#pretty spinning top for him to wind up until it breaks

[ghouljams]

(cw flexible!ballerina!reader, minor foot fetish, Ghost's down bad)

It's easy to find himself in the mirrored studio. Big man in a little chair, the only one quiet enough to hear the soft piano under the whispered chatter of the moms on either side of him. It's just enough for him to hear the little padded feat that prance along behind you as you have them cross the floor in little pas de bourees and short hopping leaps. You clap your hands with the music, smiling and waving your hands to try and coax the shier girls forwards. You in your loose pants and fitted shirt that if Ghost could see the bottom of he'd swear must be a leotard. God he wants to see the bottom of it, wants to see the cut of your legs through the fabric, smell the sweat of your skin and lick along the seams.

Instead he waves silently at his little girl when she grins at him and returns the gesture with a much more enthusiastic flap of her hand. It's enough to make you step forward --and God just watching you walk is like an art, your feet stepping toe-heel in a gentle rolling motion that seems to leap across the polished wood like rubber balls, weightless-- and gently turn the little girl's attention back to class. It's a mistake that you bend at the waist to redirect his girl to the lesson, must be. Waving your ass for him like a cat in heat, he wonders how flexible you are, how far he could bend you in half before you cried uncle.

You settle on the floor to lead the girls through some mid-class stretching, and the way you sweep your legs out to either side of you and press your chest to the floor makes Ghost's head spin. The muscles in your legs flex, your knees turned out, and your feet pointed. If his girl is doing the same he doesn't notice. His eyes follow the length of you, checking the edge on the blade that's pressed itself to his throat and stop at the pink slippers on your feet.

The straps the crisscross the top of your foot dig pleasantly into your bare foot, and your foot curves beautifully into a perfect arch. He's never seen anything like it, subconsciously he tries to curl his toes to match and feels his eye twitch at the ache of his work boots interference. He wants to slip off the slipper and see how you do it, hold your foot in his hand and trace the lines of your arch with his tongue. If he could just kiss the knob of your ankle maybe he could drag his lips higher. The bend of your knee, the flex of your adductors, the swell of your-

He clears his throat and crosses his ankle over his knee, adjusting for the growing hardness between his legs. The stiff starch of his work pants only does so much to cover it.

The little feet start pattering across the floor, ballet slippers softening the noise even as the mirrors covering the walls echo it through the space. One of the moms to his side asks him a question and he grunts in response, eyes trained on the soft sweeping roll of your feet as you rise up into releve.

He wonders how far he'd have to bend you to make sure his come hit your face when he was done fucking his cock between those perfect arches.

[lewisvinga]

american | logan sargeant

summary; y/n was never one to mess around and rebel against her parents, until she met a fellow american, logan

warnings; clubbing/partying, drinking

word count; 1.15k

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

note; american boyyyy, not rlly proofread tbh

‘born to die’ series masterlist.

masterlist !

“Y/n, fix your posture and stand up straight.”

Y/n’s mother scolded her as they entered a family friend's house. They were invited to an event to kick off the summer at the Sargeants, friends of the L/n family, in Miami.

Y/n sighed as she listened to her mother and stood straight, fixing her knee-length dress. She was never one to disobey her parents. Despite studying at the University of Miami, she never attended parties or drank. She never rebelled.

Her mother hums in satisfaction as they walk farther into the house to head to the backyard where everyone is. Y/n was soft-spoken and quiet, following her parents around as they greeted everyone.

But after an hour, she got thirsty and decided to get a bottle of water. The water cooler was right next to the beers and other alcoholic beverages. She glanced at the cooler for a second too long when a voice interrupted her.

“Well, Y/n L/n. You look so pretty.”

She looked up in shock and was met with familiar icy blue eyes and a cheeky smile she hadn’t seen since she was 13. “Logan! You’re back?” She exclaimed with a smile.

“It’s been a hot minute but the Miami Grand Prix is next week and I had this week off.” The Blonde explained with a smile. His head then nodded towards the cooler of the alcoholic beverages, “Which one do you like?”

“Oh, no!” Y/n exclaimed, quickly shaking her head before reaching for a water bottle. “I don’t drink. Never have.”

“And you go to UMiami and you don’t drink? At all?”

She simply shrugged in reply, fiddling with the ends of her yellow sundress. “No. Don’t really party either. But it’s fine, I like to focus on studying-“

“Nonsense!” Logan interrupted her, “You’re still a goody two shoes. You were always scared to step out of line.” He chuckled.

Her eyebrows furrowed up as her cheeks started to heat up. “No!” She said in defense. “Maybe? I mean, I don’t want to break any of their rules. I’m grateful for all that they give me!”

“Hey,” The Williams driver began with a cheeky smile, “Wanna head out of here? Take a spin ‘round town. The weather's nice.”

His blue eyes remained on hers as she let out a small hum. She glanced back at her parents who were already drinking and busy talking to their friends. She looked at him with a smile before saying, “Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Oh, Springsteen!” Y/n exclaimed as the familiar voice of the singer began to play in Logan’s Porsche. The top was opened and there was a slight breeze as he drove through the neighborhood.

“Of course!” The Blonde replied, glancing over at her. “Dude he’s like the king. Don’t you think?” He said, tilting his head down so she could see his eyes from above his black sunglasses.

She chuckles as she adjusts the Prada glasses resting on her nose. “Oh, hell yes! That guy can sing. But personally, I’m a fan of Elvis.”

“Presley?” He asked in shock.

“Oh, yeah! He’s the best.”

“What’s your favorite record of his?”

“I’m a big fan of Burning Love at the moment.”

Thankfully, there was a red light right at the neighborhood exit. Logan reaches for his phone which is already connected to his car to play the song. Y/n couldn’t help but let out an excited laugh as the familiar intro began to play.

The light turned green and he began to drive on the main roads. The speed limit was higher which meant that as he sped down the roads, the strong winds compensated for the hot sun shining down on them.

Y/n felt very relaxed even though she and Logan secretly left the party. The breeze and Elvis’ voice relaxed her as she went into a deep conversation with him.

Thankfully, her glasses covered up her curious eyes as they glanced over him. He had gotten quite a bit of a tan but it made him glow in the Miami sun. He was much taller than when she had seen him last when they were 13. And if anything, he had gotten a lot more attractive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by his teasing voice. “What are you staring at?” He asked with a smile, noticing her glances at a red light.

She immediately froze in the spot and began to stutter. “I- Well. The trees are lovely and-“

“Relax! I’m just messing with you.” Logan said between laughs as he focused back on the road and the green light, “Besides, I think you’re pretty good-looking now too.”

Y/n playfully rolled her eyes as she leaned over to lightly slap his shoulder. She glances to her side, watching the buildings and people turn into a blur as the wind blows her hair behind.

Part of her wanted to stay obedient to her parents. After all, they were parents and provided everything for her. They paid for her college, her car, her clothes, and bags, the least she could do was listen to their rules.

But another part also wanted to be a carefree college student. She wanted to have fun and not regret her days in college. She wanted to be young, dope, and proud like an American.

She turned to look back at Logan before saying, “Let’s go clubbing. I want to have fun.”

The blonde looked at her shocked before his lips curled into a smile. “Oh yeah? What’s gotten into you?”

“Just done with being afraid to break my parents' rule. I want to be young, wild, and free.”

“Well, it’s Miami, so we gotta get you a new dress.”

Y/n furrowed up her eyebrows as she glanced down at her long yellow sundress, brown Hermes sandals, and white cardigan. “What’s wrong with my outfit?” She asked with a frown.

Logan raised his eyebrow. “Y/n, you’ve lived in Miami your whole life. The party scene is different here.” He explained, taking a right turn which fortunately for them, was a shopping center. “Honey, you need to put on that party dress. Like you said, you want to be young, wild, and free.”

“Fine,” Y/n said with a smile as he searched for parking. “But you’re coming with me! I have my dad’s credit card and a mall filled with designer stores. And I’m gonna make sure I find the right outfit.” She grasps her Chanel bag as Logan exits the car and quickly rushes to her side to open the door.

“Well, anything to be young, dope, and proud, right?” He said, holding his arm out. She immediately hooked her arm with his, ignoring the faint blush on both of their faces.

She glanced up at his ice-blue eyes as she let out a content sigh, “Like an American.”

[breannasfluff]

Animal Sounds

Wild normally communicates in sign to the group. Sky’s heard him speak, voice rough with disuse or the damage of scars, but he can talk. Non-verbal is his default, but as they travel together, Sky notices other quirks. 

Wild is adept at mirroring the sounds and body languages of animals, often responding with that first when caught off guard before switching to sign. 

A chirp draws his attention as they walk down a dusty path; Wild notices something of interest. He breaks away from the group to dig in a bush until he pulls out a mushroom with a little yip. 

He promptly blushes red when he notices Sky watching. Smiling, Sky tries to put the other at ease. 

That night around the fire, Twilight passes the warm fur from his shoulders to Wild after a shiver. Eyes wide with delight, he wraps it close and gives a happy purr; an exact mimic of a cat. 

Twilight is the undisputed animal whisperer of the group, but sometimes Wild gives him a run for his money. One day he vanishes out of the camp to hunt, only to return riding a deer. 

“Hylia above, how’d you get on top of that!” Sky may ride a loftwing, but a loftwing is a soul partner, not a wild animal. 

Wild grins down at him. ‘Made a new friend,’ he signs. ‘If I get off, though, he’ll run away.’

“Not much of a friend,” Legend says. “I hope that’s dinner you walked to our cooking pot.”

With a mock gasp, Wild clutches the neck of the deer.

“Enough messing around,” Time calls, hands buried deep in his bags. “Either we’re eating your ride or we’re having vegetables for dinner.”

Twilight sidles closer, but the deer prances beneath Wild and jigs to the side. Twilight tries again, but his slide comes across more predatory than hylian. The deer bounds forward, causing Wild to jerk and grab for a mane that wasn’t there. He soothes the deer with low clucks and grunts, but it turns to keep an eye on Twilight.

Hands up, Twilight backs off. “What are you going to do with it, Wild?”

His ears flick as he looks down at the deer beneath him. Sky edges closer, careful to keep his movements slow and telegraphed. He makes it closer than Twilight and touches light fingers to trembling skin. The deer lifts a hoof but doesn’t dart away.

Behind him, Twilight snorts in disgust.

“He’s pretty,” Sky says as he looks up at Wild.

It’s the right response—not that it's clear what response was needed—because Wild lights up in response. He makes the clucking sound again and leans forward to pat the deer’s neck. 

“I call a haunch!” Wind, caring little for the proper approach of animals, throws himself at Wild and the deer. The deer gives a startled yelp, and Wild mimics it a half second later. Then he’s throwing himself free as the deer bolts into the woods.

“That’s my dinner!” Legend flails an arm, whacking into Time. “Wind, look what you did!”

“What I did?” Deer and entertainment gone, Wind spins for the new distraction. “I didn’t see you helping out to catch it!” He throws himself on Legend and they go down in a pile of limbs. Time ducks a flailing foot and ignores them.

Sky leans over to give Wild a hand up. “You okay?”

“Mhmm.” Wild dusts off his pants, still staring after the deer.

“Were you planning on eating that one?”

He clicks his tongue in response and finally looks at Sky. ‘Not today,’ he signs.

Does he mean no, he won’t eat that deer, or he just won’t eat it today? Sky’s silent question remains unanswered.

Read the rest here!

[imnotleavinherewithoutyou]

of course i'm writing this instead of like, the stuff i'm supposed to be writing??

ahem.

——

Dean is throwing a bullpen session when the news breaks that Castiel Novak has signed with the Dodgers. He wouldn't have heard about it, except that Garth trotted into the room bubbling with enthusiasm.

"I didn't realize you were such a big fan of him," Dean says when Garth pauses for breath.

"His numbers speak for themselves," Garth says.

Dean settles back in, winds up, and spins a curveball in there for a strike. He flashes a satisfied grin at Garth before saying, "I don't spend much time looking at the numbers."

"Two MVPs," Garth counters.

"Yeah, that's impressive," Dean allows.

"D'you think it'd be too weird if I asked for an autograph when he gets here?" Garth asks.

Dean shrugs. "He's probably used to it."

From what he's heard, Castiel isn't exactly a Chatty Cathy, though that could be because he doesn't speak English. He's always got an interpreter on hand, despite having been in the States six years already. You'd think the guy would've picked up some English by now.

Probably a cold fish.

Meanwhile, Garth says, "Yeah, you're right."

"If you're embarrassed, you could always say it's for a nephew or something," Dean suggests.

"Nah, I couldn't lie to him," Garth says, scandalized.

Dean huffs a laugh at that. "All right, do what you want. Now skedaddle and quit distracting me."

"Yeah, okay. Catch you later, alligator!"

——

The thing is, not many players catch Dean's eye anymore.

He's been in the league for a decade and a half, and he's seen everything. Strange-ass batting stances that somehow still work. A switch pitcher. A sidewinder who dipped so far down on his delivery that his knuckles nearly scraped the fucking mound.

But he's never seen a two-way player like Castiel Novak.

Granted, teams haven't ever really let pitchers hit every day. Hell, it wasn't even possible in the NL until they changed the rules and adopted the DH.

That's why the Dodgers never had a chance at signing Castiel when he was first coming over to the States.

Not that Dean had been paying any attention at the time. He'd been skeptical like most other players, a little curious to see whether this experiment would work out.

But then Castiel had seemed pretty average in his first season—a pretty good batter but an average-ass pitcher—and then he'd gotten sidelined from pitching by an injury, and Dean had put the fabled two-way-player out of mind.

In the last three years, though, Castiel has forced his way to the top of the conversation in baseball, everyone talking about what a unicorn he is for being able to pitch and hit at elite levels, and that amount of praise, of overexposure, has always rubbed Dean the wrong way. Sure, Castiel won MVP two of the three years—and came in second the year he didn't win it—but still. It's a lot of talk, and Dean hasn't really even watched him play.

Mostly, he's just been catching the occasional dumb New Balance commercials, which—he can't really judge, he's done some dumb ads himself because the money was stupid good, but hey, he's never claimed he wasn't hypocritical.

When Castiel first enters the locker room for spring training, everyone's already there. Such a diva move, arriving fashionably late. All eyes turn his way, and he surveys the room, looking almost bored.

"Hello," the man at his elbow says, half a step behind him. Needlessly, he adds, "This is Castiel. Nice to meet you all."

The accent throws Dean off for a second, because he's never heard someone from Enoch speak with a British accent.

Castiel starts moving toward a locker in the corner of the room that has been set aside for him, his new jersey hanging up in front of it, and his interpreter follows him, nodding at the team members that they pass.

Dean's well across the room from Castiel's locker, so he's free to catch Benny's eye after they've passed him by and raise his eyebrows. Benny only grins, tilting his head toward the exit.

Dean finishes doing up his cleats and jogs off toward the tunnel, meeting Benny there.

As they head toward the dugout, Dean says, "Taller than I'd imagined," and Benny chuckles.

——

Castiel is pretty.

Dean hadn't really absorbed that from the TV ads or game footage, more concerned with his windup or his batting stance than his face. And that first glimpse of him had been from across the locker room, so it's not like Dean could've seen how fucking blue his eyes are. Or how his jaw looks so sharp you could cut yourself on it.

It's fucking distracting is what it is, so Dean keeps his distance. He's getting older now, needs to stay sharp and focused to avoid all the fucking speculation about how he might be washed up.

Every mph he loses on his fastball feels like another nail in his coffin, and he really cannot afford distractions.

But whenever Castiel passes through his line of sight, he can't resist the temptation to look, to keep looking. Castiel never looks back—at least, Dean's never caught his eye.

The only time it seems Castiel looks at Dean is when Dean is on the mound. Castiel leans on the fence in the dugout, and even though Dean can't see the blue of his eyes from this far out, he's sure that Castiel's eyes are on him.

Dean's first five outings are good. He gets four wins, one no-decision, doesn't give up more than two earned runs each outing. His strikeout numbers are a little low to start the year, but he's pretty sure he can get them back up to normal by the All Star break.

But his sixth start is an absolute dud. The opposing team is seeing his fastball too well, and for whatever reason, he can't get his curveball in there for a strike.

Bobby pulls him after one out in the fifth, having given up five runs, four earned. Garth enters the game with the bases loaded and manages to strike out the next two batters, and when he comes into the dugout, Dean claps him on the back in thanks.

Dean is filled with dread as he sits down for the postgame press conference, where reporters are gonna ask him stupid-ass roundabout questions that don't outright say he should retire but obviously imply he's past his prime.

"So, what happened out there?" a man from the LA Times asks.

Dean shrugs, tries his best not to sound defensive when he says, "Sometimes you just don't have your stuff."

"What wasn't working today?" LA Times persists.

"Weren't you watching the game?"

The deep voice coming from Dean's left startles him, but there are audible gasps from the gaggle of reporters, and Dean turns, sees Castiel approaching.

Castiel takes the vacant seat at Dean's left and leans over, bending the mic toward him. "You should know he didn't have his curveball today, or is it not your occupation to know the game of baseball?" he continues, eyes blazing.

So he speaks English after all.

Dean stares, because he can’t not. Because this is the closest he’s ever been to Castiel Novak, and his clenched jaw looks even sharper in profile, his nose proud, the corner of his mouth that Dean can see curved down in an expectant frown.

LA Times flounders, says, "Well, I was leading up to—I wanted to know if he's worried at all. See, if his best pitch isn't landing—“

"So much doubt," Castiel interrupts. "Where were all these concerns when I gave up four runs to the A's two days ago?"

Then Castiel's interpreter—Balthazar—is there, grabbing Castiel by the elbow, hissing something inaudible in his ear.

Castiel rolls his eyes, clears his throat, grabs the mic again. "My apologies."

Balthazar leans in, says, “No further questions,” and straightens.

Castiel gets to his feet and looks at Dean, and his cerulean eyes are surprisingly warm. He seems startled to find Dean looking back, and his gaze darts away quickly.

Then they’re out of the room, and a different reporter, this one from the Athletic, pipes up, “So uh, did you know Castiel could speak English?”

“Think Balthazar just put the kibosh on any questions about Castiel,” Dean says.

The Athletic looks disappointed but says, “It’s clear you struggled in the first, but you really settled in for the next three innings. What helped you regain focus?”

The rest of the ordeal goes smoother, everyone on their best behavior after Castiel’s interruption, and Dean has just gotten home when his phone rings.

“Dude. Dude! How could you not tell me that Castiel is your friend? No, how could you not say that he can speak English?”

“We’re not friends, Garth.”

“Bullshit,” Garth says immediately. “He was totally out there to protect you. He never does press if he doesn’t have to. And I think he just outed that he speaks English to do it.”

It’s hard to deny those points, but they aren’t friends.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Dean says. “We’ve never spoken. I’ve only said hi to him, and it was through Balthazar, as usual.”

Garth harrumphs. “I don’t believe you.”

Before Dean can protest, Garth hangs up.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed, before heading to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

He probably should talk to Castiel tomorrow, express some gratitude for his intervention. Dean’s a big boy and can handle himself, but it was unexpectedly nice to have someone stick up for him like that.

——

The next day, Dean waits until the game is about to start before entering the locker room. Predictably, Castiel is one of the few remaining players—he usually cuts it pretty close, has been almost late to several games already.

For once, Balthazar isn’t hovering over Castiel, and Dean heads straight for him, in no mood to beat around the bush.

“Got an off day tomorrow,” Dean says to the back of Castiel’s head.

It takes a moment for Castiel to turn around, face neutral. “Yes,” he says evenly.

“Got any plans?”

“No,” Castiel says.

Dean nods. “Then you’re free to grab a coffee with me?”

“Yes,” Castiel accepts immediately.

“Damn it, Castiel,” says Balthazar from behind Dean, and Castiel’s eye roll is even better when Dean can see it straight-on rather than in profile. “You’re going to put me out of a job.”

Castiel responds in Enochian, and Balthazar barks out a short word that by tone Dean figures is a curse word.

“Give me your phone,” Castiel says to Dean, hand held out, and Dean tugs it out of his pocket, hands it over.

Balthazar lets out an irritated huff and hovers impatiently while Castiel types his number into Dean’s phone.

Dean accepts his phone back, doing his best to ignore the tingle he gets when their fingers brush on the handover, and says, “I’ll text you.”

With a wry twist to his lips, Castiel says, “That’s the idea.”

Then he heads for the dugout, Balthazar trailing behind him, complaining in Enochian.

Dean looks down at his phone and snorts when he sees that Castiel has entered “Unicorn” for his name.

And Dean had thought he didn’t have a sense of humor.

[tootiredmotel]

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

[jackrrabbit]

Bloodlust /// Sanemi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: A naive demon is waylaid by the Wind Hashira.

A/N: Might fuck around and get back into KNY…Sanemi is one mean bastard, and I’m here for it. Be warned—this is pretty brutal (not by canon standards, but still). ngl I’ve missed writing stuff like this 🥺

Tags/warnings: sadomasochism, noncon, hatefucking!!!! is def the best way to describe what happens in this fic, threats, violence, demon reader & demon things, primal, degradation, outdoor sex, bloodplay & marechi kink stuff, yandere? obsessive fixation ig, some creative liberties have been taken with canon

You’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be weak.

Strength came with the territory when you were turned into a demon, along with the hunger: all-encompassing, oppressive, like you’re starving every second you’re not eating. Apparently you’re better able to control your hunger than other demons, not that you’ve met many—none, actually, other than the one who turned you. He was the one who told you to exercise control, who told you that you’ve done well to stealthily pick off prey that wouldn’t be missed instead of attracting attention. He was the one who told you about demon slayers.

You almost laughed at the idea at the time. A group of humans who tried to resist demons? Tried to kill them? How? Every human you’ve encountered since you were turned—hunters, mostly, men who’d wandered into the woods looking for something to eat—has been pathetically weak against you. Life as a demon is simple. As long as you stay in the shadows and avoid the sun, you have nothing to fear.

Sometimes you daydream about making your way to a village and gorging yourself, but you don’t mind the hunger so much. You can get by on scraps. And besides, the demon who turned you warned you not to go overboard. He said to stay away from the humans’ notice—not that the threat of some human calling themselves a “demon slayer” bothered you. You know how strong you are; you can feel it in your blood, your muscles, your bones. You don’t understand how a flesh-and-blood human could threaten that.

You don’t understand…until you meet him. The Wind Hashira. You should’ve listened to the warnings about demon slayers.

Bitter.

It tastes bitter, and you try to ground yourself on that taste, the sharp, bitter-wet flavor of the grass and dew and earth because the slayer is shoving your face into the dirt and the copper from where you’re biting into your lip and holding back the sound of your voice. Not that he cares, probably. But you don’t think you could take hearing yourself moan for a human while he carves the shape of his cock into your pussy.

How did you…get here? Facedown, barely holding yourself up on your elbows, chest and stomach shoved into the grass with your back arched up and your kimono ridden above your hips… Fuck, you can barely remember the fight, his ability, him wrestling you into the earth and shoving his weight down on you and bringing his blade to his own arm and—

—his blood, so rich and thick and sweet that even recalling the smell of it sends a wave of heat through you and you whine under your breath. The hunger overtakes everything else you’re feeling, but only for a second before with a twitch of his hand the Hashira brings the edge of his sword to the tender skin of your throat. “Ah-ah,” he rasps out a laugh even though his voice is heavy and strained. “What was that? Are you starting to like it?”

“K-Kill you, I’ll—kill you,” you snarl, but you and him both know the threat is empty. You tried. And you failed.

“Fucking demon whore,” he spits, and the blade slips just enough to draw a hair-thin line of red across your neck, earning a yelp from you even though you don’t dare move any more for fear of letting it cut you deeper. When you go still, he grunts and you can hear him shifting position in the grass, angling your hips up so his cock can sink in again. “Asking for it…fuck…”

“I wasn’t—nngh—ah, ahhh, s-stop—you can’t—” Your words are coming out in babbles, barely intelligible but it’s his fault. He’s pushing up at your womb, pulling out in short, quick thrusts and slamming his cock back into your cunt so hard and rough it’s like he’s knocking the breath out of your lungs. It hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts, an ache deep in your core and accompanied with a heat and tension that you hate even more than you hate the pain, because it means he’s right. You—no, your body, your traitorous pathetic weak body that submitted to his so easily—it’s starting to like this.

“How’s it feel?” He’s mocking you, fisting his fingers in your hair and wrenching your head back so he can look you in the eye. “Does it hurt?…it hurts, right? Good.”

“—i-it doesn’t—“ You don’t even believe it yourself.

“Yes…it does. Guess even a demon bitch like you can’t take me that easily.” Somehow the slayer’s hips keep pumping deeper, pushing his fat cock through your walls and against the entrance to your womb until you’re certain your unnatural healing can’t keep up with the bruising in your cunt. Your fingers are scrabbling in the grass, digging clawed nails into the earth—the little nick on your throat has already knitted itself back up, but the tension in your pussy is a dozen—a hundred—times worse.

“—stop, let me go—“ Debased. Lower than an animal. You’d be begging if you thought he would listen.

“‘Stop’? How are you going to...ungh, make me stop? Want to try to fight me off again?” He pulls out (you hate the way your cunt feels when he does, hot and slick and empty) and his grip on the sword slackens, easing up enough to give you a scanty inch of movement. “Go ahead, give it a try.”

The slayer’s taunting you—just like you taunted him at the start of this, when you first challenged him, when you thought he was a human—and, and somehow he is, still human and yet just as much a monster as you are. More. You’ve been cruel, you’ve done evil things, but you did them to survive. Fuck, you shouldn’t—shouldn’t have taunted him, shouldn’t have boasted, should’ve stayed hidden in the dark. You didn’t know. He wasn’t supposed to be this strong.

Your muscles are shaking from exertion as you brace your hands against the ground, trying to push up against the weight of his body so you can right yourself, but it’s futile. Within a second (less than a second) of your attempt to move, one of his scarred hands slaps over your wrist and crushes it back into the dirt, grip so tight you swear you can almost feel your bones grinding underneath. You snarl, try to twist yourself away from him but the hilt of his sword slams down flat against your other hand so hard you feel a dull pang of surprise that nothing actually breaks.

“So weak…try that again and I’ll use the sharp end.” His chest is moving back on top of yours, and you recognize the silent rhythm of the movement.

He’s laughing at you.

Weak. You know it’s true. You thought you were so strong, but compared to this Hashira you’re nothing. Pure unadulterated defeat is written in every cell of your body, and whatever animal instinct you have left from your human life is telling you to roll over and accept that he’s the predator, and you’re nothing more than prey. But the mockery, the ease with which he holds you down, the goddamn fucking laughter sparks a fresh wave of hatred and you thrash and squirm underneath his body. “You’re dead, you—I’ll kill you, I’ll tear you apart, they’ll be picking bits of you out of this forest for weeks—“

The red haze over your vision is so heavy that you barely notice the blade tilting into position—not over your skin, but against his. You only register what he’s doing when the glint of sunlight on the blade reflects brilliant white, and you catch a scarlet line of blood beading against it. You pull back, eyes going wide, trying not to inhale but your lungs betray you and,

oh ohhh fuck it smells good smells so good you want it you want it so fucking bad you’re going to die if you can’t taste it you need it you need it you NEED IT.

Your muscles go slack. You’re salivating already, dizzy from hunger, so intensely focused on the smell of his blood that you can’t help your compliance as he pulls your hips up into place and slips his cock back into your pussy. Only when it starts to hurt again—a dull soreness now, because he’s slowed his pace to push his thick shaft into you inch by inch—do you feel that same prickle of hatred and disgust, but who cares who cares that you’re getting fucked because the smell of his blood is driving you out of your mind with need.

You no longer have the self-control to hold back your voice, and when the slayer hears the pathetic little mewl dripping out of your mouth from the sensation of him filling you up, he laughs again. But this time you don’t care, you just want him, want his body, his blood. Your jaw snaps open and shut on instinct and you whine, pleading, because you’re past the point of believing that you can beat him.

“You like that? Want to taste?” His voice is softer now, but the vein of mockery still runs clear through every syllable.

Your head jerks up and down desperately and then he draws his hips back and slaps his cock between your aching walls, pushing a huffed “uhhn!” out of your lips—but you don’t pull away. You can tolerate this, if it means getting to taste that blood dripping down his fingers, over the sword grip still held in his palm, just to be wasted on the grass. Out of your reach.

“So docile now…think I could get used to this,” the slayer sighs, adjusting the position of his thighs so he can thrust into you lazily and deeply. “F-Fuck, you’re—tight, you know that? All hot and sticky inside…”

“—let me have it, need it I need it, why—“ Your head is spinning, feels like you’re…what? The intoxication is hitting some note deep in the recesses of your memory, a past life you aren’t supposed to be able to recall. Bitter taste on your tongue, liquid pouring, fuzzy edges bordering your vision. Drunkenness.

“Little demon bitch,” he growls, tapping the blade lightly against your neck when you snap your teeth at him again. “Said you were going to kill me, yeah? But now you’re moaning like a whore…”

You try to muster a denial, but you can’t.

The slayer’s other hand twists underneath the two of you to press up on your lower belly, pushing into the place where his cock is nudging up against your womb. You keen at the pressure, the slow friction against that little patch in your cunt that makes you slicker every time his cockhead passes over it. “Feel how deep I am in your cunt…? I can—feel your pulse on my cock, fuck.”

You can feel it too, your heartbeat echoed in the twitches of your pussy around his skin, quick and fluttering from the drunken stupor his blood has forced you into. Every sense is heightened, and the weight of his hand pushing up on your belly just makes it worse…or better. You’re not sure.

He swallows, and with his body on top of yours you can feel his heavy breathing puffing out over the bared skin of your neck. “Can demons even cum? If you can get wet, then you can cum too, right? I bet I can…bet I can make you cum, you fucking whore. Wouldn’t that be nice…get you creaming on my cock, make you my little fuckpet…”

His hand slips down from your belly to rub roughly at your cunt, pushing into your skin to seek out the little button at the top—and the feeling of his hands on you like this, the sharp jolt of pleasure somehow sends a splinter of clarity through your delirium. “No,” you wail, hearing how wanton you sound and hating it. “I can’t I can’t, please, please don’t make me—“

“Quiet.” His thick forearm wraps around your neck, tightening against your windpipe and cutting off your voice. “Learn your place, demon—the only reason you’re alive is because you’re a nice wet hole for me to use. So when I tell you to cum—“

His pace picks up, hips knocking yours deeper, splitting you apart while he swirls his fingers around that sweet spot—and then the smell of copper gets thicker and he’s pushing his bloody hand against your mouth—

“—you cum.”

You’re not sure whether it’s your cunt or the taste of his blood smearing over your lips that does it, but as soon as he says the word you shatter like glass. The heat is brutal horrible delicious and so overwhelming you’re surprised you’re conscious through it—every hair is standing up on end and your body pulls tight like a bowstring, arching your backside into his hips so you can feel every inch of your cunt sucking around him.

It’s bliss—sickeningly sweet, burning like fire through you—without thinking, you eagerly lick the scarlet liquid off his hand and fuck somehow, somehow, it tastes even better than it smelled—feels like you could live off just the blood in your mouth but you want more, you’d die for it, you’d do anything, and your teeth are bared ready to puncture his skin deeper when—

Cold steel slides up under your jaw, almost nicking one of the veins pumping blood up to your hazy brain. “Keep—ahh, yesss…d-damn it—keep still,” the slayer rasps. “No teeth.”

He’s not finished.

Every muscle in your body aches for you to ignore him, but the knowledge of how easily he could separate your head from your body makes you obey, dragging your tongue over his still-bleeding cut instead of biting down. You can hear the noises of damp skin against skin issuing out from where your bodies meet, but you’re not sure whether it’s from you lapping at his fingers or his cock pressing in and out of your sopping-wet cunt. Probably both. Not that it matters.

The slayer’s head lowers—you know it by the angle of his cock inside your twitching pussy and the faint tickle of his hair brushing against the skin of your neck—and then you feel his teeth sinking into the side of your throat. They’re blunt, of course, as harmless as any human’s, but the primal dominance of the action sends a shudder through you.

“Not bad…looks like demons are good for something after all. I think I might just keep you,” the slayer laughs. His voice is too close—you want to flinch back, spit at him, bite—but you can’t. You’re helpless.

You’re weak.

[harrywritingsbyme]

Resolutions

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

A/N: So this was going to be the second theme/element to my New Years fic a couple weeks ago!! And I just wanted to write some filth tonight…it’s crazy hot and just filthy!! Anddd I’m adding this one to A Series of Firsts!! Enjoy🙃

4.3k wordsss

Harry wasn’t afraid to test the limits and explore when it came to pleasure. He wanted to learn about and explore the different parts of his pleasure so that he could really know what made him feel good and what would give him that euphoric high he craved when it came to his releases. He was always willing to try something in the bedroom (or in the car or bathroom or backyard...you and Harry went at it all over the place), even if it was just once. That is, anything that didn’t involve sharing; he was a bit selfish when it came to having you. Which speaking of you, Harry consider himself to be the luckiest man in the world. Not only were you the sweetest person he’d ever come across, you were also a minx that could to the smallest thing ever and get him riled up for days. You also had this innocence that captivated and drew him to you. 

Since Harry was a bit older and you were pretty inexperienced in the bedroom, Harry assumed the role of teacher and guided you through your own pleasure and helped you find the things you loved and didn’t love. And in teaching and making you feel amazing, Harry’s pleasure reached new levels. Despite the fact that you followed his lead, you were able to transcend all of his expectations and ideas when it came to you pleasuring him. You were able to give him the euphoric high he loved, and in turn, make him crave you and that high even more. He felt incredibly lucky to have such a pretty little girlfriend who worked wonders when it came to pleasuring him. 

Now in you and Harry’s time together, you guys’ sex life was nothing short of eclectic and beyond fun and exciting . After the first six months of just getting to know each other and growing closer, eventually breaking the ice when it came to intimacy, you and Harry charged on full speed ahead. Things got rougher, which you quite enjoyed, and things also got more interesting. But even with exploring and having a very active sex life, there were still things that were just waiting to be explored by you and Harry. And there were still so many more things for Harry to teach you. No matter how good you sucked his cock or rode him, Harry would always be your teacher. He’d always be the one guiding you through your own and his pleasure. 

With that being said, Harry decided to sit down with you and create a set of New Years resolutions or goals for the bedroom. While he wasn’t afraid to try things, you were still learning and felt the exact same way. You wanted to explore and feel good and pleasure Harry even more. So when Harry brought up the idea of creating a list of things to try out in the bedroom in the new year, you were completely on board. The both of you were able to come up with a list of things that you two wanted to try out together. And by the end of it all, there was a very healthy amount of things on the list for the two of you to cross off in the new year. The two of you were really excited to try out everything on your lists, so excited that the two of you couldn’t help but push the lists aside and go at it right then and there. 

And when the new year came around, you and Harry didn’t waste any time diving right into the list. To start off, the two of you ordered two of the toys that were on you guys’ list. There was so much excitement on you and Harry’s end and neither of you could wait until they arrived in the mail so that the two of you could jump  right into using them. But since there would be a little wait for the toys, the two of you moved on to trying one of the new positions on the list. And thanks to Harry, this week the two of you would be on to another one. After a long day of work, you and Harry loved winding down in and around each other. After dinner and good conversation, the two of you whisked yourselves away to the bedroom to take care of the final “step” of you guys’ mission to wind down. 

The two of you were quick to lock your lips and fully undress each other. You were ripping each other’s clothes off while keeping your lips moving, the both of you desperate to pleasure one another and feel good. Again, you and Harry were constantly craving that euphoric high that came along with pleasuring each other. And this time was no different. Once the two of you were completely undressed, you made it to the bed where you’d be spending the rest of your night together. You and Harry were so wrapped up in each other, completely engulfed in how amazing the pleasure felt. Harry completely ravished you, taking you in so many positions, and changing the speed of his hips pushing his cock into you. One minuet he was quickly slamming himself into you and the next he was giving you slow but incredibly deep thrusts. He managed to make your head spin in the most amazing way possible. 

The way he crammed himself into you over and over again as he groaned into your mouth, above, or behind you was beyond incredible. He even wrapped a hand around your throat, making you work for every breath you took was astonishing. And when he didn’t, you were letting out strings of moans and whines from the pleasure you were receiving. You were also clawing at the sheets when you couldn’t dig your nails into his biceps or back. While you were falling apart over how full he made you feel, how deep he was pushing himself into you, and how he was taking you, Harry was obsessed with how amazing your cunt felt against his throbbing cock. He said this in the beginning and he vowed to keep saying it for as long as he possibly could, Harry was certain that your pussy was made for him. As cliche as it may have sounded, he was confident that your walls were designed just for him. He never failed to be in awe at how you engulfed his cock and took every pounding that came your way. On top of that, your walls were always warm and spongey and just perfect for his cock. It didn’t matter if he was pushing a finger or two into you, his tongue, or his entire cock, you never failed to be absolutely amazing to Harry. And because of your ability to never fail him, Harry made sure to give it all to you. Anything you wanted, he gave and let you have. 

In this first round alone, he took you in three different positions. You two started off with you on top of him, riding him and essentially tiring yourself out on his cock. After feverishly moving yourself on top of him and riling him up even more at how desperate and cute you were bouncing your little cunt on his cock, Harry was quick to pretty much toss you off of him and flip you into the position he wanted you in which was on your front where he pinned you down by your hips and just pumped his cock into you. As he did this you could hear his skin slapping against yours and you could hear his grunts and moans as he continued on. Eventually, after a while of full on mounting you from behind, Harry decided to flip you onto your back so that as he continued to take you and just destroy the area between your legs he watched you fall apart. And he figured by the way you were whining about how tingly and warm your body was feeling that you were getting closer and closer to your first release of the night. And he too could feel himself getting closer to the tipping point of his first release of the night as well. He could feel his body becoming a bit shakier and a warmth spreading through him as well. As he pistoned himself into you, Harry Had his hands firmly wrapped around your calves, pushing your legs apart and up to continue on. When he didn’t have a sturdy grip on your throat, Harry was pushing your legs up to keep your entrance easily accessible to him. At one point, he had his arms wrapped around your legs, hugging them to his chest as he fucked into you. He’d even push up towards your chest a bit so that he could hear you whine a little louder.

Everything, whether it was Harry’s filthy words to you or your moans or Harry’s thrusts or your movements against him, all contributed to the mountain of pleasure that had formed and was ready to explode inside of you both. It had been growing and growing all the way up to this moment. After reaching the very edge, your legs were trembling and Harry had laid himself on top of you, mouthing at the sensitive area of your neck as your clawed at and dug the heels of your feet into his back. The two of you were dying to just let go and experience that tidal wave and euphoric high that came from letting go. And after holding it all the way down to the last second, the two of you finally let go. It was like a bubble of euphoria bursted and showered you two with the high that was craved. The two of you too drained in that moment to even move a muscle as you continued to enjoy the intense shocks and aftershocks of your releases. 

Now this is where the next part of you guys’ list of bedroom New Years resolutions came into play. After about fifteen minuets of laying there trying to gain back some feeling in your bodies, Harry’s mind began to wander over to that one position he’d been dying to try. To not over complicate it, Harry wanted to sit on your face. The same way you rode his face and brought your cunt to his mouth, Harry wanted to do the same thing and bring his cock up to your mouth. He loved having your mouth on him and he knew that you could really work your mouth on his cock, his balls, and his tight entrance. He couldn’t take his mind off of doing this with you. He loved it so much that his cock began to harden inside of you, causing you to begin to stir a bit below him. After a few more minuets, finally regaining most of his feeling, Harry pulls himself from on top of you and pulls your hips up so that your lower half would be resting in his lap so that you could keep his cock inside.

“Can I have your mouth this time daddy?” You mumble sweetly, feeling your clit beginning to buzz again. 

“Want daddy’s mouth on your pretty little peach baby?” He replies, resting a hand on your lower stomach where he’d pumped all of his cum beforehand. 

“Mhm, s’so good.” You moan happily.

“Actually, daddy had another idea sweet girl.” He begins, bringing his hands to your thighs to give the flesh in the area a good squeeze. 

“What is it?” You ask confusedly, opening your eyes to look up at him. 

“Well I was thinking that we could knock another one of those resolutions we made off our list.” He replies vaguely, digging his fingers into your sensitive thighs.

“Which one is it daddy?” You press on, wanting to know what you were going to do next. 

“It’s one of the new positions we wanted to try.” He proposes. “And don’t worry sweets, you don’t have to do any work.” He quickly adds in, knowing how tired your mind and body were right now. 

“That sounds like fun, what’s the position?” You ask. 

“I wanna sit on your face.” He replies bluntly, causing your eyes to widen.

“Really?” You ask softly, wanting to make sure you heard him correctly. 

“Mhm. Wanna do it?” He asks excitedly, hoping that you’d say yes. 

“I’d love to do it daddy.” You reply, mirroring his excitement. You loved when he fucked your face and when you were able to lick around and play with him down there so it was like the best of both worlds. You’d never tried it before but you were incredibly excited to. 

 As soon as you agree, Harry leans down to press a couple of quick and giddy kisses to your lips before slowly pulling himself back and out of your heavily cum stained walls. He then moves out from between your legs, inching up your body a bit before straddling your body and moving his way up to your face. As he does, you watch his cock twitch in excitement. Seeing this sent a shock right to your center, and made you want to just wrap your hand around him and take him into your mouth. So you did. When he was really close to your face, you wrapped your hand around his shaft and lifted your head a little to take the incredibly swollen head of his cock into your mouth and you began sucking on him, causing Harry to immediately stop in his tracks and enjoy this pleasure from you. Figuring that you’d essentially be a bit powerless once he’s fully on top you, you decided to take a little control in this moment and work a little bit of your magic. When it came to your mouth and and hands, you knew how to work him. You twisted your hand perfectly around his shaft and tightened it perfectly and tugged so well as you sucked on his head and pushed the tip of your tongue down against his slit. After giving him a good suck and tug, you let go of Harry’s cock, allowing him to move the rest of the way up. 

“I can tell someone’s excited.” He chuckles, gaining a little hum yes from you in response. Since you weren’t close to the headboard, Harry was able to really ride your face and have control over the entire situation. “You ready doll?” He asks once he’s positioned on top of your face, wanting to make sure you were ready for him.

“Yes daddy.” You reply sweetly, so ready to do this with him. 

“Good girl.” He breathes out as he spreads his thighs over your face and sinks down onto your open mouth. As he does this, he watches as you dart your tongue out and let his large cock glide against your tongue and down into your warm and wet mouth. “Fuck!” He groans, tightly gripping onto the sheets below him as he continues to cram himself into your mouth. He was so big that in no time you were gagging around him and reaching your arms up to claw at his hip a bit. “It’s okay baby, you can take it.” He moans, circling his hips around a bit to move his cock inside your mouth and throat. The familiar feeling of your throat contracting against his cock would never get old to Harry. He then lifts his cock up a bit so that you can breathe and he can start fucking your face. He begins to push himself back and forth into your mouth every once grinding down a bit further so that he should push into your throat a bit.

 As he fucks his cock down into you, you’re fully moaning and gagging around him, squeezing at his ass and balls as he stuffed and fucked your mouth. You could hear his moans and pants above you telling you how much of a good girl you are and how perfect your mouth is for him. You loved the way he was fucking down into you the same way he would if he was fucking you between your legs. Which speaking of between your legs, it was becoming harder and harder to hold Harry’s cum inside of you because of how turned on you were by him fucking your face. After thrusting into your mouth for a while longer and letting you slobber all over him for a bit, Harry sits back up from his hunched over position and pulls his cock from your mouth. As he empties your mouth, he can see the strings of your spit clinging to his cock and to your wet lips. 

“You did such a good job with m’cock that I just know you’re going to do even better with my ass.” He breathes down in your direction, tugging at his glistening shaft that was fully coated with your spit. “Right doll?”

“Yes daddy.” You smile up at him with watery eyes. You were beyond ready to suck on his balls and eat his ass until he came. Giving you a quick wink in response, Harry then moves himself up your face, keeping his eyes trained down to try and see where he was, making sure that his ass was right above your mouth. 

“Now I want you to spread daddy apart.” He instructs, waiting for you to follow this instruction before going any further. “Now I want you to eat my ass real good baby, I know you can do it.” He says when he feels you pulling his ass apart. And without saying anything more, Harry sinks down onto your mouth. 

You were all ready for him too. Not only did you spread him out nice and wide, you also stuck your tongue out so that once he sank down onto your mouth, you’d be able to start licking into him right away. And that’s exactly what you did. You wasted no time licking into him and moving your tongue around as Harry sank down onto your wet muscle. Your tongue was amazingly lapping up and down the expanse of his ass, at moments stopping to just to lick and prod at his puckered hole. As you continued licking into him, Harry was heavily breathing and moaning above you. There was no doubt in his mind that your tongue would be nothing short of amazing. But again, you transcended all expectation and made him feel even more incredible. So incredible that he began grinding down onto your tongue.  

“Such a good little slut, letting daddy use her face to make himself cum.” He pants, pushing himself back and forth against your tongue, pushing down a bit harder at times to feel your tongue glide against his puckered hole a bit harder. As he moves against you, Harry has a hand wrapped around his cock, tugging at his rock hard shaft and thumbing at his once again, throbbing head. Your tongue buried in his ass combined with the feeling of his hand tugging at his cock created a feeling that was indescribable. Harry was feeling so good that he began to bounce on your tongue. When you realized what he was doing, you pushed your tongue up and he began moving himself up and down on you, continuing to mess around with his cock. But eventually that stops. Ultimately, Harry lets go of his cock and brings his hands behind him so that he could grip onto your chest for leverage and just ride your face.

As he continues to alternate between bouncing and grinding on your tongue, Harry’s head is completely thrown back, heavy pants and groans and moans tumble out of his mouth, a veil of sweat begins to form on his chest that highlights all of his tattoos and muscles, and his cock just bounces and twitches in the air with his movements. It was a sight you desperately wished to see. You were absolutely going crazy below him. The way he was using your face to get himself off was undeniably and unbelievably hot. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting wetter and wetter. The area between your legs was a complete mess as of right now. It was a slick and sticky mixture of your growing arousal and Harry’s cum from round one. You were so turned on and tingly from all this that you couldn’t help but squirm a bit and whine against him. Riding your face unlocked and an almost primal instinct or feeling that was centered around his pleasure. All he cared about was getting himself off, not you getting turned on and needy. So when he heard you whining and feels your body moving around a bit, Harry stops his movements all together and pushes himself up your face a bit. In doing this, Harry is removing himself from your ass and practically smothering you with with his balls, stopping you from breathing through your mouth all together. 

“Make anymore noise and I won’t let you breathe until I cum. Got it?” He growls, tightly pressing his balls into your nose.

“Yes daddy!” You gasp, trying to catch your breath with the little bit of air you are being limited to.

“Good.” He pants, continuing to keep his balls pressed up against your nose. Even though your promised to be a good girl, Harry just enjoyed the feeling of your nose pressed right up against the middle of his sac while you heavily breathed below him and clenched your thighs and cunt as tight as possible. After holding his balls against you like this, he pulls back to let you breathe a bit before demanding you stick your tongue out for him to play with. He goes back to grinding back and forth, and bouncing on your tongue, falling right back into his incredibly pleasured trance. He though your tongue felt so fucking good buried in his ass. He was feeling so good that he could feel his second, and just as heavy release rumbling about in the pit of his stomach. 

Continuing on, Harry keeps moving himself against your mouth, desperately trying to push himself to his release. You could hear his moans become more strained and more like whines. So to be a good girl and help daddy cum, you begin to squeeze and rub at all the extremely sensitive points of Harry’s lower body. You rub and squeeze at his ass, you dig your gingers into the backs of his thighs, and you even push your hand up a bit more and you squeeze on his heavy balls.

 “This is the only thing your pretty little face is good for, letting me rub one out on it.” Harry groans as he nears his second release, really digging into your mouth and pushing his hole down onto your tongue. As he does this, Harry stares at his cock. His cock was all red, the head almost purple as he pushes himself to his release. “Want you t’slobber all over me now. Want my ass nice and wet.” He instructs you further. When you hear this and he stills on top of you and you go back to where you two started. You gather some of your spit onto his tongue and you just lap your wet tongue up and down his puckered hole. You even pull at his balls and push your head back a bit to quickly suck them into your mouth. 

And with that, Harry lets go for the second time of the night. But this time, he was completely out of control. His cock just started spurting his cum all over the place. He came on the pillows a bit before quickly lifting himself up so move and cum all over your face and in your mouth. As he moved though, Harry got a little cum in your hair and all over your face, continuing to cum. You could even feel his balls twitch a bit when he first started cumming. His poor slit was so sensitive and achey from how much hot cum was shooting from him. Once he was finally done letting go and emptying his balls, Harry had made a mess of some pillows, your hair, your face, and your mouth. His loud whines and groans and whimpers from his throbbing and incredibly euphoric second release. Harry then moves from on top of your face and begins to clean your cace up a bit.

“You were such a good girl for daddy. A perfect little fuck toy for my ass.” Harry hums proudly down at you, scooping up the drops of cum from your face and pushing them into his mouth. Once he’s cleaned you up a bit, he gives your cheeks a couple kisses before going back in between your legs and coaxes out another release from you. He manages to make you cum in less than ten minutes; that’s how riled up you were. All he did was circle his fingers around your clit and play with your nipples. That was all he did to make you go wild and cum again, making an even bigger mess between your legs and on the sheets. Now that the both of you had two releases a piece, Harry reaches over your completely dizzied out body to toss the cum stained pillows onto the floor before turning out the lights and getting you two under the covers and ready for bed. You two were nice and warm and his cock was nice and snug inside of you. And in no time the two of you were fast asleep.

If tonight was any type of foreshadowing to the year ahead, you and Harry were pretty confident that it was going to be absolutely amazing. 

Masterlist

[luimagines]

Date Night with The Chain Part 2!

Masterlist

Part 1

Part two will include Four, Wild and Time!

Content under the cut!

Four

A sigh leaves your lips as you finally sit down after a long day.

There was a large stone jutting off of the side of a cliff where your group had decided to camp for the night. It had a high vantage point and the entrance was hidden by the surrounding foliage, making it a cozy secluded resting spot for ten weary travelers.

Your feet sighed with relief with the weight off of the them and you began to kick them back and forth. After some moment to yourself you pull your legs in and take off your shoes. 

You resume kicking your feet into the wind, more relieved than you were before without shame.

“Rupee for your thoughts, my darling?” You hear him come up from behind.

“No thoughts, head empty.” You snort and glance over your shoulder. “Join me?”

Four has his hands on his hips as he stands there, watching you with a calm smile and hearts in his eyes. “If you’d have me.”

“As if I could ever turn you away.” You look back out into the distance, pointedly ignoring the commotion of Legend tackling Warrior in the background.

Four doesn’t even try to hide his laughter when he sees what’s happened but comes to sit by your side regardless of what is happening with the others.

You watch him as he lowers himself down and are only marginally confused when he shifts to sit on his hip instead- oh no wait- Four leans over after shifting his body around to place his head directly into your lap.

You grin and waste no time in running your fingers through his hair, taking his hairband out and letting it all fall across your legs. “Comfortable?”

“Best spot, hands down.” Four snuggles a little close and turns his head to look beyond what the rock has to offer.

The sun has begun to set and even if your friends are busy losing their minds in the background it surprisingly easy to tune them out with Four by your side. As the sky turns from blue to orange and reds with the feint outline of purple at the top, you and Four watch the day end with gentle smiles on your faces.

On a whim you begin to braid his hair, letting them collect in number even if it’s messy and unorganized. 

“Having fun?” Four sighs and pokes your knee a little.

“Yes.”

“Good... Feels nice.”

You can’t help but grin to yourself and wait a minute before undoing it all and starting over with more purpose in mind. “I wish I had flowers or feathers or something... Maybe some ribbon... Make it look pretty and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“Why not use my head band?”

“It’s too big and if I’m going to use ribbon it should be made out of silk or satin, only the highest quality of materials for my love.” You say and lean over to give him a kiss on his forehead.

“I don’t think it’s necessary.” Four raises an eyebrow and you can see that he’s on the cusp of falling asleep.

Everyone is tired.

“Maybe not but I say you deserve it, so it must be so.”

“I love you.” Four mumbles sleepily and you know that a this point if someone were to wake him up he’d be grumpy until the next morning.

“I love you too.” You smile and let him sleep against you.

The sun sets and it’s nice.

Wild

“Do you need any help?” You walk up to Wild as he’s beginning to take out whatever ingredients needed to get dinner started.

You stand a little ways behind him and wait for him to turn around. He pauses from arranging the vegetables and glances over his shoulder to look at you.

You smile as pleasantly as you can and laced your fingers together behind your back, trying to look at innocent as possible, trying to visually butter him up to let you help him.

Wild knows what you’re doing. You do this every time.

And every time he melts a little on the inside at your genuine joy and want to help him out. Not to mention that he thinks it’s cute and would give you his everything in a heartbeat before you could even ask.

“Of course you can help.” He grins and stands up. “I have to check the fire but do you think you can peel the potatoes and carrots for me please.”

“Sure!” You skip ahead and take his spot, picking up the peeler he left out and begin to get to work. 

“Thank you.” Wild smiles as he turns away again, picking the fire and checking the temperature. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“If you could cut them too, that would be nice.” 

“Are you asking me to?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

Wild smiles to himself at the exchange. The others are minding their own business, tending to their weapons or licking their wounds from the day and just simply hanging out with people who know what it’s like to be the hero more than any one in the history of Hyrule.

It’s nice.

Domestic even.

You start to hum a little tune that must be from your home because it seems like no one else can recognize it. It’s light and a little sappy if the way you’re swaying your head has anything to say about it.

Wild feels himself fall a little more in love with you, even if you’re not looking at him.

He’s been done with checking the fire for five minutes, but he doesn’t want you to stop for the sake of answering him again.

But he should probably start cooking the meat while the vegetables are being prepared.  

Wild slides over to your side and picks up the Shekah Slate from where he left it. He chances a glance at you and thinks... it’ll be a last minute change to the meal he’s prepared in his head, but maybe he’ll cook your favorite tonight instead.

You deserve it.

“Ok, what else Master Chef?” You look his way and blink, instantly going a little red in the face. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just love you is all.” Wild leans in and kisses your forehead, snagging the cutting board from under you and spinning around to throw them into the pot.

“Hey...” You pout, trying to save face and failing. “That’s... not fair...”

“How is it not fair?” He laughs. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I... refuse to let you win.”

“Win what? What are you talking about?”

You step over and kiss his cheek. “You’re too good to me. And the carrots are going to burn.”

“Wha- Hey!” Wild spins back to attention and tries to save the carrots from the hot metal. “Ok- I- Hold up!”

“Do you want me to start cutting up the green beans too?” You smirk.

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes or no?”

“...”

“...”

“..Yes please.”

Time 

“Ok, I know you said we were going somewhere tonight but why are we sneaking out of the inn like teenagers?” You say as Time looks around the corner.

“Shh...” Time puts a finger to hip lips as he looks back at you. “Do you really think the boys wouldn’t try to follow us if they knew?”

“Is it that important for them to not come?” You tilt your head. Sure, they were a bit rambunctious at times and a bit more rowdy than you knew what to do with but they were good kids and you loved them all- so the secrecy was a little lost on you.

“Is it so wrong to want to spend an evening alone with the one I love?” Time turns to you and takes your hands in his, lifting them to kiss your knuckles. “Just for tonight?”

The thought of being alone together hadn’t even occurred to you and it’s embarrassing to have Time basically spell it out for you. A blush blooms across your face and you bite your lip with a quick glance to your toes. It has nothing to do with the kiss, you’re sure.

“Ok.” You whisper. “Ok, I’ll be quiet. Is the coast clear?”

Time smirks when he sees your reaction, more than pleased with himself before he turns around and checks around the corner one last time.

He grins and gives you his hand, holding you gently as you creep through the hallways together. After a few twists and turns and near trips from walking on your tip toes, you make it out of inn.

You ignore the weird looks from the inn keeper as you leave. They don’t understand the length the boys would go through to spy and/or ruin this for you two intentionally or otherwise.

Time looks up to the window of one of the room you’ve rented before pushing you quickly out of its line of sight.

You follow him wordlessly and look back just in time to see Warrior lean up against the window. He’s not looking out, merely resting where the people below can see him but the thrill of not being caught shoots through you and you force yourself to act natural and look away from the inn entirely.

“What the plan, beloved?” You shoot a grin his way and skip to match his pace.

“I don’t have one. I wasn’t entirely sure we’d get this far.” Time admits and lets his child like glee show on his face. 

Your heart swells when you see it. It’s not often you get to see this side of him and you’re happy to indulge him in these moments when he has them.

“We could just walk around?” You pull yourself closer to him and lean against his side. “Sight see? Shopping?”

Time lets go of your hand to instead wrap his arm around your waist and pulls you even closer so that you’re flush against him. “I’m not sure... I just wanted to spend time with you.”

“Wine tasting?” You try again, pointing to the sign outside of a small hole in the wall shop.

Time actually stops in his tracks and glances at the shop in front of you. “A brilliant idea darling. Shall we go have a look?”

“We shall.” 

Together you walk into the shop despite the later hour and see couples with the similar idea and calmly sharing drinks with one another. Time breaks off from you as you wander further into the space. You glance around the sparely decorated room and glance at the various signs and bottles to see their designs. You pick up a bottle and swirl around the liquid inside, watching it rise and fall against the green colored glass.

Time comes back in seconds, glaring at one of the other persons without your knowledge when they try to make a move closer to you. 

“Here.” He takes a calmly breath and hands you a glass. It’s halfway filled with a warm colored amber liquid and it piques your interest instantly.

“Thank you.” You take it and take a sip. It’s as warm as it looks and strangely smells like strawberries.

Time finally looks at you again when the person leaves and takes a sip from his own glass. It’s more crimson than you’d imagine possible and you have to wonder how it would taste. “Can I try?”

“Hm?” Time looks at the glass and back to you, handing it to you with out much thought.

He tries to it with your own but you’re faster than he is. You lean into his space on your tip toes and place a bold kiss on his lips.

They’re soft and laced with the tangy wine from his previous sip.

“Yum.” You wink and take another sip from your own wine.

Time stands there stunned before he smirks and takes you hand with the glass away before leaning down to kiss you properly. He takes it slow and holds you there for a moment despite the fact that you’re in a public space.

He pulls back just as slowly and finishes with a final kiss to your forehead.

“Can’t do that with the boys around.” He mutters to himself.

“Nope.“ You giggle and go back to sipping your wine. “But I’m not complaining.”

Part 3

[themayforce]

Pretty in Pink

Link to part 2

Summary: On a mission with Rex, Fives, and Echo, your ship crashes and unlike the clones, you don't have a helmet to protect you from the local plantlife's... interesting effects.

Description: This is a sex pollen fic with clones with a hint of Feelings(tm). Fives is in love with you and everyone knows it except you. Rex is in love with you and no one knows it except him. afab!Reader

Rating: 18+ explicit

Pairings: Fives/Reader, Echo/Reader, Rex/Reader

Words: 3526

Even after the ship makes contact with the wet ground, your world keeps spinning. Your senses are all mangled; it's like you can see the loud beeping of the emergency lights, like you can hear the scent of leaking fuel, like you can feel Fives' cold plastoid armor on your skin.

Except -- oh. That last part was real. Your vision is blurry, but you recognize the distinct marks on his helmet as he pulls you from the cold floor and up into his arms. He shouts something that doesn’t make it through the ringing in your ears, but you vaguely notice the ship’s interior making way for menacing dark sky outside, cold wind rushing all around. Fives carries you some distance, and you notice the others, Echo and Captain Rex, are there too, carrying large packs of something you’re unsure of.

As you’re placed in a bed of soft pink flowers, the sun breaks through, and your mind sinks away under the bright warm light.

When you awaken, the first thing you notice is that your cheeks are burning up, and for a second you think you've been left in the sun for too long, but the second thing you notice is that you're actually in a shady grove, and the only sunlight is trickling through the leaves, leaving specks of brightness on the grassy ground. Someone has spread out a military issue blanket and laid you on top of it, the thick heavy texture doing nothing to cool you down.

"Sir, you better come quick!" the clone trooper sitting by your side says. It's Fives -- his helmet is off and when he rests the back of his hand against your forehead, you realize his gloves are off as well. The sensation of his skin against yours sends a sharp pulse through you, hot lightning that gathers in your stomach. It's so overwhelming you feel tears pricking behind your eyes and you whimper under his touch.

"Fives, wh- what is happening?"

He furrows his brows when he looks at you and places his hand on your cheek. It's meant to comfort you, but you whine at how much hotter it makes you feel.

"You're burning up with some kind of fever," he says, removing his hand. "We think it might be a reaction to the plants we encountered at the crash site."

The plants? You can hear him talk, but it's hard to think straight, like your blood rushes away from your brain to light a fire in your belly, and lower-

"Fuck," you breathe, realizing the unmistakeable throb of arousal between your legs. No, no, this is bad, they can't see you like this, you have to pull yourself together, you can never look any of them in the eye ever again otherwise, especially Rex.

You try to sit up, but your legs rub together as you do so, the slightest pressure on your clit making you writhe in pain and pleasure and you collapse back onto the blanket. You vaguely register Rex and Echo coming to stand over you.

"I think it's getting worse, sir," Fives says, standing up and leaving your side.

There's a pause, and for a moment you think you just can't hear them speak, but then Rex replies.

"It's… not just a fever. Echo found something in the datalogs."

"What," you cry out, "did you find? Please, I c- I can't stand this I-" It's hard to speak and your mouth gets drier by the second, you want- need to be touched, to feel something, anything, you want Fives to put his hand on your face again, his fingers near you, on you, in you. Fuck, he's your friend, you shouldn't feel this way.

Rex and Echo share an awkward look between them and you fear the worst - that those flowers are responsible for the state you're in, and that there might not be a cure.

Echo coughs. "Well, you're- you breathed in the pollen of a plant that has certain properties…"

"C-can you cure it, fuck, please tell me you- you can, a bacta shot or-"

"Already gave you two," Fives interjects. "Kriff, if only Kix were here, he'd know what to do."

Rex shakes his head. "There's no treatment, except-" He shares another look with Echo and frowns.

“Fives, a word.”

The three clones leave you writhing on the floor to discuss something in private. Your vision is blurry, tears gathering on your lashes and in your eyes, and your hearing is muffled by the sounds of your own quickening heartbeat. With every passing second you can feel more slickness leaking out of your throbbing cunt and the friction of your leggings and underwear hurts. With jagged desperate motions, you push your hips off of the floor, intending to only take the leggings off, but your underwear comes with it. The sticky wetness between your legs makes your panties harder to take off, and you choke on a moan when you peel them away from your slit.

“Stars,” you hear one of the clones say, but you can’t be sure which one.

“Can you do it?” another says, and the serious tone makes you believe it’s Rex.

You can’t seem to get your clothes all the way off and they bunch up around your knees, making you whine in frustration. Someone kneels next to you - it’s Fives.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. It’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

Gently, he moves some wet strands of hair away from your sweat-soaked forehead.

“You inhaled a toxin back on the crash site,” he starts, and when you focus on him you realize he seems nervous, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “We have to flush it out, or it could kill you.”

“Okay,” you answer, trying to keep it together. Flushing it out, that doesn’t sound too bad.

“The only way to flush it out is for your body to, well, to finish. Repeatedly.”

“Finish, as in…?” You have to know. You have to be certain you’re hearing correctly, that it isn’t your mind playing tricks on you, consumed by this artificial arousal and the presence of Fives hovering above you. You can smell him, you realize, and the scent of him makes your head spin.

“Yeah. As in, uh. Sexually.”

Fuck, fuck. This is embarrassing, unreasonably so, but images flash through your head of Fives, your friend, fucking you and filling you up, and you make another desperate attempt to get your pants off just so you can spread your legs.

“Do it, help me, please, just touch me, touch me-”

Noticing your struggle, he moves himself closer to your legs and easily pulls your leggings off completely. Your legs fall open almost automatically, and Fives gets between them. With your legs bare, the rest of your body also aches to be relieved of clothes, but when you start tugging on your shirt, Fives takes over. He effortlessly undresses you and seems to keep his composure even when you moan as the fabric brushes over your nipples.

Your field of vision is completely overtaken by him, the others nowhere to be seen, and you hope they aren’t watching -- but somehow the thought they could be watching sends a shiver down your spine.

Fives grazes his hands over your inner thighs and you jerk your hips towards him, whining, wanting more. His hands hover over your mound.

“Just- just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“No,” you whine, “I mean yes, yes, I’ll tell you, but don’t stop.”

When his thumb brushes across your swollen clit, you cry out and rub yourself against his hand, wantonly, trying to feel more pressure. You’re ashamed of how quickly you gave in, but it feels so good to finally be touched, finally have this friction you’ve been craving.

“More, please,” you sob. You can taste salt in your mouth, and you’re not sure if it’s sweat or tears.

He pushes two fingers inside of you, your drenched cunt opening up with ease. Finally, finally there’s something filling you, it’s not enough, but it’s something, you clench around his fingers, writhing around to create more friction. He fingers you gently at first, then a little faster to match the bucking of your hips -- the sounds of your slick being pushed around are lewd, deafeningly so, but you don’t care, you don’t care, his thumb finds your clit again and your body stiffens as your orgasm hits you like a lightning bolt. You cry and moan, maybe something incoherent, maybe his name, and Fives gently pushes down on your hips, keeping you steady.

You breathe, or try to, heart beating in your throat. Fives watches you, hesitates, and slips his fingers out, making you whine softly.

“Feel better?” he asks, and there’s something in his voice you can’t quite identify, a tremor, a strain.

You shake your head. It wasn’t enough, would never have been enough, not in the state you’re in.

“I think,” you start, scrambling for words, “I think I need-”

“Tell me, sweetheart, what do you need?” His concern for you makes you want to cry, even more so because of the words that are about to fall out of your mouth.

“Your cock, please, Fives, need you inside me-”

His throat makes a raspy sound, and you wonder if he likes it, likes hearing you say these words, if maybe some part of him wants this, even though he doesn’t have the toxins in his bloodstream. His hands slip once, twice, as he tries to remove the lower parts of his armor and his codpiece. When he gets them off, you notice his erection straining against his black compression pants. You gasp lightly, but you're pleased, pleased that he's getting something out of this, pleased that he likes you.

He takes his cock out, large and dark and veiny, and the sight of it makes your cunt throb, aching for him as more of your wetness leaks out, down your thighs and ass. Kriff, are all the clones this hung…?

You arch your back, trying to get closer to him. Seconds feel like hours as long as he's not inside you, but finally, finally, you feel the head of his cock against your opening, and you repeat the words yes, yes, yes, until he pushes inside and stretches you, making you forget every word in every galactic language.

It's like he fills you all the way to your core, as if you were incomplete without him, his cock touching nerves that had never been touched before. You wrap your legs around him, trying to pull him closer, deeper.

"Fuck, you feel so good, s-so tight around me, so hot," he says softly, voice strained by his arousal. You don't know how to answer, can't answer, all you can do is pull him closer and hope he moves.

And he does, wet noises filling the air as he fucks your own slick back into you. You forget where you are, forget your own name, there's only Fives and the way his cock pounds into you, his choked moans and your wanton mewls.

He's rubbing at your clit again and you scream, clenching around his cock, but he doesn't stop moving.

"Come on, sweetheart, keep cumming on my cock, I know you can."

His words are dizzying to you, and you cum again on his command, his hips snapping more roughly with every thrust, sweat dripping down his forehead.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice strained. “Stars, you look beautiful like this.”

The compliment pulls at something in your chest, breathes fire into your heart. Never before had you considered Fives could become something other than a friend, no matter how many times you imagined it, but now, now you can see it. If you hadn’t been in this mind-altering state, you would’ve told him he looked beautiful, too.

And then, without warning, he spills himself inside you as he cums.

"Oh, fuck-" he cries out as he tries to pull put, but you keep your legs firmly locked under his ass. His release fills you, hot as molten rock, and your insides spasm as you cum around him again, until he’s emptied himself inside you completely.

It's a long time, and still not long enough, before he pulls out. He looks worried, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, watching his cum trickle out of you. But it's done, there's no going back, and as you feel his semen dripping out, you know it's still not enough.

“N-no, please, more,” you whine, agonizingly empty without his cock filling you. Fives sits between your legs, leaning back, his hands in the dirt.

"I can't, sweetheart, I-"

Someone clears their throat in the distance. It’s Echo, but he’s not wearing his armor with the signature handprint on it anymore. Instead, he’s stripped down to his black undershirt and compression pants, the tight clothes accentuating his slim but muscular frame.

“Need a hand?” he jokes, crouching in front of you in the same spot Fives had been. Had he been watching? Had Rex? The thought makes your insides turn to jelly and your cunt clench around nothing. Now there were two men in front of you, the heat and scent of their bodies addictive like spice, and you grabbed Fives’ forearm tightly when he tried to get up.

“S-stay, please,” you whine softly. He does, but moves to your side to give Echo more space. As Echo pulls his already hard cock out of his pants, Fives takes your hand in his and softly rubs at your palm with his thumb. He bends down, pressing a kiss to your forehead while the other clone sheathes himself inside you with ease.

“F-fuck, that’s- wasn’t expecting you to feel this good,” Echo groans, thrusting into you slowly but deeply, making your world spin with every push of his hips.

“Were you watching?” Fives asks, squeezing your hand. There’s something in his voice- jealousy? But then Echo hits a spot inside you that makes you scream and there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself from throwing your hips upwards in something that doesn’t even remotely resemble a rhythm, high-pitched whines escaping your throat, and Fives’ hand squeezes yours harder.

“That feel good, baby?” Echo coos, drawing another choked moan from your throat. “Yeah? How about this?” His fingers start rubbing circles around your clit and your body goes white-hot once again, every muscle in your body trembling, and still, still, the satisfaction doesn’t come, there’s no fulfillment, no end to this.

Time starts blurring together -- you’re not sure how much time passed until Echo spilled inside you, too, not sure how many times you’ve come, whose hand is deftly rubbing at your sensitive clit. At some point someone -- you think it’s Fives -- puts his mouth on your breasts, moaning as he sucks and nibbles at them and fondles them, and by the time Echo finishes, Fives is hard again. They fuck you like this for a while, switching places so you’re never without cock, always filled as they drill into your sore cunt while the obscene wet sounds of flesh hitting flesh surround you. You’ve lost count of how many times they came inside you, but a puddle of cum has gathered on the blanket where it dripped out of you.

The more time passes, the more exhaustion replaces the toxins in your body and lets your mind drift away, not quite sleeping but not quite awake, either. The others are -- you're not sure, you only know you're empty and aching, overstimulated and sensitive, but there's still a part of you that craves something, for your nerves to be set aflame until you're completely and utterly burnt out.

A shadow looms over you and you stir, eyes fluttering open as they try to focus.

"I'm sorry," Captain Rex says, voice strained as if an invisible hand was holding his throat, "I-I have to-"

He doesn't finish his sentence, instead he kneels down next to you, and through your heavy lashes you see he's holding his cock in his hands, shiny and hard, covered in slick cum. Did he…?

A pained laugh comes up from his chest. "I couldn't help myself, the noises you made, stars... I couldn't help myself." You mewl softly as he spreads your legs, watching your cunt spasm and push out the cum of his subordinates, and he practically growls as he roughly grabs your hips and flips you over onto your knees. You’re too tired to stay upright, so instead you let your upper body collapse, your face pressing into the coarse fabric of the blanket.

His warm hands roughly palm at your asscheeks, kneading and spreading them. “F-fuck, you look like - look like such a good little w-whore,” he says, his tongue catching on the last word. Was this really the Captain Rex you knew? This duty-bound, moral compass of a man, always willing to stand up for the people he believed in? You wonder if there’s some of the toxin in him, too, if the filters in his helmet malfunctioned somehow. He seems like a man possessed -- you can hear his heavy breathing behind you as he lines up his cock with your fucked-out cunt and your sensitive body jerks at his touch.

If your throat hadn’t already been raw, you would have screamed. He shoves his cock all the way inside you with one swift motion, fucking you roughly through your exhaustion, his fingers digging into your flesh as his strong arms hold your hips in place.

“Fuck,” he groans, “you’re perfect.” Heat spreads through you as he presses his chest against your back, his hands harshly grabbing your breasts.

“Perfect tits,” he murmurs with his mouth against your ear, “perfect cunt, e-even after being stretched for hours.” His thrusts increase in speed and it hurts, it makes you sob quietly every time his hardness scrapes your insides. Like pressing into a bruise, sore and throbbing, you’re split open beneath him, breath knocked out of your lungs as his hips slam against your ass over and over again. You’re not sure if you peak again, not sure if your body even knows what it’s feeling anymore, but you do know that Rex tenses behind you when you tighten around him.

“Fuck- fuck- ‘m gonna f-fill up your cute little pussy.”

Almost as soon as he says it, you hear the rumble of a moan in his throat as his hot release covers your insides.

As if by fate, it was the final thing you needed -- your body calms down, air fills your lungs again, you can hear the wind in the leaves, and sleep overtakes you.

There’s a hand caressing your hair as you awaken. You roll over onto your side and open your eyes, expecting to see Fives against the canopy of trees -- it is Fives, but not in the forest. You’re on a ship, no, a shuttle, the kind the Republic army uses for recon.

“Morning, sunshine,” Fives says softly, a sweet grin spreading across his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” you answer. Then, suddenly, you’re painfully aware of everything that happened. Of everything you made him do. You made all of them do. Tears well behind your eyes as your embarrassment overwhelms you, and you suck in a deep breath.

“I’m- stars, I’m sorry,” you start, but Fives shushes you, wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. We’re glad we could help.”

Kriff, you could kiss him -- his words soothe your ache like a shot of bacta and make you feel safe. Cherished.

“Both of us are.” Echo steps out of the cockpit area. He’s back in his armor, carrying his helmet under his arm.

Hang on. Both of them? What about…?

“Mm,” Fives agrees, then leans in a little closer to you. “Just be glad we handled it and the Captain didn’t have to get involved.” He winks at you and it’s like your heart gets yanked out of orbit and hurled into deep space. You were sure you hadn’t dreamed what happened between you and Rex, so he had, what? Done all that in secret?

Blood rushes to your head as you sit up. The two seats in the cockpit are both occupied by clones, but only one of them has the distinct bleached buzz cut of the clone trooper captain. He turns his head to look behind and your heart skips a beat as his dark brown eyes pierce yours, brows knitted, and you feel like he’s going to scold you.

Instead he swivels his seat around to face you and the others, face relaxing slightly.

“Now that all three of you have slept on the job, I hope we can get back to work.”

“Yes, sir!” Fives confirms.

“Yes, sir, back to work,” Echo repeats.

He holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity, something heavy and unspoken in the air between you.

“Yes, sir,” you finally mutter, fully aware that your true reckoning is yet to come.

Link to part 2

[nationalharryleague]

One Day

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Drunk!Harry Fluff!

Word count: 2K

A/N: Hi all! This is some drunk boyfriend harry fluff that I just love sm. It’s based off of “One Day” by Catie Turner (I highly recommend listening to it!!) More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what you think in my ask! Thank you so much for reading! 

***

Harry was the life of the party when he wanted to be. He knew how to let loose, with a tequila on the rocks in one hand and a beer in the other, ready to party until he (literally) dropped. He always ended up on some sort of elevated surface like a teenage girl, usually a kitchen island or an absurdly expensive coffee table, singing along to whatever music was playing, magically knowing every word to whatever came over the speakers. Sometimes he would get lost in the winding corridors of the massive mansions his friends lived in, taking a wrong turn in his enhibrated state and ending up somewhere he definitely wasn’t supposed to be. There was also one time he jumped off a (thankfully low) roof into the swimming pool below.

But usually, he was calm, cool, and collected; gently sipping on a single drink he would nurse for most of the night. The two of you liked to sit and watch during these parties, his hand settling securely on your waist, keeping you close to him and away from the chaos that unfolded before you. You would curl up on a couch somewhere and just watch it all play out like it was an observational study, often giving commentary and ranking people and their drunk dancing out of 10.

“I feel like we're the mean girls in the corner of the cafeteria who just sit and silently judge everyone around them,” you would giggle, nuzzling yourself further into his side.

“That’s because we are the mean girls in the corner judging everyone around them, sweetheart” he would reply, in a slightly buzzed drawl.

But tonight was not one of those nights. And Harry had ended up standing on top of the dining room table scream-singing ABBA at the top of his lungs.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic and messy performance. His limbs flailed freely as he wiggled his hips along to the beat of Dancing Queen, singing into a small statue of a naked woman he had picked up off an end table that you assumed to be very, very expensive, like it was a microphone. He wore a pair of high rise denim flares that swayed along with his movements to the music and his white “Women are Smarter'' shirt was now stuck to his body with sweat, just see through enough for his butterfly to make an appearance.

He only came down after a green malaise began to settle over his features, skin slightly clammy and a bit pale. You extended a hand, helping his loopy body down off the table and letting him settle into your side for support once he was on solid ground again. “Let’s head to the bathroom, H,” you said gently, trying to settle the panic that was beginning to crawl into his eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

Once he got to the beautifully large and extravagant bathroom, he crawled into a small, or as small as the large man could make himself, ball and rested his hot clammy cheeks against the cool marble of the floor. “May have overdone it,” he grumbled from his spot on the floor, holding on for dear life as you were sure the room was spinning for him.

“Ya think?” you teased, immediately feeling a pang of guilt when you were met with a pathetically needy face from him in return. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” You carefully dug through the cabinets, knowing there had to be washcloths somewhere in the lavish room, and once you found one you dampened it with cold water. Settling down on the tile next to him, you pulled him and his sweaty curls on to your lap, wiping the layer of sweat delicately from his skin and then resting the cold cloth on his forehead.

You two stayed in this position for a while, carefully rubbing his back in an effort to sooth the large man and trying to ignore the loud music that was still shaking the house around you. He looked small like this, no longer your giant protector, but like a younger version of himself who just needed someone to take care of him. You were happy to be that person, as he always was for you.

This was the first time you had ever seen him like this. He always managed to know his limits, but tonight he just went off the deep end. He had been working like a dog, constantly in and out of the studio, frustrated that none of the songs he was writing were up to his astronomically high standards for himself. It wasn’t too shocking that he was trying to escape that stress.

Gradually, as he laid on the floor and you held him close, the color came back into his cheeks and he stopped holding onto your legs like the room was about to take flight. When you sat him up against the wall, he was still a bit wobbly, but no longer looked like he was about to unload his stomach contents all over the room.

“How are you feeling now, H?” you asked softly, scanning his face for discomfort or distress as you dabbed the washcloth over his skin.

“’m okay,” he hiccuped back, “jus’ needed a cuddle.” He got exceptionally British when he got this drunk, his accent coming out in a barely distinguishable garble of tall vowels and dropped consonants, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

His eyes fluttered open and closed without rhythm as he looked at you, his light green eyes glazed over with a glassy shine, and his mouth hung open slightly, like he didn’t have the coordination to close it. His pink cheeks were flushed and his skin had a sweaty sheen. His head had rolled off too one side and rested on his shoulder, like his neck had given up on holding his head up, and his arms fell heavy at his sides.

You should have been at least slightly annoyed with him for acting like a college kid, drinking until he made himself sick. His behavior and subsequent need for you to take care of him should have gotten under your skin and caused a bit of anger to bubble up into your chest. But it didn’t. You were just taking care of your man.

“Do you still feel nauseous?”

“‘m a-ok, babay” he said, making himself giggle with his rhyme. His lips lazily curled up into a smile and he dragged a lazy arm up to give the “OK” symbol with his uncoordinated fingers, before the heavy limb dropped back down to the tile beneath him.

“Okay, funny man,” you began sarcastically, planning on instructing to drink the glass of water you had retrieved on your way up to the bathroom, when he cut you off.

“I am pretty funny, aren’t I?” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the loud belly laugh that fell past your lips. He took the glass from you and began to sip, a proud smirk never leaving his lips as he looked at you.

“You were a comedian in a past life.”

“I agree.”

You two were quiet for a bit, Harry drinking something other than tequila for the first time the entire night, and you just admiring him in silence. You let your hand crawl into his, interlocking your fingers together before bringing it up to your lips and pressing small kisses to each of his knuckles. It wasn’t long before his glass of water was finished and he crawled back into your arms, his back pressing to your chest with your arms wrapped securely around his shoulders. Your fingers ran through his still damp curls, initially just to push them up and away from his forehead and eyes, but continued when you heard the little happy mewls coming from him.

“Ya take such good care of me,” he said sloppily with a gentle tone, breaking through the bubble of silence you two had created together.

“I always will.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his salty forehead and settled back onto the hard wall behind you.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hadn’t been together for long, with saying the “L” word still being pretty new, and still slightly foreign, to both of you. But you meant it when you said it, you loved him, and your body always filled with a blushing warmth when he said he loved you too.

You had met through work when you interviewed him for the magazine you worked at. From the moment you saw those dimples in real life, you were weak in the knees and enamored with him. You hadn’t been trying to flirt, it just happened. And before he left the office, you had a date planned for that Friday. That was 6 months ago now and they had been some of the happiest of your life.

“Will you marry me?”

The question left his lips in his absurdly difficult to understand drawl and it took you a moment to process what he said, but when you did your heart stopped.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him, because you did, but not now.

It was too soon. There was still too much for you to do together, too much still to learn about him, and too much for him to learn about you. You hadn’t even had a serious fight yet; you didn’t know how he dealt with conflict or how you would react to it. You didn’t live together; you didn’t know how your living habits would match up or if they would drive each other insane. You didn’t know how you would deal with him touring being away for so long.

There was just too much you didn't know.

“I will someday.” You spoke gently, trying hard not to hurt his currently fragile feelings. You were now holding his face tenderly, like if you held him steady and close, you could lessen the blow.

“So, no?” he looked up at you with his big puppy dog eyes, feeling guilt punch you in the gut.

“For now. Everything is just going so well right now, we don’t have to mess with it.”

“Jus’ wanna be with you forever,” he said softly and your heart began to melt. He was such a soft person, who felt everything so deeply and with so much emotion. He was a sap, and you loved him for it. You pulled him closer to your chest, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

“And you will be,” you breathed. “Forever will still be there down the line.”

“Why not now?” His lips held an adorable pout and you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing a kiss to them. He tasted awful, like tequila and sweat, but the kiss was loving and sweet as you tried to pour all your love for him into it.

“Because we still have to grow,” you watched the end of his mouth tick up, sure to make some sort of smartass comment about you both being grown already. “We have to grow together,” you finished.

“I guess so,” he mused softly.

“I promise that I will say ‘yes’ when we are ready someday.”

“Someday,” he repeated softly, feeling the words on his own lips. “I’m going to keep asking, ya know?” he smirked up at you, his smile and joking tone signalling that you hadn’t broken his heart, just bruised his ego a bit.

“That’s perfectly okay,” you sighed, a contagious smile finding its way to your own lips. “I’m going to keep saying ‘no’ until we’re ready, ya know?” you teased, using his own words against him.

“One day, I’ll make an honest woman outta ya when you let me.”

“One day.”

Thank you reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean the world!! 

[wrestlingisfake]

Final Battle preview

Chris Jericho vs. Claudio Castagnoli - This is for the ROH men's world title. Jericho won the belt from Castagnoli in July, and although Claudio has since beaten Jericho in non-title situations, Jericho pinned him last month in a four-way title bout. So to get this one-on-one rematch, Claudio has agreed to join the Jericho Appreciation Society if he loses. Those stakes seem more important given that Claudio's current stable, the Blackpool Combat Club, is at a critical moment following the betrayal of William Regal.

The JAS and BCC have been feuding since May, when BCC's Jon Moxley backed up for his friend Eddie Kingston, whose issues with the group went back to November 2021. I think everyone's hoping this will finally end the saga. However, I'm hard-pressed to think of a "babyface is forced to join a heel group" storyline that ended well. If Claudio joins the JAS, the BCC will look like idiots if they don't try to get him out.

The other big issue is Jericho's current gimmick of dishonoring Ring of Honor by not respecting what the title stands for. So he does basic heel stuff like he always does, except Ian Riccaboni has to tell us "THAT ISN'T ADHERING TO THE CODE OF HONOR!" ROH was doing that lazy formula long before Tony Khan bought the company, and I was hoping Jericho would have a new spin on it, but that hasn't panned out.

Ever since Jericho won the title I expected him to lose it here. But now that the day has come I feel like the story hasn't peaked yet. I'd be fine with getting it over with, but I can't help wondering if there's some bigger name waiting in the wings to fight Jericho in the name of honor. In any event, I'm picking Castagnoli to win just to speak it into existence.

Dax Harwood & Cash Wheeler vs. Jay Briscoe & Mark Briscoe - This is a double dog collar match for the ROH tag team championship. FTR (Dax and Cash) are the defending champions; their AAA and IWGP titles aren't on the line. Each participant will be chained by the neck to one of their opponents. There are no rules and tag partners don't have to tag in and out of the ring. The match ends when one man scores a pinfall or submission on either opponent.

FTR captured the ROH tag title from the Briscoes in April and won a rematch in July, so the Briscoes have a deep hole to climb out of. The stip is clearly meant to favor the Briscoes, even though it'll probably still be a back-and-forth war right up until the last thirty seconds or so. Going 0-3 against FTR would be pretty disastrous for the Briscoes, especially considering they're supposed to be under contract but they can't appear on AEW TV, so being a top ROH tag team is kind of all they have.

It feels like FTR's triple-champ run could be winding down. They failed to capture the AEW tag title on December 7. They're slight underdogs here. On December 28 they defend the AAA title against Dragon Lee & Dralistico. It's widely expected they'll defend the IWGP title on January 4. It'd be a hell of a story if they made it through without dropping any belts, but it might be a better story to recover from an epic collapse.

Daniel Garcia vs. Wheeler YUTA - Garcia is defending the ROH pure title. This is the third match between these two for the title--Yuta beat Garcia to retain on July 23, but Garcia captured the belt on September 7. So this is the rubber match.

The pure title is defended under pure rules. Closed-fist strikes to the head are illegal, but you just get a warning on the first punch, so that one's basically free. Each competitor can only use the ropes to break a pinfall or submission three times; after that, the only way to be out of bounds is to exit the ring altogether. A championship defended under these rules is always award to the winner, even if the match ends by count-out or disqualification.

I could live with either guy winning, but Garcia really doesn't need this belt. It's cute to have a technician like Garcia hold this particular title while doing the whole "it's not pro wrestling, it's sports entertainment" bit. But if there was anything left to do with that, it's been covered by Jericho holding the world title. Whoever loses this match will need to pick himself up and figure out what to do next, and I'd prefer to see Garcia do that for a change.

Mercedes Martinez vs. Athena - Martinez is putting the ROH women's world title at stake. She spent 16 weeks on the shelf due to an undisclosed injury (which I suspect was a concussion). Martinez's big return was to confront Athena when she took liberties with a beaten opponent and also smacked the shit out of referee Aubrey Edwards. I got the feeling Athena was slowly turning heel, but as soon as she hit Aubrey she was basically the devil.

I guess Martinez could retain but that would really kill Athena's momentum, so I think a title change is the best way to go. Only problem with that is you'd have yet another ROH titleholder who has decided honor in wrestling is a joke. But if it means I get to see more of Athena clobberin' everybody then I'm cool with that. Unless she's clobberin' Aubrey. Don't do that.

Samoa Joe vs. Juice Robinson - Juice has challenged Joe for the ROH television title; Joe's AEW TNT title is not at stake. I was expecting Joe to face Wardlow on the show to blow off their feud, so this is an odd detour. But I'm a big fan of Joe and Juice so I'll take it.

Juice's video package where he issued the challenge sounded like a babyface promo, which is kind of weird since he dramatically turned heel a few months ago in New Japan. I'm curious which of these two the fans will side with. I would be shocked if Joe drops the TV title, unless Wardlow does a run-in.

Keith Lee & Swerve Strickland vs. Shane Taylor & JD Griffey - Taylor and Griffey each teamed with Lee back in like 2014-2015; apparently the story is they're mad at him for leaving them behind like he did to Swerve Strickland on November 19. I'm not clear on why Lee is teaming with Swerve here; you'd think he could and would choose literally anyone else to be his partner.

Taylor was a rising force in ROH just before Tony Khan bought it, so it'll be interesting if he's sticking around beyond this one match. But I don't think his team can win unless the story is Strickland walking away at a critical moment to screw over Lee.

Dalton Castle & Brandan Tate & Brent Tate vs. Brian Cage & Bishop Kaun & Toa Liona - Castle and The Boys are defending the ROH trios title. Cage and the Gates of Agony were brought together by Tully Blanchard back in April, but when Prince Nana took over the group in July they became the latest incarnation of The Embassy. I would expect Castle's team to retain unless they're leaving the company, and I don't get the impression they are.

Rush & Dralistico vs. Blake Christian & AR Fox - OK, so Rush created La Faccion Ingobernable after he left CMLL, so he could do the Los Ingobernables gimmick in other promotions. His brothers Dragon Lee and Dralistico joined LFI. Then Rush came to AEW where Andrade El Idolo joined LFI. Then Rush and Andrade turned on Lee on an AEW show in August. Now Rush and Dralistico are teaming up. On December 28 in Mexico, Dralistico is teaming with Lee. So I'm a little confused where Dralistico's loyalties lie. This is probably a squash match for Rush; the only question is whether he beats up his brother and rips his mask off.

Jeff Cobb vs. Mascara Dorada - This is scheduled for the pre-show. You may remember Dorada as Gran Metalik in WWE's Lucha House Party. Cobb has been in Japan a lot lately so I'm surprised to see him popping in here. I hope he sticks around. After he clobbers Dorada, that is.

Trish Adora vs. Willow Nightingale - Another pre-show match. Adora is the pan-Afrikan world diaspora champion but the title is not at stake. Adora is one of those names I mostly hear when people are talking about hot indy acts you need to watch for. I heard the same hype for Willow before she made it on AEW television this year, and she's great. So hopefully now it's Trish's turn. I'd like to see the winner get to challenge the winner of Martinez/Athena, which is probably more doable if it's Willow.

Matt Taven & Mike Bennett vs. Dante Martin & Darius Martin - More pre-show stuff. Taven and Bennett are The Kingdom, returning to ROH after it was shut down one year ago. Dante and Darius are Top Flight, which was heating up on AEW until Darius had a string of injuries, and then Dante got red hot as a solo act. I'm real glad all four of these guys are here and doing okay after their respective hassles. This is probably a showcase for Taven and Bennett, who made a splashy debut in AEW but haven't really done anything since.

Matt Menard & Angelo Parker vs. Eli Isom & Cheeseburger - Even more pre-show action. Menard and Parker are kind of the job guys in the Jericho Appreciation Society, but that still puts them way ahead of the Shinobi Shadow Squad in the pecking order. CB and Isom are here to remind us they exist before they lose.

[dream-a-little-bigger-darling000]

You'll Fit So Nicely You'll Keep Me Intact

Author's Note: Hello Hello! Not my GIF, please don't think it is, but it is my fic! I asked a few days ago if I should do Bane or touch-starved Tommy, and it was pretty clear I should do my sweet summer child Tommy boy. I just really think this big tough fighter needs to take a break and be held every once in awhile. And you can't tell me this man wouldn't have the sweetest moans. Fight me on it you can't. Please Please PLEASE reblog, like, or comment on this if you liked it. I live my day to day life craving validation.

If you absolutely hated it, also let me know! I admit I'm not the best at writing, and I'm willing to learn so I can feed my Tommy Conlon addiction. Ok, that's all, be fed!

2400+ words?! C'mon, that's gotta be enough to make you proud.

The whole fiasco was genuinely an accident.

The two of you, in his small cramped apartment, helping each other make dinner, because you couldn't remember whose turn it was, walking around each other like you had been doing it for years, because you had been.

You had been by Tommy for as long as you can remember, through those years where puberty slammed in the door and decked you directly in the throat (and other places), through the time where his family had slowly fallen apart, and into the years where he had joined the US Marine Corps.

Those years had been hell. At least when he moved away you were still able to text him annoying day-to-day updates and talk in the quiet nights when no one was awake to hear you admit how much you missed each other. But when he joined the Marines, you heard even less from your Tommy, and the ache you felt for him only grew.

When he came back, he had came back for good, immediately seeking you out with the promise of your old relationship back. And things went back to normal, slotted into place perfectly.

Except the insane amount of pining that you went through every waking hour you saw his stupidly attractive face.

But you weren't going to think about that. There was spaghetti to be made.

"Those are done." Tommy nodded his head to the noodles as he made the salad. You sneered to yourself, still pissed that he got the easy part.

"No, they're not, look, that one's still hard-"

"That's what she said."

"It's still undercooked you jerk. Can you please let me cook in peace? You're over there, doing the bare minimum, you ass."

"Hey, if this isn't tossed right, the whole thing is ruined. And those noodles are definitely done. We can get them in the sauce before the garlic bread is done so it'll cool down a bit. Look." All the sudden Tommy was crowded up behind you. Your breath did something funny. Probably the steam from the boiling water. Because, you know, it's so hard to breathe around.

Tommy took the spoon you were using to stir and managed to scoop up a single noodle. He then carefully picked it up and threw it on the cabinet. It stuck, but looked like it would fall via a strong sneeze.

"See? Done." You looked behind you to stare up at the infuriating man. He smiled and tilted his head. You had the sudden urge to hit him. With your mouth. Damn it.

He turned around, not giving you a chance to argue with him. That was his first mistake. As a MMA fighter, the idiot should know never to turn your back on the enemy.

You scooped up another noodle with your spoon. You waited until he was truly busy with cutting the tomatoes up for the salad.

You aimed for his head. It wrapped around the back of his neck with a soft splat. He startled for a moment, and then set the knife down and stared forward, still not turning around to look at you.

"You know what, now it's done. Now it's stickin'." You were struggling to hold it together, desperately trying not to laugh as you turned off the stovetop and set the pan aside.

You felt strong arms envelop you from behind, and you let out a loud laugh as you felt your feet leave the floor. Tommy, spinning you around before setting you on the counter. You've really put yourself it a bad position.

Well, if you're being honest, probably the best damn position you've ever been in.

Except that the bastard started tickling you. More laughter spilled out of you, uncontrollable at this point.

"Tommy!" You were out of breath from the constant attack. What happened to never turn your back on the enemy? "Tommy, what are we in-" More laughter as his joined yours. You two were so close you could feel his shoulder dip every time he rumbled a laugh. "what are we in 6th grade now- Tommy!"

You could feel his laughter huff by your ear, and you knew you had to resort to dirty tactics. If he wanted to play by middle school standards, then you had no choice but to stoop down to his level.

Tommy was very distracted trying to murder you by laughter alone, and he looked like he was having the time of his life. He never even realized your hands were so close to his head. He was in the middle of another fit of giggles when he felt your nimble hands glide through his hair. He had half a second to understand what you were planning, and he was just about to pull away, to get as far from you as possible before-

You gave a solid pull to his hair. You felt satisfaction shoot through your body as his laugh choked off, his body going rigid underneath your fingers. His breath stuttered and his hands instantly fell from your sides to grasp the edge of the counter.

You didn't quite understand what was going on at first, the only thing on your mind being that you'd won the battle. You couldn't help the smug smile from sliding across your expression, or the snarky little giggle that bubbled it's way out.

"What's wrong, Tommy? Did someone school you at your own game, hmm? Maybe next time you'll think before you-"

"Could you please let go?" Tommy sound winded, like he'd just fought a few rounds with someone much bigger than him. It made you pause, and then frown.

Your fingers loosened from his hair, but you didn't lower your arm just yet. You couldn't fathom why Tommy was acting this way, when he instigated the rough-housing. And you knew for damn sure you hadn't hurt him. You had seen the idiot stub his toe on his coffee table before, and the only reaction out of the fighter was a pause, a look up to the ceiling, and one long, drawn out sigh.

So even though he sounded like he was trying to fight for his life, you know it absolutely wasn't because you had hurt him in anyway. Tommy could break you five times over.

You looked down at his hands. Not only was he grasping the edge of the counter top, but his knuckles were white, like he was anchoring himself. You glanced to his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips pressed tightly together, and his eyebrows were furrowed in deep concentration. Was he- was that a blush? His body was still pulled tight.

Experimentally, you lightly scraped your nails along his scalp.

If Tommy were to ever hear you call the sound that came from him a whimper, he'd probably swiftly and effectively dispose of your body. But it was a fucking whimper.

His eyes snapped open wide and met yours. You saw his utter mortification. You would say you felt guilty, but having your long time crush whimper while slotted between your thighs as you sat a top a kitchen counter really did things for you.

You mentally reprimanded yourself for letting your mind fall into the gutter as your friend so obviously had a small break down.

Before you could get a word out, to try talk him down from whatever thoughts were swirling in that pretty head of his, Tommy was out of kitchen. Ah, so he's chosen drama today? Coming from a man who would rather fight his own brother than talk, you can't really find it in yourself to be surprised.

"Tom." You dropped down from the counter, heading toward the living room, which was the only way he could've gone. As you rounded the corner, you saw him pacing the length of the room, his hands interlaced behind his head, elbows out, eyes wild.

"Tommy." You smoothed out your voice, pictured yourself trying to calm down a particularly flighty horse. You know, if the horse were the love of your life and you were desperately trying to make things less weird between you two before the already delicate friendship collapsed.

At your gentle prod he stopped. He let his hands fall down to his sides. He huffed once. Crossed his arms, made a face, and then dropped them. His fists curled up into balls and he closed his eyes. He opened one and looked toward you.

"You didn't hear that."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your own arms to your chest.

He pointed to the kitchen. "That didn't happen."

Because you love your best friend very much, you didn't roll your eyes.

"Tommy. Calm down. Take a deep breath." He did not take a deep breath. You did for him. Then another one for you. You moved toward the couch, and the way he suddenly looked like he was about to sprint out the door didn't escape you. You held your hands up placatingly. Easy, boy.

You sat down, leaving enough room for him to sit beside you. He looked at you wearily. You gave him a pointed look, one that said this is something to be discussed, and there's no way you're getting out of it, and gently patted the space for him.

He looked like he'd rather do anything else. He eventually made his way to the spot and plunked down, but as close to the arm of the couch as possible.

You gave him a sweet smile. He looked away, but not before you caught the blush. You decided to let him speak first.

It was quiet for awhile. Your thoughts went to the noodles still sitting on the counter, probably cooling in the water making a film. He cleared his throat.

"I don't. Not a ton of people touch me." He stared dutifully in front of him. You stayed silent, afraid of scaring him into silence again. He shifted uncomfortably, letting out a growl of frustration. "I mean people touch me. I just meant. It's not. It's," He looked like each word was slowly strangling him, "Never that intimate. I guess. And never anyone like you."

You're eyebrows shot up. His head jerked toward you.

"Not like that, I mean like someone so pretty." You choked a little. He visibly flinched. "Ok. I think that's enough for tonight. I think I've made plenty an ass of myself for one God forsaken night." He made to move, but your hand covered his before you really thought about it. He immediately stopped, staring at your hand on top of his.

"Tommy, it's ok." He gave you a dubious look. "No, really. Lots of people don't know how to deal with touch when it's not normal for them-"

"I'm fine, I touch people all the time, it doesn't matter it's ridiculous-"

"Tommy." He stopped. You lifted both hands to slowly cradle his face. His eyes were panicky. He looked like he was fighting every instinct inside him. "Listen to me, love." His eyes widened. "You don't have to explain anything. I need you to know it's ok to freak out a little. It's ok for this to be new." You bit your lip. "It's ok if it feels good."

A small sound came from the fighter. His eyes slipped closed. It suddenly hit you. You sucked in a sharp breath, and you started to gently stroking his face to his neck.

"Oh Tommy. You spend all that time fighting in the ring, so much time dominating. You barely let anyone touch you before you knock them away." His dad was probably never there to offer him any type of physical love, and his mom was too distanced from anyone to truly give what Tommy craved. By that time, he had pushed his brother away, and you had never really noticed him to be very active in the dating area.

You could feel his control slipping, could feel him slowly letting you hold his head up while he explored the sensation of someone just feeling him. When he spoke, his speech was slightly slurred.

"Was always jus' scared."

"I know Tommy."

"Didn' want you t' leave."

"And why would I do something stupid like that."

There was a second of silence, but Tommy was too far in to go back now.

"Cuz' I only wanted you to touch. Only ever you." Your heart stopped. His eyes slowly opened, meeting yours. His gaze snapped to your lips, back up to your eyes. All it took was for your eyes to snap to his lush mouth, and he was surging to meet you.

You felt like you were melting, melding into him. His lips were sliding against yours, his hands suddenly huge, thumbs cupping your face while his hands rested on the sides of your neck. He kissed like you see him fight. The urgency and the power and the emotion. You ached all over.

You could hardly remember your name when you finally separated, heaving lungfuls of air. Maybe all that oxygen deprivation had really done something to your brain, because you might be having a stroke. It almost smelled like something was burning. Tommy's face did something funny and he sniffed the air.

Oh. OH. The garlic bread.

Both of you made a mad dash for the kitchen, Tommy arriving first and throwing the oven door open, grabbing whatever cloth he could find to take out the charred bread as you used a dishrag to flap away any smoke that spilled out.

Once he made sure his apartment wasn't going to burn down or that the ambulance wan't going to be making a surprise visit, he slumped against the counter, breathing heavily. You put your hands on your hips.

A few second went by, both of you trying to catch your breath. Tommy looked up at you. You met his eye.

You both melted into peeling laughter, trying to stay upright. It seemed like every time you two would get your shit together, you'd fall right back into cackles.

He finally reigned in the worst of the laughter, and slowly made his way to where you were standing. Your own laughs died down.

"Are we good?" you ask him gently. He nods his head, with his sweet smile.

"We're good" he replies gently. He gets this determined look on his face, and steps real close to you. He doesn't do anything else for awhile, instead looking to you, asking with questioning eyes.

You give him an encouraging smile. He smiles right back at you, and for the second time tonight, strong arms envelop you.

[curlynerd]

What He Wants

Happy gift posting day for @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! My gift recipient is @bipridedean! She requested a Destiel, canon-adjacent fic, so here it is! I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 2.6K Rating: G Summary: 5 times Dean said "I do" and 1 time he didn’t. Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Destiel wedding

Also read it on AO3!

1.

The first time it happens Sam is the only one to hear it. They’re alone in the bunker, surrounded by months and months of tireless research. But finally, finally, Dean thinks they’ve discovered how to get into the Empty.

Dean wants to push through the night and get a portal up and running as soon as possible. Sam insists they both go to bed, pleading with Dean that he won’t be able to concentrate on the spellwork to maintain it without at least a few hours of sleep.

Dean spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. This time tomorrow, he could have Cas back. This time tomorrow he can--Dean is almost afraid to think it, afraid that giving form to what he wants will somehow curse it and stop it from ever coming true. After all, the thing he wanted most before this was for Cas to love him back, and that didn’t exactly end rosy.

Still, as Dean finally closes his eyes, he allows himself a small, private wish. He hopes this will be the last time he falls asleep alone.

The next morning, they’re both expecting some sort of bump in the road, some rare ingredient or some missing incantation that will set them back even longer, keep Dean from seeing Cas again for God knows how long. But fortune is on their side, and Sam executes the spell flawlessly.

Dean is armed to the teeth with every weapon and protection spell they could collect on short notice. His plan for finding Cas and dragging him back home sits clearly at the front of his mind. His heart pounds in his ears, fast but steady and strong.

“You know, if this doesn’t work, you could get stuck there. I might not be able to open a new portal.” Sam looks at the pulsating mass of black that serves as the portal to the Empty. Worry is etched deeply into his forehead. “Do you really want to do this?”

Dean thinks of Cas’ face, the way he had smiled as he said he loved him. He thinks of how he was so close to having the one thing he really wanted. How Cas had wanted the same.

There’s no peace in loneliness.

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, his jaw set, his eyes determined. He’s ready to get his angel back. “Yeah. I do.”

2.

The second time it happens, it takes Cas by surprise. It’s been a week since Dean heroically pulled the love of his life from the Empty...and also since Dean lost all remaining courage. He choked. His unspoken response to Cas’ confession is a taut tension wire between them, keeping them inches apart, words suffocating in their tightly sealed mouths, both terrified to say anything and risk breaking something that can’t be mended.

Dean hates himself for it. It’s cowardice is what it is. It’s a lifetime of desperately fighting against the things that make him vulnerable. Against wanting things. Against believing anyone could love him. Even with Cas’ confession still crystal clear in his memories, Dean doubts.

He is deep into those self-deprecating thoughts when he finds Cas in the garage, struggling to figure out how to change a flat tire on his truck from a Youtube video.

“Cas? What’re you doing?”

Cas startles and immediately hunches his shoulders in guilt. He wasn’t expecting to be caught. “Dean.” He looks down at the lug wrench in his hand, and Dean can see the wheels spinning in his head, trying to concoct a cover story before he shrugs and gives up the truth. “I was trying to fix the truck.”

“You need to go somewhere? Cuz I can just drive you.” Dean’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. Cas wouldn’t need to sneak around for a little errand.

Cas shakes his head and confirms Dean’s fears. “I wanted to have it ready. In case I needed to leave.”

“Leave?” Dean repeats, and his blood goes cold.

Cas deflates a little, resigned and sad. “I assume I’ll need to soon.”

“You can’t leave!” ‘Tell him!’ screams in Dean’s mind, but he can’t. He can’t. What if he’s wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him like that? What if Cas doesn’t love him at all anymore? What if Dean screwed it up by staying silent and Cas realized he deserves to be with someone who can provide a simple answer to “I love you?” What if--

“I don’t want to,” Cas says softly. The pain is evident in his eyes as they flicker to his truck, like he expects to need to book it out of here at any moment. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here after--” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he amends.

“Cas, this is your home, same as me and Sam.” Cas doesn’t look so convinced. “C’mon man, you really think we don’t want you around?” Dean leans against the side of Cas’ truck to ground himself. “Cas, I want you here.” ‘I want more than that,’ he thinks, and it would be so easy to say what he really needs to say, but he can’t. He fights viciously with his own self-esteem, ripping at it, begging it to let him say more. “Please don’t leave,” he says, small and helpless, and it’s like moving a mountain to say that much.

Cas’ expression softens into longing. His hand clenches at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to Dean, but he smiles a soft, incredulous smile. “I can stay? You really mean it?”

Dean swallows thickly. A hundred words crowd his throat, fighting to get out, but his own fears win this round and keep them down. Instead all he can manage is a choked, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

3.

The third time it happens, it takes them both by surprise. They’d gone on a hunt, just the two of them while Sam was visiting Eileen, and everything had gone sideways. What they thought was just a troublemaking demon turned out to be an extremely powerful witch, one with more than enough experience in Enochian magic to put Cas in serious danger. And of course Cas was reckless in his desire to protect Dean, and only managed to avoid getting killed by quick thinking and, to be honest, a helluva lot of luck.

The fight left Cas injured, and Dean pissed. “What the hell were you thinking!” he scolds at the end of a cold, silent drive back to the bunker.

“I did what I needed,” Cas shoots back with a steely glare.

“No, you didn’t need to go rushing in like that!” Dean’s worry leeches out as anger, the fear of losing Cas yet again clouding his reasoning that Dean himself would have died without Cas’ quick action. “You could have gotten a lot more hurt!”

“Why does it even matter to you?” Cas yells back, and it’s the note of hysterical bitterness darkening his words that makes Dean snap and say what he’s been hiding for far too long.

“Because I love you, you stubborn ass!”

The words freeze in the air between them, sharp and strong, wedging themself right where Dean’s anger was just a moment ago.

“You...love me?” Cas asks, his voice small, his eyes big.

And like that, Dean’s fears seem so foolish. Cas loves him. Cas died because just admitting he loves him was the happiest moment of his life. Cas has already done the hardest, scariest part for him. Dean doesn’t even have to fear Cas not feeling the same.

Silently, Dean takes a single step forward. Cas is frozen on the spot, staring at him like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He takes another step, and another, until he’s close enough to reach out and tug Cas into an embrace.

“Of course,” Dean breathes. He holds Cas close, tucking his chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight, like he never wants to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go. Cas is slower to react, but when his arms finally wind around Dean, he breathes out a soft, sobbing gasp and clings to Dean. Dean turns his head to bury his nose in Cas’ hair. “Of course I do.”

4.

The fourth time it happens, Cas doesn’t even hear it. Cas found out about a nearby crafts fair, and all it took was one particularly soulful look from those big blue eyes of his, and Dean was driving them a full hour and a half away to look at homemade pottery and local honey and overpriced tacky mesh wreaths and pretending that the entire atmosphere of the place wasn’t giving him hives.

Cas is having a blast. Dean is carrying bags and lurking in the shadiest spots he can find away from the summer heat while Cas browses. Cas is having an animated conversation about beekeeping with a honey merchant when Dean ducks into a large tent filled with the kind of flowy, bedazzled, polyester shirts he thinks of as “PTA Chic” because they also happen to have a large fan blowing.

“Lookin’ for something in particular, sugar?” The tent owner saunters over to Dean, her Southern accent thick and her top scandalously low. She’s stunningly pretty, and Dean’s eyes and smile light up out of a lifetime of habit. She responds in kind, dragging her eyes down, then back up Dean’s body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were lookin’ for more than clothes.”

Dean chuckles and flashes her his best charming, but chagrined smile. He feels a little guilty for leading her on, and he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Oh sweetheart, if I were single, I’d gladly take you up on that offer, but I’ve already got my special someone.” Dean nods to the honey booth next door.

Her eyes trail over to where Dean gestured, and for a split second her brow furrows in confusion before she laughs just a little, more incredulous than cruel. “You really want someone like that over me?”

Dean looks over at Cas. And, yeah, Dean gets the question. He’s a grown-ass man wearing cargo shorts, carrying a canvas bag with the most obnoxious sunglasses-wearing beach ball Dean has ever seen, and his hair looks like it's been electrocuted. Dean grins, feeling a rush of fondness for his dorky, criminally unfashionable angel.

“Yeah,” he says softly, without an ounce of hesitation. There’s no one else in the world for him but Cas. “Yeah, I do.”

5.

The fifth time Dean says it, Cas is the only other person around for miles. He drags Cas out of bed bright and early one Saturday, forcing him into the car before he’s even fully finished his coffee. Cas allows it, only because he can tell Dean is positively vibrating with nervous energy. Dean brushes off all of his prying questions during the long drive until they finally arrive at a small, peaceful meadow in the middle of nowhere.

He’s packed a lunch, because ostensibly this outing is meant to be a picnic, even though Cas is suspicious on that fact alone. Dean never picnics. It doesn’t really matter though, because Dean is too nervous to even consider eating.

“So why are we really here?” Cas asks after a few minutes of nibbling at his chips. Dean’s sandwich lays untouched on the blanket.

Dean steels his nerve and takes a deep breath. “Do you know where this is?” he asks, fighting the jittery bouncing of his heartbeat to keep his voice steady.

Cas nods. “This is where I returned when Jack resurrected me.” He looks around, smiling down at the flowers surrounding the two of them. The windmill behind him creaks softly in the wind.

“And where I spread your ashes.” Dean’s fidgeting fingers find a frayed edge on the blanket, and he starts picking at it.

Cas nods again and remains silent, patiently waiting for Dean to find the rest of his words.

“And it’s…” Dean pulls a thread out of the blanket and lets it fly away in the wind. “This is where I realized I love you. I’m an idiot who didn’t even realize how much I loved you until after you were gone.”

Cas leans forward and rests his hand on Dean’s knee, warm and reassuring. Dean continues, “At the time I’d thought, ‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to live without him.’ Which was stupid because you were already dead. It didn’t matter what I wanted.”

Cas squeezes his knee. His eyes are gentle. “We’re both okay now.”

Dean’s heart warms. “Yeah. We are. But you know I...That feeling’s never gone away. You and me? I want us to be forever.” Dean reaches into his pocket. There’s no small velvet box, no shimmering diamonds, just a thick band of practical silver he found at a pawn shop. He looks down at the ring with a tender smile. “Man, never in a million years did I think I’d ever be doing this,” he marvels, and when he looks up, Cas’ eyes are wide with surprise.

“Dean?” His normally steady voice wavers.

Dean reaches for Cas’ face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. He holds up the ring. “What do you say, Cas? Wanna go legit about this?”

Cas’ expression is impossibly soft, eyes overflowing with love and devotion. He swallows thickly around a lump in his throat and takes the ring from Dean. He slides it onto his finger and stares at it like it’s his own personal miracle.

“You’re serious, Dean? You really want to get married?”

Dean smiles as he leans in close. Just before he kisses his new fiance, he whispers, “Of course I do.”

6.

The sun is setting, casting long shadows down the sand. The shifting winds coming from the sea carry a chill, making the little crowd gathered around them draw their jackets close and huddle together, but the smiles on their faces are nothing but warm. There’s no altar. No stage. No decorations. Just Cas and Dean, standing in front of the ocean, wearing their favorite flannels and jeans, two bright yellow black-eyed susans pinned to their shirts--stolen right out of someone’s garden on their way to the beach.

They didn’t even bother trying to put out chairs for the ceremony, not knowing how many of their friends and family would be able to make the long drive to see Dean get hitched to his angel, but in the end it’s a good thing, because damn near everyone came, and they need to crowd in close to hear them over the wind.

It’s completely and utterly perfect.

Dean grins, unable to take his eyes off Cas while Donna, the only member of his overly-emotional family he trusts not to bawl her eyes out through the ceremony, finishes the last of their vows.

“Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your, well, not so lawfully wedded husband?”

There’s a twitter of laughter from the crowd. Cas smiles a sweet, crooked smile and squeezes Dean’s hand. “I do.” His voice is soft, meant for Dean’s ears only, because Dean is the only one his promise matters to.

“And do you, Dean Winchester, FBI’s Most Wanted, thrice dead criminal, and the terribly generous gentleman who will surely be covering our drinks on this celebratory evening, take Castiel to be your husband?”

Dean looks at Cas. Even in the dim light of the setting sun, his eyes are impossibly blue. His smile is so warm Dean knows he’ll never feel cold again, so long as he can see it every day. Dean beams back and proclaims loud enough for everyone on the beach to hear, “Oh hell yes!”

[xmint-conditionx]

tongue tied | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader, f2l

w/c: 3.5k

summary: you've been best friends with yoongi for almost a decade, and you're hopelessly in love with him. he's the most important person in your life, and you don't want to mess that up, so you can never be anything more... right?

written as a response to a request from the old blog -- the requestor was @yoongi--enthusiast; thanks again for your request, i loved doing it!!! "I had an idea... something based off of the song “tongue tied” with yoongi. I feel like it would be super soft with soft smut... I just think it would be nice to read so can you please wright it 🥺👉👈"

tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, outdoor sex, overall a little angsty but super cute too

a/n: i did not know that there was a song called tongue tied by marshmello before i wrote this so... i hope the person who requested this didn’t mean that song because I wrote this drabble over the grouplove song lmaooo but anyway, here goes! thanks luv, enjoy! also reposted from the old blog!!

Yoongi’s laugh is so beautiful. It’s rare, so when you see it, you soak up everything you can about it. The way his eyes crinkle up into crescent moons, the way his lips curl back putting his gummy smile on bright display. You can swear you see his eyes sparkle.

You are in love with him. You are in love with your best friend.

He makes loving him such an easy thing to do; bringing you into his inner world, showing you the sweet and warm center he conceals from everyone else. The way he looks at you, the way he says your name, the way he pouts when he wants a back scratch, all of those little things that make him who he is only deepen your infatuation with him.

You’re with him again this Friday night, making the drive to Bom’s house. It’s been a long week for the both of you; he’s been wrapped up in producing a track and you’ve been nose deep in college textbooks. His track is completed, and your exams are over. It’s safe to say that you both could use a good break.

It’s the end of the spring semester and the weather is going to be gorgeous tonight. The racing summer breeze coming through the open car windows is exhilarating. The sun is setting, and the warm evening light on Yoongi’s dewy skin makes him appear absolutely radiant as he navigates the highway.

You’re just listening to fun little summer jams as you speed off toward the city’s suburbs. Ones with funky little basslines that are easy to groove and sing along to. Ones that make you shout and laugh into the rushing wind. Ones that make you drink in the moment you’re having with Yoongi; ones that make you soak up all of his joy.

And when he steals a sly look your way, one hand still on the top of the steering wheel, you can swear your heart stops.

You’ve loved him as long as you can remember really knowing him. Since you were both 12, bonding over games of tag and basketball and the spilling of secrets to each other. You’d sit beneath the big tree in his backyard and share the snacks you’d bought at the corner store. He’d always let you have the last chocolate.

The only secret you’ve ever kept from Yoongi is the matter of your infatuation, and you are pretty resolute in keeping it that way.

He is the single most important person in your life. He had been there with you through it all; when your parents split up at 13, when your dad got you your first car at 15, when your long time boyfriend cheated on you at 16, when your dream college denied you at 17, when you got a full ride scholarship to a smaller university outside of the city right after that, when you were drugged at a house party at 20, when you were diagnosed with depression at 21, and when you were accepted into your masters program at 22.

You needed him, and because of that, you could never tell him.

You pull into the gates that surround Bom’s neighborhood. Her parents are pretty wealthy, so they live on a golf course. As you pull up into the driveway, you see some other students milling about, catching Frisbee. There’s Eunha, Ireum, Ji-Ah, and Miyeun that you recognize from some of your classes, but there are a few more that you’ve never met.

After a few rounds of drinks and a few lost games of flip cup, you all head outside to the back patio with all of your schoolwork from the year. Bom turns on the bluetooth speaker and sets it on the railing. You take in the night air and gaze up at the sky, wishing there was a shooting star to wish upon.

“Alright, everyone,” Bom begins, “essays and lab reports first, then tests, then miscellaneous homework.” Yoongi helps you dig through your stack to fish out the cursed papers. You all toss the stapled packages into the fire pit, one by one, each hitting with a soft thud. Once everyone has thrown their woes into the pit, Bom tops it with actual firewood and unceremoniously sets the whole lot of it on fire. You gaze into the center of the flame, watching your entire year catch fire. All the hours you spent doing that research project, all the disappointment when your group members wouldn’t follow through. Gone, like it never existed.

Yoongi’s holding your hand in his, and he’s busy drawing little circles with his thumb on your palm. Your head rests soundly on his shoulder, and you sigh into him, comfortable in where you are. The whole group piles in more papers, as you lament about the shitty professors and the shitty group projects and the shitty caf’ food and the shitty grades. Yoongi turns into you and nuzzles gently on your forehead. You feel his soft lips graze your temple, breath warm on your skin, tingles rising through your body, and you’re right where you want to be. Under the moon’s gaze with the person you love.

Before long, the breeze sends a chill through you that even the fire won’t remedy. Yoongi feels your shiver and unceremoniously removes his hoodie and puts it on over you, pulling up the hood and kissing your forehead. You always love when you wear his jackets; they surround you in his warmth, his smell. A smile plays across your lips until you notice Yoongi’s goosebumps.

“Hey,” you pout, “I don't wanna wear this if you’re gonna be cold.”

“I don’t wanna wear it if you’re gonna be cold,” he snaps back, smiling.

“Here,” you say, standing up from your deck chair. You take the step to get you to Yoongi’s chair, and sit in his lap. “This way we can both be warm, yeah?”

It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms firmly around you again, mumbling a “yeah, that’s fine” when you glance at him over your shoulder.

Your attention is called back to the group with Bom asks if you’re going to the Summer Romance Festival by the river next weekend. She’s been pushing you to get yourself out there more. The last time you were in a real relationship was high school, after all.

“I’d love to go; I hear they have the most beautiful fireworks display,” you start, “but I don’t think I will this year.”

“Well,” Bom says, “Why not?!”

“Because I don’t have a date, Bom!” you say, covering your face in the sweater paws you’ve made from Yoongi’s hoodie. “I don’t think I could find one in enough time.”

“Ya, just get Yoongi to go with you! You already do everything together anyway,” Eunha quips.

You notice that the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest has stopped.

“Hey, you know we’re just friends, right Yoongi?” you look to him for backup.

The man nods, looking down and to the left.

“Okay,” Ireum speaks up, “In that case, do you want to go with me?”

“Wait, what?” you say.

“Do you want to go to the Summer Romance Festival with me? As a date?”

Yoongi tenses beneath you.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you breathe, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. We can even get dinner before we go. Not too much, though. I’ll want to get us a treat from one of the dessert stalls.” Ireum says with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling back at him, “Okay. We’ll go together.”

Yoongi stirs beneath you. “Hey, can you get off of me?”

“What, why?” you pout.

“I said get off.”

“Yoongi, wh--”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish before he abruptly stands up, forcing you to catch yourself. When you look back at him, he’s walking toward the French doors that lead back into the house.

“Ya! What was that about?”

He keeps walking. You storm after him and slam the door, trapping you both inside.

“Yoongi, I’m talking to you! What’s your fucking problem?”

He whirs around.

“Oh, I have a problem?”

“Well, it sure seems like it.” you spit back, hands on your hips.

“Why don’t you go talk about it with your date, huh?” he says, gesturing out the window to Ireum. “Don’t you have some details to work out? He gonna pick you up? You gonna let him hold your hand? On your nice little extra special romantic date? I guess I’ll just fuck right off and leave you two alone, yeah? That’s what you want, cause we’re just friends and all.”

“Yoongi, we… are friends! You’re my best friend!”

“Did you ever for a second think that I could want more?”

“What?!”

“I fucking love you, Y/N! Isn’t it obvious?! I’ve loved you since the 7th grade. You remember when we played spin the bottle at Ha-joon’s house? Do you remember when you kissed me?”

“Yoongi…”

“No, let me finish. Do you remember the frat party we crashed junior year? Remember when we got up onto the roof and made out until we fell asleep? And then you weren't there when I woke up so I walked back to my dorm and then we just pretended it never happened? What the fuck was that, Y/N?!”

You reach for his arm, but he backs up, flinching away from you.

“I am so in love with you it hurts!”

“Yoongi.”

“But I guess if that guy can make you happy, then whatever,” he sighs.

“Yoongi.”

“Go on your little date and have fun and I’ll just go write some more goddamn songs about you--”

“Yoongi!”

He stills, pain flashing through his eyes.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, easing toward him, “I had no idea. I left the roof to go inside and get you some water. When I came back, you were gone. You had been drinking a lot that night… and I felt really bad because… I thought I had taken advantage of you… Ever since I first kissed you at Ha-joon’s house, I wanted to do it again. And again. And, you looked so good that night and up on the roof when you were laughing about the quarterback I just… I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I thought surely you didn’t want to actually be kissing me.”

“Why the fuck would I have kissed you back, then?”

“You were drunk, and I--” you’re cut off when he grabs your wrist.“I have wanted to kiss you every time I’ve seen you since you first kissed me,” he says, glancing down at your lips. ”I want to kiss you right now.”

You take no time in closing the distance between the two of you, your lips crashing desperately. You’ve tasted his kiss before, but this time feels different. His hands are winding through your hair, pulling you deeper into his kiss. You moan against his mouth, and he responds with his tongue teasing your lips, asking for entry. You grant it, and he explores. One of his hands holds your jaw, the other still intertwined with your hair. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before he sucks it in, drawing out a small whimper from you. Taking his hand from your jaw, he runs it down your neck and décolleté and then down over your stomach and latches it on your hip, sinking his fingers into your skin. He gives your hair a small tug, just enough to break the kiss and expose your neck. He breaks off and trails kisses up your jawline and then onto your neck, speaking in between kisses.

“You have… no idea how… much I’ve… wanted to tell… you everything,” he breathes onto your neck, and you feel a heat pooling in your panties.

“Please, Yoongi…” you say as you begin to run one hand under his shirt. He stops kissing and looks up at you with the softest expression.

“What is it?” he asks as he grabs both of your hands in his, bringing one of them up to his mouth to sprinkle kisses along your fingers.

“You…” you begin and sigh, “you have no idea how much I want you.”

He stills.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, eyes getting lost in the way his jacket is draped on your figure.

Him eyeing you up doesn’t make it any better.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you say, eyes pleading up at him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

After a beat, he sighs.

“Neither of us are waiting another minute,” he says, landing a quick peck on your lips and going across the room to the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that rests on the arm.

“Come on, I have an idea,” he says, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the front door, across the street, through someone’s back yard until you reach the top of a hill on the side of a fairway. You watch as he scans the area, holding the blanket tight. His gaze lingers on two hills near the green of whatever hole this is, where there are a few more trees and hills to block you from the sightline of those second story windows. He looks at you, eyes asking the question. You smile and nod, and that’s all he needs.

He tugs your hand and you both go running down the fairway, laughing along the way. Once you reach your spot, he quickly puts down the blanket and lays on it. You’re still standing at his feet, hands fiddling with the ends of the jacket sleeves.

He smiles up at you and holds his arms up in your direction and says, “come here, beautiful,” while doing little grabby hands.

You slowly walk up to where he’s laying and sit on top of his hips, feeling how hard he already is. His hand rests on your hip underneath the fabric of his jacket, the other holding the side of your face.

“Let me see you,” he says with a tinge of whine in his voice, and that gives you an idea.

You reach under the still zipped jacket and fiddle around. Yoongi looks up at you befuddled, the corners of his lips turning down slightly as he tries to figure out what’s going on. When your hands emerge, one is holding your strapless bra and the other is holding the halter top you had been wearing. You can’t believe you managed to unzip the back by yourself.

You throw the garments to the side, and watch as understanding hits his face. His eyes glaze over and he licks his lips, clearly shaken up by your little trick.

He carefully dips his fingers below the waistband of your shorts and eases them down. You put your weight on him and give him a few kisses as he continues to move them down your legs. Once they too have been tossed to the side, you sit back up, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He gently reaches up to the zipper of the jacket and begins to slowly pull it down, letting the cool night air in. You feel your nipples harden at the exposure to both the night air and Yoongi’s hungry eyes. He swallows and licks his lips as he runs his eyes over every new inch of you that is revealed. Memorizing your form, your perked nipples, the way your chest rises with each anxious breath.

He reaches back up to the collar and eases one shoulder of fabric off. You move to take the rest off despite the cold, but he stills your hand with his.

“Keep it on, please. I love seeing you wear my clothes,” Yoongi says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing them against his knuckles as you slowly grind your still covered core on his length. He groans in frustration, his pants getting tighter. You let go of his hand and run your fingers up beneath his white cotton v-neck, his ab muscles flinching under your touch. You help him remove his shirt, taking in the way his pale skin shines under the moonlight.

Seeing you look at him makes his cock twitch in his pants, and you think it’s time to provide him some relief.

You scoot back and start to undo his belt, getting low and staring up at him through your lashes. His breath hitches when you make eye contact with him, and then it starts to pick up as you undo the button and zipper. You shimmy down the denim, but leave his black boxer-briefs where they are.

You come back up to the waistband after releasing his jeans, and you take the elastic in between your teeth. You tug them down with your teeth while your hands pull them on the sides. His erection springs free, and he sucks in a fast breath when his cock meets the cool air. You take the opportunity to let your warm breath ghost over his throbbing cock, coaxing a deep groan from Yoongi. He puts his hand to your cheek, and you look up to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think I can last if you put me in your mouth, baby girl. We can do head next time,” Yoongi says, and your heart soars at the pet name. You ease back up so that you’re straddling him once more, and reflexively start to grind on him again.

“Please let me take care of you. Look how wet you are,” he says, running his fingers over your clothed slit, dipping one finger in to collect a bit of slick. He tastes his finger and says. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to need to do head next time.”

You blush at the thought of him buried between your thighs, vulgarly slurping up everything you have to give him. You clench just thinking about it, and Yoongi notices. He pulls your panties to the side, takes the head of his cock and presses it to your clit, teasing your entrance. His precum mixes with your wetness, and you can’t resist him any more. You’ve resisted him for years, and you’re done.

You slowly ease yourself down on his cock, only making it halfway down before you have to wait for you to adjust. You both look at each other; Yoongi’s jaw is set and his eyebrows are furrowed together. Your mouth drops open as you raise and lower yourself again, feeling the delicious stretch that accompanies it. You bottom out and begin setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your body is rolling steadily, moonlight creating beautiful shadows on your body as you take him in over and over. As many times as you’ve dreamed of this, you still didn’t fathom it being this good or it feeling this right.

Yoongi is everything you had imagined he would be and then some. The way he is looking up at you, the way his soft little moans escape every time you bottom out, the way his eyebrows furrow together at the sight of your dripping heat enveloping him. Perfection.

He takes his hands and trails them up the curve of your waist, stopping just below your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples, making you shudder and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hands. He palms them, kneading little circles around your areolas.

You lean forward, putting your weight on him again, and he meets you eagerly with another kiss. He wraps his arms around your back, keeping himself under the jacket, and you pick up the rhythm. Yoongi scratches his nails all the way down your back. Once he gets to your ass, he cups it, squeezing gently. You place your forehead against his, and your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” he whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you look so beautiful on top of me like this. Please let me see this sight for the rest of my life.” You whimper at the praise, and pick up the pace.

“Please,” he continues, small grunts mixing in with his words, “Don’t wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened. Please... don’t break my heart,” he pleads.

“Not a chance, Yoon. I can never let you go. You’re everything to me. You’ve always been.”

“Baby, I am so close. Can I--”

“Come with me, Yoongi. Let’s do it together,” you say. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips and he’s thrusting up into you with an unrelenting pace. At this angle, you can feel his head graze against your cervix with each thrust, sending white spots in your vision.

You both reach your end at the same time, breaths mingling as you come down from your highs. You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat gradually slow. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head and sighs into your hair.

“So…” he begins, “do you wanna go to the festival with me?” Yoongi asks.

“Are you gonna pick me up? Let me hold your hand? Have a nice little special romantic date?” you fire back, trying your best to sound like him. You sit up on your arm, letting your hair hang over to one side, and watch the light dance in his eyes as he laughs.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I might even get us a little snack from one of the desert vendors.”

[robert-de-niro-only-fans]

Escape

Jimmy Conway x Paulie's Daughter! Reader

Hiiiii, this fic is a little surprise I've been working on and I've got a few others in the works. I hope you guys love it! ❤️

TW: smut, mentions of crime and crime families, murder, marriage, mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 5.2k

As you stand in front of the mirror, your head spins from the morning you've already had. Women everywhere, whizzing around you doing your hair and makeup, getting you into your wedding dress. All that to make you a bride.

And you do look like a bride, you think as you stare into the mirror.

Behind you, you hear a familiar voice, "Ahem, ladies, could I get a moment alone with our bride?" Jimmy. He's being extra charming today, as many of the women left the room giggling because he spoke to them.

"Wow... (Y/N), you look gorgeous..." he creeps up behind you and delicately places his hands on your sides, as if he might break you. He looks at you in the mirror, before gently placing a kiss on your shoulder. "You're gonna stop traffic when you walk down the aisle. I can't wait to see it," he moves your veil and hair to give you a kiss on the cheek.

You don't say anything, just stare into the mirror. After a small pause, Jimmy turns you around, "Hey, you alright?"

Finally, you get a good look at him in his tux: all black with an off white shirt and a deep green vest peaking out from the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, "Yeah, I'm okay, just nervous," you put your hand on his chest, looking him over again, "I'm glad you're here. You always calm me down, and you look great by the way."

You knew it was an unconventional choice, but you wouldn't have picked anyone else to be your Maid of Honor. And Jimmy was happy to do it for you, even with Tommy and Henry making fun of him for it, at least until they got asked to be bridesmaids.

These were guys that in another life, you never would've been friends with, probably wouldn't have even known. And truthfully, your dad didn't want you being friends with them, because he knows what they are: criminals, nothing but criminals. But they're the only family you have, and Paulie had to admit that it was so cute seeing you get into trouble with Henry and Tommy and then go to "Uncle" Jimmy to get you out of it.

Jimmy wouldn't have done that kind of thing for the guys; they needed to get pinched and learn what it was like, but he would do anything to keep your pretty face out of jail. Since you've grown older, old enough for your father to let you get married, you and Jimmy have grown to be best friends. He's not so much the Uncle he used to be to you.

"(Y/N)?" Jimmy starts, "we got something to tell you, honey."

Just from the man's tone of voice, you can tell something is terribly wrong; you just know him too well. At that point, Jimmy opens the door, and Tommy, Henry, and your dad Paulie shuffle in.

"What's going on?" you say sheepishly, taking a step back from the men before you.

"You may wanna sit down," Jimmy motions to the little couch in the room.

Your dad reaches for one of your hands and you pull it away, "What is it, papa?"

"Sweetie, let's sit down, so we can talk," he places a hand on your back, and you both sit on the couch together. Jimmy, Tommy, and Henry all stand around looking like tough guys: arms crossed, keeping an ear out for anyone who might be listening outside the door, their faces looking stone cold with a bit of worry in their eyes.

"(Y/N), that guy out there," Paulie starts, referring to the groom waiting to marry you, "he ain't the guy you think he is."

"What?" you ask quietly.

"Well, uh, the guys here-" he looks up at the three men standing around you, "Jimmy, uh..." He just couldn't say it to you.

"We've been keeping an eye on this guy, scoping him out," Jimmy finishes for Paulie.

"What? You were spying on my fiancé?" you ask, feeling hurt.

"You didn't think we was just gonna let you marry anyone, did ya?" Tommy pipes up.

"And I'm glad we did," Jimmy cuts back in, "that guy out there, (Y/N), he's a liaison for another crime family! They were using you for information, and now he's able to identify all of us."

"What? No... He's- he's... a union rep," you cast your eyes down as it dawns on you; it was all a lie and a great cover up so he could talk about his friends and you wouldn't even realize. God, did you feel stupid. If anyone was gonna catch him in that lie, it should've been you. "I'm so sorry..." you whisper as tears drop down onto your wedding dress.

Paulie immediately pulls you into a hug, "Hey, hey, it's okay, baby girl. It's okay. The guys here have a plan." He tries to comfort you as you cry into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, you know I'd never try to put any of you in danger. I'm sorry I was so stupid!!" You feel horrible and angry with yourself.

"Shhh... You gotta keep your voice down, honey," you feel Jimmy's hand rubbing circles into your back as he kneals next to you. "You're not stupid. It took us a long time to crack this guy. He covered his tracks well."

You turn to Jimmy, tears mixed with mascara running down your face. "Hey..." he says, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the tears from your face, "Don't cry, angel. You shouldn't cry on your wedding day."

"But-" you get close to him, "it's not my wedding day anymore."

"Still," he pulls you up off the couch and into a hug, "you look too pretty to cry, and besides, we gotta get going."

You give him a confused look, trying to get it together, "Get going? Where are we going?"

"Well, uh, you and I are going on your honeymoon; Tommy and Henry know the rest of the plan."

"Honeymoon? We're not gonna cancel it?" you question.

"Listen, sugar," your dad grabs your attention, "this is the one day we can get your fiancé alone. He didn't dare bring any of his associates; we would recognize them, especially after all the recon we've done. So Jimmy's gonna sneak you out of here, and you're gonna go away for a while, and we're gonna get rid of this crook and tie up all the loose ends."

Just a few moments later, Tommy and Henry go back into the church to make it seem like everything is normal. No one is gonna think anything of Jimmy and your dad being with you, because that's the order the ceremony will go in. Your dad waits out in the hallway, as if he's waiting for you to put the last few finishing touches on your dress, and as everyone clears the hall to go to the church, he signals to Jimmy that it's time.

You and Jimmy quietly sneak out of your dressing room to head to the car. Before you run off, you turn back to your dad, giving him a big hug, "Please be careful, papa. I love you so much, and I'll miss you."

"I love you, too, (Y/N)," he gives you a kiss on the forehead, before you turn to head out the back hallway of the reception hall.

On the way out, Jimmy grabs a huge plate of hors d'oeuvres and holds the door open for you. You make your way out to this random convertible (probably stolen), seeing your suitcase in the backseat.

"Mines in the trunk," he lets you know, before setting the plate of food in the back and helping you in the car. Seconds later, you're peeling out of the church parking lot.

• • •

You and Jimmy can't help but laugh as you get further and further away from your wedding ceremony. You can't explain why you're laughing so hysterically, but it feels like old times getting into trouble with Jimmy. Plus, it's a welcome distraction.

"Jimmy," you interject the laughter.

"Yeah?" he asks, coming down from his laughing fit. You've already reached the highway heading from upstate New York into the city to get to the airport.

"Jimmy, I gotta get out of this dress," there's a serious tone in your voice that tells Jimmy this is more urgent than you let on.

He quickly whips out his switch blade, "Okay, lean forward." And then you feel the cool metal of the blade grace your back as he cuts the ribbons corseting your dress.

The dress loosens around you, and you look over at the man, "Thank you," is all you say before sliding the dress down over your hips, then throwing it up in the air, letting the wind take it down the highway. Jimmy has an impressed look on his face as he glances at you with a half smile on his face.

He reaches over, placing a hand on your bare thigh, pulling your wedding garter down your leg before holding it above his head and spinning it around like a lasso. "WOOOOOO!!!!" he yells at the top of his lungs as he flings the little piece of lace. Anything to make you laugh, and it does get a rise out of you.

There's a pause for a moment as Jimmy takes in the view of you in your white lingerie; his eyes don't linger for long though, because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

Though, you can't help but feel sexy for moment before climbing into the backseat to change.

"Hey, bring that food up to the front seat when you're done," he says, looking at you in the rearview mirror. You smack his shoulder, realizing he can see you changing. He chuckles and flips the rearview up. You spend the rest of the trip leaning on Jimmy and snacking on the hors d'oeuvres on the tray, until you arrive at the airport.

Because you skipped the wedding ceremony and reception, you arrive way earlier than you're supposed to, but it's no issue, Jimmy already worked it out by moving your flight up. It also works out better, because there will be goons at the airport looking for you, but by the time they get there, you and Jimmy will already be gone.

• • •

After a few hours when you arrive in the Bahamas, Jimmy gently runs his fingers through your hair to wake you up from your nap. You were conked out on his shoulder, exhausted from this morning. "C'mon, sleepyhead, let's go have a honeymoon," he helps get you up and grab your bags.

"Mmmm," you yawn following him, "you say that like it's your honeymoon or something."

"Well, it is now," he chuckles, grabbing your hand to lead you off the plane. After a warm welcome from some locals at the check in desk, you head over to your private villa, right on the beach. Even though it's already dark, the island is beautiful. The warm breeze makes the palm trees wave; the sand is soft under your feet; and the sound of waves crashing is seriously so relaxing.

Inside your villa, it looks so cozy and clean, and you're so ready to get some dinner and go to bed. That's just what you do. Jimmy calls the office to order dinner to your little beach house, and you pop into the bathroom to take a shower and change.

By the time you're done, dinner is too. Jimmy greets you with a little side hug and pulls your chair out for you to sit down at the table. "Comfy? In your little robe and all?" he asks, eyeing you up and down quickly.

"Mm-hmmm," you moan, stuffing your face with delicious food. Jimmy chuckles at you before doing the same.

After getting your bellies full on tasty seafood, you decide that it would be a good idea to go to sleep, that way you can make the most of your time on this lovely island.

As you and Jimmy make your way to the bedroom, you're met with a reminder of why you're there in the first place: rose petals and candles littering the room.

Jimmy sees the way you pause, "Do you want me to get rid of this stuff?"

"I- uh, no... It's okay," you look back and forth between him and your bed.

"Here," he says, leading you to the couch, "Stay here."

He goes into the bedroom and closes the door behind him. For a few moments you hear huffing and thudding as he blows out candles and throws them in the trash, and you hear his arms hitting the bed as he wipes the rose petals away. Jimmy exits the room with a trash bag in tow, tossing it out on the front patio before returning to the living room, breathing a little heavy, and holding his arm out, motioning you to the bedroom.

You stand up and put your arms around him, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, "Thank you, Jimmy."

He places his arm around your waist and presses a cheek to your head, "You're welcome, sweetie. Now go to bed."

"You're not coming?" you ask.

"I'll sleep on the couch. You have a good night, and sweet dreams," he gives your arm a squeeze before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As you settle into bed and try to sleep, it sinks in. Your relationship that you'd been so happy in is over... And here you are in another country for an undetermined amount of time while your ex-fiancé gets "taken care of." Even though his intention was to hurt you, you can't help but mourn what feels like the loss of your happiness. In fact, there's only one place you can feel happy right now, and you won't sleep until you're there.

"Jimmy?" you whisper through your sniffles. You stand before him as he sleeps soundly on the couch. "Jimmy?" A little louder this time, and that does the trick.

The man takes in a sharp inhale through his nose and his eyes pop open, "(Y/N), hey," he rubs his eyes, "you okay?" You just stand there quietly sniffling, and then Jimmy sees the redness in your face, "Hey, hey, c'mere honey, c'mere." He holds the blanket up for you to climb in, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, cuddling you in his cozy little spot on the couch. You simply bury your head into his chest, and let out a few tears. "Shhhh, shhh," he says as if cooing a baby, "it's okay, I'm here, everything's gonna be alright."

• • •

The sun brightly lights the whole open floor plan of your beach side escape, warming you and Jimmy in your bundle of blankets. You awake to the feeling of his fingers lazily combing through your hair, and when you crack your eyes open, you see him happily smiling down at you. You place a hand on his chest, and he covers it with one of his own, giving your fingers a squeeze.

"Morning, you hungry?" he greets you.

"Mmmm... Good morning, sweet man," you happily nuzzle into him.

He cups a hand on the back of your head, "Whaddaya say we get some breakfast, then ya wanna go swimming later today? Hm? We got that beautiful beach right out there." His head motions towards the large glass doors that look out onto the sand and sea.

"Only if we can stay here a little longer," you hum into his chest, perfectly content with just cuddling up to him all day long.

"Okay, princess, we can stay a little longer."

• • •

After a relaxed morning (yes, you both dozed back off to sleep for a while) and a nice breakfast of fresh fruits, juice, and pastries, you wait on the back patio for Jimmy to change into his swimsuit. When the sliding glass door glides open, you turn and see the man in swim trunks that hit about mid-thigh, short sleeve button up shirt that's unbuttoned, a gold chain, and a cigarette. Of course Jimmy dresses like that for the beach.

"Whaddaya think? How do I look?" he jokes at you.

You walk over and places your hands on his bare chest. "The view looks pretty good from here," you chuckle lowly.

Jimmy grunts, "You better watch those hands of yours," he warns, moving you off his chest before lightly taking your fingers in his. "Alright, let's go," he says, leading you towards the waves.

"Ya know, uh," Jimmy catches your attention.

"Hmm?" you chirp, hand still happily in his.

"How come you're still wearing this?" he asks, holding your hand up, and tapping his thumb on your engagement ring.

"Oh... um... I'm not sure, honestly," you look down at your hands, wringing them together and fidgeting with the little piece of jewelry. As you take your first few steps into the ocean, you slip the ring from your finger. "I guess it doesn't mean anything anymore," you ponder to yourself before chucking it into the water.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows in surprise, "You didn't wanna sell it?"

You turn around and pat him on the chest, "I know you and the boys back home will make me more money than that ring is worth. It wouldn't surprise me if it was fake, knowing what I know now."

• • •

Time got away from you as the two of you enjoyed your day in the sun. After walking along the beach and Jimmy dunking you in the waves a few times (don't worry, you got him back), it's already early afternoon. And boy, were you beat.

"Hmmm, I think it's time for a nap!" you yawn, "This sun has got me drained."

"Wanna go inside?" Jimmy points to your little beach house.

"Yeah, but I don't think I can walk another step," you whine playfully, giving the man puppy eyes.

There's a long pause as Jimmy gives you a serious look, but he's only kidding. "You want me to carry you, don't you?"

"Yes, please!"

And with that, your feet are swept out from under you. Jimmy walks you across the sand and through the sliding glass door, right to the bathroom.

"What are we doing in here?" you question as he walks right into the shower, "Jimmy?!"

"Gotta rinse all the salt and sand off," is all he gets out before the shower faucet sprays cold water on you and the man holding you. You squeal loudly and practically jump from Jimmy's arms! You hold onto him tightly for warmth; luckily the water heats up quickly though.

"You bastard!!" you yell and give the man a swift pop on the chest.

"OW!" he giggles and rubs the spot that is quickly turning red.

Your face forms a pout, feeling bad for smacking him, "I'm sorry." You take a step forward and rub your hand on his chest to sooth the spot. When you place your other hand on his chest, you look up at him. Suddenly you feel his strong hands gripping the back of your head, and his lips meet yours. Your back comes into contact with the shower wall, and you're completely surrounded. You feel the muscles of Jimmy's arms squeezing around you as his tongue urges it's way into your mouth.

You could hardly explain it: the timing and the situation feel so wrong, but he feels so 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, like everything you had ever wanted- no, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥.

Water soaks your hair, your face, your bodies as Jimmy fiercely kisses you. He's almost scared to stop.

But when you gently suck his bottom lip into your mouth and give it a nibble, it's game over.

Your friend-turned-lover rips open the shower curtain and starts walking you to the bedroom, his lips and his body never leaving yours. His tropical shirt slaps the ground in a wet heap, quickly followed by his swim trunks.

His lips find your neck, and you finally get a moment to catch your breath. Pressed against him as you step backwards, you feel his hands frantically working the straps of your swimsuit. You pull back from him just enough to see his face, and he freezes like a deer in headlights.

You simply look each other over, taking in the features of the other's face for a moment, before you lean forward and place your lips to his chastely, kissing him just once or twice. His rough hands gently caress your back, and then things turn passionate again when he slowly removes your top.

You always thought you'd be nervous to be with Jimmy, but after all, this is a man that you trust with your life. Wait- always? Did this imply you'd thought about being with him before?

In the heat of the moment you couldn't make sense of it. All you know right now is that Jimmy already has you naked and on the bed. It feels like your emotions are in a whirlwind, but Jimmy makes you feel good and you want more.

Your hands rake through his still wet hair, as he showers your chest in affection by kissing and sucking at your collarbone and breasts. He travels further down your body with his ministrations, until he reaches your soft inner thighs. You can feel his five o'clock shadow scratching at the delicate skin there, before he stops and looks up at you nervously. You'd never seen this man look nervous before.

His eyes beg for permission to go down on you and his hot breath passes over your center. You simply push down on his head a bit as a signal to go.

With his elbows buried in the soft mattress, forearms wrapped around your thighs, and eyes closed in concentration, his mouth surrounds that little bundle of nerves, lighting a fire in your belly. The sound of him breathing through his nose and your moans fill the room. Every hair on your body stands on end and your toes curl at the feeling of Jimmy Conway giving you head.

Oh God, Jimmy Conway is giving you head... Jimmy Conway your best friend. Jimmy Conway your Maid of Honor? You quickly push that thought away, then raise your head to look down at the man happily working away between your legs.

This is something you never thought you'd do with Jimmy, yet here you are, and oddly, it feels so... comfortable. You aren't nervous at all. Of course, you can't speak for him.

You lightly scruff up his hair, breathing heavily, "Jimmy..." The first word anyone had said in a while.

"Huh?" he says just after a loud slurping noise. His mouth hangs open in a relaxed way as he catches his breath and looks up at you from under his brow bone.

You let out a laugh in the form of a puff of air and a smile. Jimmy returns the smile; it's a happy smile with a hint of playful mischief in his eyes. A giggle slips out of you, then you both start laughing. At what, you aren't quite sure... the situation, maybe?

Your lover crawls on top of you and cuddles you by pressing his chest to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. Your hands explore his back, lightly scraping your nails over his shoulder blades and the small of his back.

He lets out a soft but deep moan before moving to kiss you again. His fingers nestle in your hair as he softly shows you his affection with his mouth. Your hands rest on his cheeks as he centers himself on top of you, one of his hands gripping under your thigh.

"This alright, princess?" he says in a near whisper.

"Yeah..." you exhale.

"You ready?" He gives you a kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah," you repeat, "I am." You give him a warm smile, cupping a hand on his face again, as if framing it to take a mental snapshot.

His next actions are incredibly gentle, but it makes everything all the more sensual. He plants a few kisses on your neck and collarbone before sitting up on his knees. His arm wraps around your thigh, holding it up in the air, as he aligns the head of his member with your entrance. The tip slides in pretty easily because of your wetness, and you can see Jimmy's breathing deepen; after that, the man moves slowly entering you, making you feel every inch of his length.

You had barely started and you're already both a mess. The pleasure is almost too much to take. Once Jimmy starts to move his hips, he leans forward once again, hovering over you on his hands and knees. You look up into his eyes, feeling his hardness moving inside you. Wanting to be closer to you, he drops down to his elbows and brings his knees up. His hands stroke some hair from your face while his hips rut into yours at a teasing pace.

After appreciating your how pretty you are, Jimmy moves his lips next to your ear and lowly says, "You feel incredible, baby. You feel so good..." He gives you a series of sloppy kisses on your jaw and earlobe.

You simply close your eyes, relax into the man on top of you, and give him an airy moan in response, "You feel good too, Jimmy."

"Mmmm, you like this pace? Or you want me to speed up?" You can feel his hot breath against your neck.

"Maybe, um, deeper?"

"Deeper, huh?" he whispers in your ear, "You wanna feel more of me?" He throws a little chuckle on the end of his question, and he readjusts by hooking a hand under your knee and pushing it up towards you for a deeper feeling while remaining close to you.

With each thrust you let out a grunt or breath of some kind, "Oooh... T-that's- Hnnng!"

"That the spot, baby girl?" Jimmy smiles to himself, happy that he's pleasing you.

A very shaky "mm-hmm" is all you can manage.

Jimmy speeds up his movements just a little, but still maintains a leisurely and romantic mood.

With a gasp, you start, "Jimmy, I- I'm-"

"Cum for me, baby," he coos, lightly sucking and nipping at a little spot on your neck.

"Fuck- Jimmy..." your climax hits you hard, making your head spin, and the only thing you can think about is the man before you, "Jimmy, I- I love you. I love you, Jimmy!"

Before you even have a moment to think about what you'd said, you hear, "I love you, too, (Y/N)," and several grunts and groans as he finds his release inside you.

Jimmy rolls off of you and trucks himself into your side. You hold the man in your arms tightly as you both come down from the high you just experienced. You turn your head to see him nuzzled into the crook of your neck, almost as if he's asleep. He cracks his eyes open at you and props himself up, putting his face close to yours.

You feel... shy for some reason as you press your lips to his, almost as if this is somehow more vulnerable than what you'd just done. You kiss each other softly, over and over, for what feels like a few minutes.

"You know, I didn't know you were close to finishing too," you tell Jimmy, trying to break some tension.

"Mm, well, I told you you felt good," he gives you a half smile, "I didn't know you loved me."

"Oh, well... It just kind of came out, but, uh, it was true. Still is." Another sweet kiss.

"You remember when I told you I couldn't wait to see you walk down that aisle? That was true too," he tells you.

You aren't sure where that came from, and it confuses you, "But... You knew I wasn't gonna get married that day."

"Yeah, but I am gonna see you walk down the aisle one day... when you marry me," he looks down and bites his lip.

You let out a flabbergasted little breath, "Jimmy..."

"C'mon, (Y/N)," he coos, "I love you. I wasn't gonna ever let you marry that other guy. Why do you think I looked into him so hard?"

"I don't understand. Why didn't you just ask me out years ago?" your question ends in a whisper.

"'Cuz I didn't realize what I had 'til I saw it in another man's arms," he tangles his fingers in your hair for another kiss, "but I'm not gonna let it get away from me this time."

• • •

Needless to say, you didn't see much of the beach or much of anyone the rest of your time in the Bahamas. You two already knew everything there was to know about another person, so you spent a lot of time exploring each other... in new ways.

So, it's bittersweet going home to Brooklyn. You'd been away a few months to let tensions between the two crime families die down. You would miss all of the alone time with your new man, but you're so happy to see your dad again.

"Thanks for driving us home from the airport, papa," you say, giving Paulie a side hug as he unlocks the door to the house not too far from the cab stand. You're greeted with hoots and hollers from Tommy, Henry and Karen, Tuddy, and a few others as you step inside. "What's this?!"

"Oh, uh, just a little surprise," Paulie chuckles, "A welcome home party for Jimmy and my girl."

Everyone starts exchanging hugs, giving you and Jimmy a proper New York welcome. As you put your arms around Henry's shoulders, you hear Karen from behind him, "OH no! I know ya not still wearin' your engagement ring," she grabs your hand and pulls you toward her to inspect the ring closer. Her voice lowers a bit, "No, this one's different. It's got pearls on it."

The room is filled with confused faces, until Jimmy takes your other hand in his, "Well, uh, we were on a little island for 2 or 3 months, pearls was all they had!"

Suddenly you're surrounded with Ooh's and Aah's and an "Attaboy Jimmy!" as it dawns on everyone that you're engaged.

"Hey, wait 'til they tell ya about how I'm gonna be a grandad!!" Paulie announces, and again the room fills with noise from everyone's surprise and congratulations. Any other family might have found it odd that you rushed into a new relationship, but this group likes keeping a closed circle, and everyone had their bets placed on you and Jimmy from day one.

Speak of the Devil, you feel his arms slip around you and a hand rests on your baby bump. He whispers in your ear, "I love you both so much. This is the way it always shoulda been."

[ratsoh-writes]

3. SO is slipping on the Ice - Masterlist 13. Fsr, Fsg, Gt, Mt and Ms.

Alrighty! Here’s the original prompt

And the first answer with the main 10!

Also I’ll add the mafiafell bros too to complete the set ;)

Lord: right as you slip and see your life flash before your eyes, you spot a glimpse of white in the corner of your eye. You fall, and in surprise your landing is nice and cushy! When you look down, you see that you’re laying on one of the white plush beanbags from lords room. He’s still watching from the porch with a triumphant look in his eye. (Aka, he shortcutted to his room and back and pretty much slid a bean bag underneath you. Modern problems call for modern solutions)

Mutt: with a low chuckle, he straight up just walks to you on the ice, picks you up, and walks back like it’s no problem. Look down and you’ll see mutt is barefoot. His clawed feet prevent him from slipping on the ice

Wine: he simply lifts you with magic and lazily glides you to the safety of the porch. Why wine is the only one to think of this solution, no one knows.

Coffee: he also walks across the ice to you. Except coffee is just wearing slippers, and he keeps stumbling with every step. When he reaches you, he realizes walking back is a real bad idea. He ends up summoning a gaster blaster to gently push you two across. A little overkill but it worked lol

Pop: you hear loud laughter behind you. In fact it might be getting louder..? Suddenly you’re tackled from behind and together you and pop slide into a large snow puff. As you sit up annoyed, he’s still hanging onto your waist and giggling like a dummy. What? He saved you from falling on the hard ice didn’t he? Little sh*t

Rhythm: he slides over to you like a pro, then takes your hand, gives you a little spin and picks you up bridal style. Rhythm slides back and plops you in the dry ground with a little forehead kiss. He sure knows how to treat his dates

Pluto: he shortcuts to you, but he undershot and winds up sliding into your legs. As you fall back, you hear his alarmed shout and suddenly you’re weightless. Pluto activated his anti gravity to save you the bruises lol.

Jupiter: just like pluto, his solution is to slide to you and make you weightless. Jupiter holds your hand as you and him float back to the safety of your house. He’s teasing you the whole way of course

G: he is the most unhelpful boyfriend ever. G stays on the porch and shouts words of encouragement at you in between laughs

Green: he gasps in horror at seeing you in such danger!! Don’t worry green is on his wa- oh no. You slip and fall on your bum. He slips and falls on his face. He broke his glasses. Green can’t see without his glasses. You’ll have to hold his hand and help him back to the porch

Peaches: sliding on black ice? Grab a stick!!! Peaches helpfully tosses you one of the walking sticks he keeps on the porch. You catch it and use it to ferry yourself to safety. He’s so proud

Rancher: he just shouts at you to flop on your bum and scoot back. Unfortunately while you were slipping on the ice, so was one of his cows. Rancher has his hands full trying to keep an 800lb farm animal from breaking a leg

Snipe: he walks around the ice patch to the corner that’s closest to you. Then snipe takes off his hat and holds it out to you can grab on. He pulls back and drags you off the ice. And he’s laughing at you the whole time naturally.

Bruiser: you almost wish you had just fallen when you see bruiser back up then take a flying leap onto the ice. He’s sliding towards you at Mach speeds. You fear for your life. You shouldn’t have doubted him, he caught you perfectly and continued sliding off like nothing happened.

Butch: he shortcuts right behind you making you squeak out in surprise. Then butch lifts you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes despite your protests. He’s half teasing half scolding you for freaking out over a little bit of ice.

Boss: if boss saw you struggling on the ice, it’s a 100% guarentee that some of his dog posse saw you two. At least three of the mafia dogs are being good boys today. They help escort you off the ice and grab the groceries for you too. The largest one of the two takes you to boss who casually asks if you’re alright

Ace: he smugly watches you struggle for another minute so that he can finish off his cigarette lol. Then when your pleas start sounding angry, ace finally walks up to you on the ice and drags you off like it’s nothing.

Slim: he hears screaming, sees you slipping and immediately jumps into action. Your vision goes black, and suddenly your on his bed and he’s propped up on top of you asking if you’re hurt. ;)

Rust: oh geez, he carefully does his best ti shuffle to you on the ice, and together you two awkwardly wobble in place until you both feel secure enough to try and slide back. It takes a good 10 minutes since rust really doesn’t want you to fall and break an arm

Noir: easy fix. He just grabs the rail of the porch to steady himself and holds your his cane to you. With his considerable arm length and the long cane, he easily reaches you. All you have to do is grab on and let noir drag you back.

Lilac: he does the exact same thing as noir, except lilac takes off his fkn leg and uses it to reach you. He laments about how he couldn’t use the “need a hand” joke. Why did he have to loose a leg and not an arm??

Basil: he friggin lassoed you with his scarf lol. You didn’t even know he could do that. Basil didn’t know he could do that either but he’s not telling lol.