he'd ever get to put that damn cobbler in his mouth. After the call was finally over, he gave up. He put saran wrap over the plate, shoved it in the fridge, and was positive that he'd either get to eat it later, or it'd go bad before he got the chance.
Two hours later, the phones finally stopped ringing.
And they stayed stopped.
The poor man was convinced that if he went to the kitchen to dive into that cobbler, a phone would ring. He went about it all very slowly and methodically. He took the plate out, uncovered it, and heated it back up. Luckily, he had about a half carton of vanilla icecream in the freezer (from god knows when, but he was eating this a la mode anyway), and spooned a little on top of the now-piping peach dessert. Bobby grabbed a beer, grabbed his fork, and plopped down in the chair again.
The fork caught a bite of the icecream, and a good chunk of peach. Bobby was skeptical that the helping would make it into his mouth before the phone rang, but he wasn't about to rush it. If he got to eat this, he'd better damn well be able to enjoy it and take his time doin' so. About halfway between the plate and his mouth, he froze. He waited.
No ringing.
"I'll be damned," he muttered, before finally. FINALLY. Scooping a bite of that sweet, succulent crustless pie into his mouth. He closed his eyes and let out an audible groan as he savored it. For one moment in his crazy existence, even if it was just this moment, Bobby Singer found himself in a jobless, huntless, phonecall-less existence. It was heaven.
After all, whoever said the love of his life had to be a person?
no subject
BOBBY FINALLY HAS HIS COBBLER!
Thanks for writing this! ♥