#the greys in his beard too 😭

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Taming the Supe

✨ Soldier Boy x Fem!Therapist!Reader ✨

Minors do ¡NOT! interact with this post. Thanks.

A/N: Let me be upfront and say that I actually haven’t seen the boys 😭 not my cup of tea as far as shows go. So this perception of SB might be very far off. But like, he’s hot and he keeps showing up on my feed so this is happening >:) and in my defense I did try to do a little bit of research on America’s Ass(hole), so hopefully that shows lol. From what I understand he’s a TERRIBLE person who just so happens to be extremely attractive, so slay. Oh, also, to any therapist reading this: I am so, SO sorry.

Icons by me! Any and all interaction is very much appreciated!

Also- I’m looking for a beta reader/ editor! If you think you’d be interested, dm me!

Content Warnings: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🌶️honestly that about sums it up. There’s SOME- A LITTLE- plot but it’s more plop if you catch my drift. This is toe-curling, eyes-rolling, name-screaming, tsunami-coming level shit, ya hear?? At least, that’s what I went for. ;)

Just note that SB is… very SB for the better half of it. And he has an INSANE breeding kink.

The ending’s real rushed cause honestly this was mainly written for the spice, but hopefully it’s enjoyable!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible. In all regards.

He was a jackass- apple didn’t fall far from the tree as far as he and his dad were concerned. It wasn’t necessarily Ben’s fault; you cant help your blood. But because of said aforementioned father, Ben was brought up on misogynist ideals and the ideal that he was simultaneously both a disappointment and the bearer of a massive god-complex. The former applied to when he was around his father, the latter to when he was around literally anyone else.

Not only that, but he was separated from society for forty years, being tortured- sorry, “experimented on”- by a skeevy Russian organization that his own teammates had pawned him off too. Sure, he had committed massive, unforgivable atrocities, but quite frankly, the other supes on Payback weren’t much better. Maybe not as bad, but certainly not much better.

He re-walked upon the United States at the very young age of one hundred and three, coupled with PTSD, a god complex and more “back in my day” rants than your weird old uncle could ever hope to spew.

And now the thing is: it’s easy to make him look like he blends in. Trim the disheveled forty-year-old beard, give him some boyish bangs, throw him in a tight white shirt and a Giants jersey with grey sweats and all of a sudden you have a normal looking, abnormally attractive dude. Looks maybe thirty seven. Has a smile that has probably actually, literally charmed the pants off of someone.

But to make him act right? That’s the hard part.

That also where you came in.

You were a therapist with a damn good reputation. Shouldn’t have been involved with Supes in the slightest, but you owed Hughie Campbell a favor. Good kid who just so happened to have powers. So be it.

The kid had stumbled into your office a few years before Soldier Boy returned, and you had had multiple sessions before he dropped of the grid. You paid it no mind- you have a lot of clients, and therapy isn’t a good world to get attached to any of them.

But then one day, after one of Homelander’s many destructive “saves” of the city, you found yourself stuck in a burning building. By some miracle Hughie was in the same building, and he teleported you out and onto safer ground. Sure it was awkward being held up bridal style by a young dude who was ass-naked, but stranger things have happened.

Because of the save, you felt that you owed him, and told him as much. He was gracious, not wanting to take advantage of you, and you went back to not hearing anything from him.

That is, until just after the news article about Soldier Boy’s return broke out. It was definitely a headline that had caused you to raise a brow, but from what you knew America’s first supe was not what Vought made him out to be in the eyes of the public. He was an asshole who killed activists, and was most likely very racist. If anything, seeing the headline made you slightly wary for the good of the world. But you let it slide, figuring that if you already existed in a world where psychos like Homelander did you would probably be fine if there was one more.

Well, you were very much wrong.

A few days after the article broke out, Hughie called you. Asked if you would be okay to take you up on that favor. Of course, you said yes- you were only alive because of him. He had showed up to your house, and teleported you to a dinghy motel with no explanation, rendering you both in the same awkward situation as before. Him holding you bridal style, ass naked. If you had a nickel for every time he’s done that… you’d have ten cents, but it’s still oddly specific of it to happen twice.

“Listen,” he had said, setting you down. You had no choice but to do so, given that he was ass naked and it would be really awkward to see that. So you kept your eyes locked on his as he talked. “You know how Soldier Boy is back?”

“Mhm…” you nodded warily, knowing damn well that that was an ominous hook to your situation.

“Uh, he’s insane.”

“Sorry, he’s, like, he is? Presently?”

“Yeah… he’s in there and I think he would really benefit from a little therapy. His mind’s wired like a grandpa who has stories from every war.”

“Fuck, Hugh,” you cursed. He winced, his sweet eyes opened wide. “Sorry. It’s just.. are you kidding me?” Soldier Boy? It would probably take a team of specialists to figure out what’s going on in that head.

“Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you at least try?”

“Only for you.” It was really hard to have resolve with those puppy dog eyes staring at you.

“Thanks, y/n. Really.”

So you had walked in behind him; waiting as he threw on some sweats that were in a plastic bag outside of the motel room door.

You walked in together, only to see the most beautiful man you’d ever seen sitting on the bed, shoes still on.

Look. Everyone has fantasized about Soldier Boy at least once in their lives. The pinnacle of physical perfection, charisma oozing from his pores- it was hard not to. You were no exception- in your younger years there had certainly been more than a few nights where you were fucking yourself to pictures or videos of him, pathetically rutting on your clit and wishing it was his huge, gloved hands instead.

Of course, that was well before the article on the truth about him broke out. After that he had majorly lost his sex appeal.

However, seeing him in person immediately flashed you back to being younger and sexually frustrated, wondering how a man like that even existed. He was even better looking in person, piercing green eyes boring holes into you.

Thankfully it only took one douchey comment to snap you back to reality.

“So prostitutes are still a thing?” he asked, the question directed at Hughie. You immediately balled your hands into fists at your side, ready to tell this old-ass off, before remembering that you were there on professional business.

“No, no, she’s a therapist,” Hughie told him. “Y/n L/n, the best in the business.”

“You brought me a shrink?” he laughed incredulously. “Fuck you, I don’t have shell shock!”

He definitely had shell shock.

You didn’t bother waiting for Hughie to answer. “Listen, Mr. Boy, I’m only here ‘cause I owe this kid a favor. Would it really pain you so much to talk about yourself for an hour?” Your hands were planted on your hips.

“Man, when did women get so feisty?” he asked, that 1950s accent oozing through his words.

“Once they came to their senses,” I say with sass.

“So what? All I have to do is talk to a pretty thing about me?”

“Pretty much,” you conceded, ignoring the “compliment” he payed you.

“Fine.” Great. He agreed. How wonderful.

“I’m going to get some food, I’ll be back in an hour. If you need anything at all, just text me,” Hughie told me. “Thanks again.”

“Sure,” you replied, leaning in by his ear. “I think you’re going to owe me after this.

“Yeah, you’re probably not wrong,” he agrees, patting you on the back before teleporting away to the store. Man, this power thing… never gets any less weird.

“Take a seat,” Soldier Boy patted his lap.

“Hilarious,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on the other bed. Look, if he hadn’t been the jackass you knew him to be you most definitely would’ve sat on his lap. But you knew better. At least in the moment. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“M’name’s Ben, and I’m a soldier. My daddy hated me, so became a superhero. Surprise, surprise, he still hated me. But I’m better, stronger than he ever was. Might go take a piss on his grave while I’m here.”

“Interesting,” you murmur, putting together a mental file. Name: Ben. No last name? Weird. Daddy issues- makes the god complex make sense. Hmm. “Did you ever have a mother in the picture?”

“No. Died when I was a boy.” Added to file.

“Okay, so then why take the serum?” You know why, but you want to see something.

“You deaf? I said it was cause my daddy hated me.”

“You took a untested, potentially dangerous serum just because of your daddy issues?” you ask, matching his rude tone.

“You- you know what? This is boring. How about you and I fuck instead of this, hm?” he asks. Him saying the word fuck turned you on more than it should, but his misogyny was a quick turnoff.

“I think I’m just going to text Hughie,” you said, moving to stand, wholly unimpressed.

“Wait, no- I did it cause I hated feeling weak. Feeling stupid. Thought it would turn me into someone, just turned me into a jackass machine,” he said honestly, his eyes big and sad.

“Okay,” you said simply, sitting back down. That’s much more like it. “So then what led you to murder innocent people?”

If this were a normal session you would have never asked such a thing. Ever. But this was anything but normal.

“What did you just say to me?” And there it was. A glimpse of that Soldier Boy quick temper. You probably shouldn’t have been making him mad, but you didn’t know how else to go about this given that you weren’t in your professional environment.

“You heard me,” you told him with your arms crossed, trying to bite back the fear caused by

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, fists balled at his sides. “A question like that’s gonna cost ya.”

You roll your eyes, standing my ground. “Why. Did. You. Murder. Them?”

“Because they deserved it,” he yelled, standing up. You do your best not to flinch, but he was an imposing six-and-some feet tall.

“How? Did the Milk family deserve it? Did their son?” you yell, fighting off the fear in your voice.

He stops then, jaw clenching. “I was the good guy. The hero.” His voice breaks, ever so slightly. His green eyes burn holes into yours. You stare right back, just as intensely.

“So, imposter syndrome.”

“No!” he roared, the sound threatening to bring down the roof of the motel room.

“They were good people. Activists. Made a difference in their community.”

“That got what was coming to them.”

“What? A car being thrown at their house?”

“You…” he steps closer. You sit up in the bed, back against the headboard. “You don’t know me.”

I stand up then. Not nearly as tall as him, but in anger. “Yeah, but I know your actions.”

“Then you should think I’m a hero.”

“I don’t.” I say grimly, arms crossed.

“I’m Soldier Boy, for Christ’s sake,” he spat.

“Yeah, and I’m Y/N L/N. Who fucking cares.” Well this went from therapy to argument real fast.

He leans down then, by my ear. It’s all you can do not to back away as his hot breath fans the column of your neck. “Maybe you should.” His voice is gravelly, rough from anger but also from something else…

“Well I won’t.” You said, maintaining your ground.

“Wrong move, sweetheart,” he said, before crashing his lips to yours. You squeaked into the kiss, surprised, but he just took initiate to shove his tongue in your mouth, exploring with great fervor.

And you knew damn well how wrong this was. How unprofessional you had been; how bad it was that his tongue, this tongue of a murderer, was half down your throat. But in the moment you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because he was just that good of a kisser. Made you forget about the misogyny and his volatility. At least, for the time being.

He pulled away, smirking down at you.

“If we do this, you’re going to talk to me after. Act like you’re an adult,” you told him sternly, as if your underwear wasn’t soaked with arousal from the kiss.

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled.

“I fucking mean it,” you reiterated, hands on his pecs.

“And I fucking said fine,” he retorted. “Ben,” he introduced as an after thought.

“Okay, cool. Ben.”

“That’s the name I better hear coming off those pretty lips in a couple minutes here,” his gaze darkened with lust, emerald green eyes darkened to the color of a forest cloaked in the dead of night..

“O-okay.” And there it is, the first time you gave into the stutter derived from your desire. This was dangerous, but once he kissed you again you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

When he pulled away he thumbed at your lower lip, and you immediately react led to his touch, mouth falling open around the digit. “Good girl,” he praised, and you hated the way you felt proud at his words. He pulled off his jersey and under shirt, urging you to do the same until you both stood before each other, topless. He crowded you against the bed until you fell back, calves draped over the edge. He made room for himself between your legs, kissing you furiously, and you let out little breathy sighs as he did so.

“Attagirl,” he breathed when you gasped his name as he bit along your collarbone. He continued his fiery trail, from the juncture of your earlobe and neck to your collar bone and then down your chest, and you knew damn well that you weren’t going to be able to cover up half of the marks he gave you. But you also couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“You-you can come in me,” you mumbled as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I’ll fill you up real good” he said, eliciting a gasp from you when he bites your nipple.

He continued his path of kisses down your body, and in the bottom of your eye you could already see dark marks on the tops of your breasts, making your head fuzzy.

He stopped at your pants, biting the juncture of your hip and and thigh.

“‘m gonna get you ready for me,” he explained, before ripping off your pants and underwear in one go. This is not a metaphor, he literally tore them of you. You whined in protest, but he dismissed you, saying “I’ll get you new ones.”

And even though you knew he most definitely wouldn’t, his breath on your clit stopped you from caring.

He gave you no warning before diving into your soaked pussy, and you all but screamed his name when he fid, your fingers grasping his hair for dear life. He groaned into your cunt but kept going, spurred on by your actions.

The thing was, you hadn’t expected him to be good at eating pussy. He was from, like, the forties, after all. You thought that most people then probably didn’t bother as no one really cared about women and probably their pleasure back then.

Well, Soldier Boy- Ben- was very different.

He worked at you methodically, licking long stripes before thrusting his tongue in an out of you, testing the waters. He kept eye contact, and you could feel the smugness in his gaze as he watched you come apart.

Eventually he switched so that he was sucking on your clit, which would’ve been enough to bring you over already but then he added one of his long, thick fingers to your pussy. You yelped his name, not ready for the stretch and on the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you urged, whining. “Please don’t stop, Ben.”

And he didn’t, adding a second finger and scissoring within you. If his fingers were already like this, his cock…

But you couldn’t think about that then, nor could you really think about anything at all because he started tracing tight patterns on your bud and added a third finger, stretching you so far that you had no choice but to come. He helped you ride out your high for longer than you thought possible, lapping up all of your release before standing up to full height.

“That good, Sweets?” he smirked, looking down at your fucked out self. You nodded dumbly, and he chuckled. “Thought so.”

Your release covered his facial hair, but he didn’t seem to care much, just wiped a little off with his forearm. He then kicked off his shoes and took off his pants and underwear, and that’s when you saw it.

You were already baffled by him- beyond hot, perfect physique, pussy-eating champion, etc.

But his cock? It was huge. And it was perfect, a word that shouldn’t be able to be used to describe the male genitalia.

“Ben- that’s not going to fit-,” you gasp, sounding like a cheap porno.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and from his tone you could tell he was going to bottom out no matter what.

Oh, god.

He climbed over you, his large forearms on either side of your head as he rested over you in a plank. He put a pillow under your hips, and you knew you were in for it.

He rubbed his glorious dick over your hole, your clit, and through your folds, covering it in your slick, and you moaned his name.

“Good girl,” he praised, before finally lining up with your entrance. You were already clenching around nothing, but then he started pushing in.

If his fingers were big, his dick… even the tip had you a moaning mess.

“Oh, honey, you’re tighter than a virgin who’s never touched herself,” he groaned as he pushed in, you writhing beneath him. “‘n I just stretched you out, too.” The pillow under your hips let him get impossibly deep, and after an eternity he finally bottomed out, so large that you shouldn’t have been able to take him. But you did, and he hadn’t even done anything yet but you were a whimpering, whiny mess under him.

“I’m gonna move now,” he told you, before pulling almost all the way out and back in, slowly. You were writhing under him, but he was undeterred, and just kept going until you gave him easy access.

“Ben?” you asked, your voice sweet. And you didn’t know what possessed you to add the next part of your question, but you did. “Can you fuck me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he groaned, before rearing back again and slamming back into you. It was hard and it was rough, and it was exactly what you wanted even if you knew you weren’t gonna be able to sit right for a week.

You literally had a supe cock in you. You’d seen dildos of these, maybe even owned one, but nothing could do the real thing justice as you whined beneath it.

And if you thought it was already enough just taking him like this, once he started talking you were through.

“Yeah, take it,” he smirked, pounding into you at literal superhuman speed. “I’m going to destroy this cunt until we’re both leaking out of it, and then I’m going to keep going,” he promised against your collarbone, biting anywhere he pleased. You whimper against him, pussy clenching around his enormous length as it crashed in and out of your fluttering walls.

“You like that? Wanna be my little slut?” he grinned, rutting on your clit so you couldn’t answer. “You’d be a real good slut. Would just keep you at home all day, naked and always ready for me. Always full of me too,” he mused, his pace somehow getting rougher. Your mouth was dropped in a permanent ‘o’ as you reveled in the way his huge hands are squeezing your hips and pulling you against him, filing you to the base.

“No other boy can do it like me, sweetheart,” he said cockily. “Fill you up so good, make you mewl.” And as it turns out he was most definitively right about that. But then it was too hard to think about what’s right and wrong when-

“Ben- I- ‘m gonna-.”

“Aww baby, what’s the matter? ‘M I fucking you too good? You can’t talk?”

You moaned pathetically, pulling on his fluffy hair.

“I know, I know,” he said with a soft grunt. “Come for me, pretty thing. Come.” And you did. Hard, all consumingly. It hurt so good that you almost blacked out, but he kept going, doing his damnedest to overstimulate you.

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweetheart. Ain’t even close,” he told you, pulling you off of him and sitting, legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground. He grabbed you, letting you straddle his lap before slamming you down on his length. At this angle he could get impossibly deeper, his dick easily reaching your cervix on every thrust. You screamed, holding onto him for dear life with your face buried in his neck.

“Gonna fill you until you’re full, and then some,” he promised, lifting you up and down, flexing that super strength. “Rub on that pretty clit for me, doll,” he asked. You tried, you really did, but you were just so sensitive.

“That’s okay, I’ll do everything for you, you just take it like a good slut,” he cooed, bringing a hand between the two of you and rutting on your clit without abandon. You came again with a wail of his name before he pistoned into you sloppily, finally spilling his own release into you. And it was messy, and you were far too full to keep going, but he doesn’t care, somehow still hard even though he had just painted your walls with his thick, sticky cum.

You were babbling at this point, raking your nails against him as he kept going to town on your cunt.

“It’s just been too long, baby,” he explained, kissing the side of your head. “Got a little too much energy.” Yeah no shit, with the way that you knew that you were not going to be able to walk.

But he just couldn’t seem to shut up. “Y’know, if I had you back in my day we would’ve had ten kids. You would’ve give birth to one and then I’d put another one in you the next month,” he said as he continued his brutal pace. And damn, this man really had a breeding kink. It was not really your thing-kids tend to get in the way of careers, and also, you were infertile- but anything’s hot when it comes out of those plush lips with the 50s accent, so, naturally, you moan in response.

“Would’ve kept you sated all the time too, sweetheart. Any time you were hot and bothered, had an attitude… I’d fuck it out of you,” he murmured, enveloping you in his arms to hold you closer. You didn’t know if it’s the proximity to him, his voice, or the way that he hasn’t really let you come down from any of your highs, but suddenly you were coming again… just in a different way.

“Aww baby, did you just squirt?” he chuckled. You did all you can to further hide your face in his neck as he just kept going, only concious enough to register your embarrassment and fatigue. He pulls you by your hair to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart, that was so hot.” You smiled, cheeks pink, your somehow still horny self proud of his compliment.

“It’s okay, just give me one more and you’ll be done, alright?”

“O-okay,” you say shakily. You hadn’t even noticed hot much your legs were quivering until then, and he laughed, squeezing them close.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he praised, rubbing your clit. Your blush became even more furious before you came again at him tracing patterns into your poor, overstimulated, sensitive bud. He came in you shortly after with a very sexy grunt, and it was just leaking out of you, going all over the tops of his thighs. He held you at the base of his cock though, not ready to pull out.

“You alright, Dollface?” he asked, gingerly moving- somehow while keeping his cock in you- you onto your back. You nodded, sleepiness overtaking you.

“Good girl,” he nuzzled your nose, gifting you the view of all of the pretty freckles on his cheeks looking like gold specs. You whined as he pulls out, and he tutted, plugging you up with his fingers.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. If you were a supe we’d be going another ten rounds, but I know you’re tired,” he warned, cock still semi-hard.

“Ben,” you gestured towards it, unsure what you were going to say because as much as you wish you had his stamina, you didn’t.

“It’ll be fine, sweets,” he shrugged it off. “Perks of the unbelievable stamina.” He kissed your forehead, before lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of you in attempt to keep the cum in. Pitiful tears leaked out of the corner of your eyes from the overstimulation.

“There, there,” he cooed, kissing them away. “Just don’t want to waste any,” he smirked, before leaving his long, thick fingers where they were inside you, all the way up to the knuckle. Your legs can’t stop shaking, and you try to talk but you can’t.

“Let me get you some water, put your fingers here for me,” he said, waiting until you do so, feeling your sticky release on your hand. You knew damn well that you werenot going to be able to stand.

“Here, sweets,” he returned, still ass naked, holding a glass, taking your fingers out of your cunt and licking them clean. “We taste real good, sugar.” You whimpered, ready to go at it again, abused pussy be damned. Speaking of, the poor cleaning staff… your mixed releases were dripping out of your poor hole, coating the bed and the bottom of your thighs in the stickiness.

“You really are an insatiable little minx,” he chuckled, holding you up so you can take a sip of the water. You obliged, eagerly chugging it down.

“I’m not going to be able to walk,” you muttered, resting your head on his freckled shoulders.

“Looks like you’re going to need to stick around, so I can take care of you,” he squeezed you.

“I’ll tell Hughie to take another hour, tell him that the therapy’s going real well,” you suggested.

“Oh yeah, real well. Definitely a happy ending, if you catch my drift.”

“Multiple happy endings.”

“Atta girl,” he kisses the top of your head.

You sat there in silence for a bit, basking in the afterglow as he rocked you back and fourth gently.

You’d seen so many sides to this man: Misogynistic, quick tempered, sex-god… but sweetness? This was the one that surprised you. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

“Ben?” you broke the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, I could help you, y’know. If you want, anyway. And it wouldn’t even be proper therapy- you know, cause we just- yeah.” your words were shaky but you meant them. There was something about the supe that made you think that maybe, just maybe you could help him.

“I dunno, sweets. I think I’m a little too far gone.”

Vulnerability. That’s progress.

“Could you at least try?”

“I can’t say no to you,” he said. And you’d take him up on that.

••••••••••••A Couple Years Later••••••••••••

Ben Johnson, as he was now known, ended up becoming a normal member of society. After a LOT of work, he’s grown into himself. He cares about people, his ego’s lessened, his temper too. You had helped him through the whole way- gotten him a proper therapist and everything. And now you two were a couple who could just go out and get donuts, and do normal couple things.

“They’re cream-filled!” he beams boyishly, his bangs in his face and his eyes sparkling. He sets the box down in front of you, somehow having already gotten powdered sugar in his beard. He leans in and whispers excitedly, “you know, like you!”

“You’re bad,” you giggle, as if you don’t have him leaking out of you where you sit. You had stopped for a quickie before you made it to the donut shop, it wasn’t your fault that you were so irresistible to each other.

“Not anymore, sweetheart,” he winks with a click of the tongue. Which is true- there’s a certain softness to him these days. His jaw isn’t so set, the crow’s feet by his eyes have deepened. He isn’t so volatile, his tempers dissolved a bit. He’s become more human.

Not to mention that he’s made great progress in apologizing to his victims and making amends to the best of his ability. It may never be enough, but now that he has someone to teach him how to be right and a better understanding of the complexities of the modern world, there’s a chance. And that’s a chance worth taking, to help someone who could’ve been good become good.

Taming Soldier Boy was a feat that should have been impossible, but you had nailed it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed this fic! If you have any ideas for headcanons or fics, my ask box is always open! I don’t bite- not unless you want me too 😏 (so. So. Sorry 😭)

Xx!

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Chapter Ten (End)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Two years have passed since you and Dean finally lay everything out on the table, a lifetime of love and friendship, and it's about time it's made official.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings/tags: Smut (18+) Fluff!! Emotions are high in this one! and a surprise ending...👀

AN: Alright guys! We have officially reached the end of this series! It's been a ride and I'm so grateful for those who stuck around till the end and rode this journey with me! 🥹 It was my first time writing a full series and I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I have! 😭❤️ (gifs not mine, found on google)

P.S. This chapter was originally 3k… 😉

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Dean exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what had to be the hundredth time. The reflection staring back at him felt surreal—like he was looking at someone else. Someone settled. Someone whole.

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. If someone had told him two years ago that this was where he’d end up—with you—he’d have called them crazy.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Sam stepped in, already looking dangerously glassy-eyed.

Dean smirked. “You gonna cry, Sammy?”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he stepped forward, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Just… proud of you, man. And happy for you. You deserve this.”

Dean swallowed. He hadn’t expected the weight of the moment to hit quite like this, but suddenly, it did. All those years—the two of you orbiting each other, pushing and pulling, too damn stubborn to admit what was obvious to everyone else. For so long, he’d been afraid to want this, to believe he could have it. But now?

He shook his head, smirking. “Jesus, if you start bawling, we’re gonna have to seat you in the back.”

Sam laughed, shoving him lightly before pulling him into a tight hug. Dean clapped his back, holding onto the moment longer than he’d admit.

Then, the door swung open again, and the rest of his friends poured in—Benny, Cas, Gabe—all wearing varying degrees of smug grins.

"Well, well, well," Gabe drawled. "Look at you, all cleaned up and looking respectable. Never thought I’d see the day."

Dean rolled his eyes, but Benny clapped him on the back. “You ready for this, brother?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah.”

Then, the door opened one last time, and John Winchester stepped in.

The room quieted just slightly—not out of tension, but out of the weight that John always carried with him. His gaze swept over Dean, taking him in.

“How you doin’?” John asked.

Dean let out a breath as he smoothed his hands over the invisible wrinkles in his suit jacket. “Good. A little nervous, but… good.”

John nodded, stepping closer. His sharp hazel eyes softened as he studied his son, and after a beat, he shook his head with a quiet chuckle.

“You know,” John started, rubbing a hand through his thickening beard, there was more and more grey beginning to run through it now, “I knew she was the one the moment you brought her home.”

Dean huffed a little shocked. He never thought his father paid much attention to his relationships, unless Dean was asking for advise about something. John had always been the kind of father who seemed absent, out of the loop per se but, if you ever needed him, poof he was there.

“Yeah?”

John smirked. “Damn right. You trailed after that girl like a puppy since the moment you met her.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not true.” It was. But Dean wasn’t about to admit that, he had to keep some dignity at least.

John let out a low laugh, glancing toward Sam, who was already grinning. “Oh, it is. Everyone saw it—hell, you’d look for any excuse to be near her. You’d act like it wasn’t a big deal, but soon as she walked in a room, you lit up like a damn Christmas tree.” He chuckled along with the other men in the room, and then added,

“And if she so much as smiled at another boy?” He blew out a breath, like it was the damnest thing. “You’d sulk for hours.”

Benny let out a laugh, and Cas muttered a “it’s true” whilst Sam and Gabe outright cackled.

Dean huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, let’s not turn this into roast-the-groom day.”

John’s smile lingered for a moment before he took a breath, his expression growing more serious. “You know, that’s how it was for me with your mom.”

Dean blinked, straightening slightly at the sudden shift in tone.

John nodded. “She had me wrapped around her little finger before I even knew what hit me. Still does.” His voice softened. “Women like that, they keep you on your toes. They challenge you, make you work for it. But, son, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Nowhere better to be.”

Dean swallowed hard, something thick settling in his chest. He didn’t think he’d ever heard his dad talk about his Mom like that—not in a way that was this raw, this honest.

John held his gaze. “You found something rare, Dean. Something worth everything.” He let out a quiet breath. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Dean felt his throat tighten, but before he could find the words to respond, John pulled him into a firm hug.

It caught Dean off guard for half a second, but then he exhaled, sinking into it. His dad wasn’t a man of easy affection—not by a long shot—but when he did something like this, it meant something.

And it warmed Dean straight through.

John clapped his back before stepping away, clearing his throat. “Now, let’s get you married.”

Meanwhile...

You smoothed your hands over the fabric of your dress, breathing in deeply as you stood in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back at you barely felt real.

The dress was perfect—elegant but effortlessly you. Every delicate detail, every soft fold of fabric. It was another thank you to Jo and her wizardry in dress picking.

Your fingers brushed over the locket resting against your collarbone—the one that had belonged to your mother, the one Dean had returned to you. It was your something old, something borrowed, and as you held it gently, your heart ached with the weight of her absence. But there was comfort in knowing that a part of her was with you today.

Behind you, the room buzzed with excitement as all the ladies in your life gathered.

“Holy shit,” Jo breathed, eyes wide and a little watery as she took you in. 

Charlie joined her, the both of them clinging to each other like proud aunts. 

Jess, ever the romantic, clasped her hands together, beaming. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Mary stepped forward with a warm smile, adjusting your veil with careful hands. Her touch was gentle, but you didn’t miss the slight tremble in her fingers.

“You’re glowing, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion.

She lingered, taking you in with soft eyes. Mary had been like a third mother to you for as long as you could remember—always there with quiet wisdom, unwavering support, and a love that felt just as fierce as if you were her own.

“I’ve watched you grow into this incredible woman,” she continued, blinking back tears. “And I’ve always known—always—that you were meant for my boy. No one else could love him the way you do.” A watery smile pulled at her lips. “And God knows, he needs someone like you.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest.

Mary cupped your cheek, her touch featherlight. “I’m so proud of you. And I know, without a doubt, that you and Dean are going to build something beautiful together.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, squeezing her hand. There was a nervous energy thrumming beneath your skin, but it wasn’t the bad kind—it was the kind that came with knowing something life-changing was about to happen.

Then, a soft knock on the door.

Ellen and Bobby stepped inside, and the moment Ellen saw you, she gasped. Her expression softened as she reached for your hands.

"You look beautiful, baby." Her voice wavered just slightly, and when you saw the glisten in her eyes, it nearly broke you.

Ellen Harvelle never cried.

But today, she did.

"You always were a handful," she teased, blinking rapidly as if to stop herself from full-on sobbing. "But damn if I ain’t proud of the woman you’ve become. How grateful I am to be your mother.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to ruin all of Jess’s hard work on your makeup. You squeezed Ellen’s hands. "I love you, mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart.” She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held.

Jess sniffled. "Damn it, you’re making me cry already!”

A collection of watery chuckles rippled through the room as you pulled back, watching Jess and the other women dab at their eyes. But when Bobby stepped forward, the laughter faded, replaced by something heavier.

He looked at you, and for the first time in your life, you saw him struggle for words.

“Ah, kid…” Bobby murmured, voice thick as he took you in. “Your mom… she’d be so damn proud of ya.”

Your throat tightened instantly, tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that morning. You pointed at him warningly. “Nope. Don’t you do that. Do you know how long this took?” You gestured to your face in emphasis.

A chuckle rumbled from Bobby’s chest, but the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. He stepped closer, squeezing your hand.

“I mean it. You’re gonna be the best thing that ever happened to that idjit. Not that he don’t already know it.”

A watery laugh bubbled from your lips. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bobby cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Now, uh… before we go, I just need to make sure you’re sure about this. ‘Cause once you marry into that family, there’s no gettin’ out."

“It’s true.” Mary added with a shrug and a chuckle.

You smirked. "Well, damn. And here I was thinking I could just return him if I changed my mind."

Bobby snorted as everyone else laughed. "You’re stuck with him, sweetheart." He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. "But I gotta say… I don’t think he’d ever let you go, even if you tried."

Your heart clenched, warmth spreading through your chest, because you believed so too.

"You ready?"

You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and then—

“More than ever.”

The first notes of Canon in D drifted through the air, soft yet powerful, carrying with them the weight of the moment. The murmur of the guests faded, the world narrowing to the centre aisle where one by one, your loved ones took their places.

Sam stood tall at Dean’s side, ever the loyal brother and best man, while your bridesmaids passed Dean with knowing grins. He barely registered them, too caught up in the pounding of his own heart, in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, in the anticipation buzzing in his veins.

And then—

The doors at the end of the aisle opened.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

There you were.

The world fell away, dissolving into a blur of nothingness. His vision narrowed, locking onto you as you stepped forward, arm looped through Bobby’s. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating you like something out of a dream—his dream. And damn, if he didn’t feel like the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

You were stunning, but more than that, you were you. The same girl who had been his best friend for more than a decade, who had driven him crazy and made him laugh harder than anyone. The same woman he had spent late nights with on the couch, teasing and pushing each other, pretending you weren’t falling long before either of you admitted it. You were the one who knew him better than he knew himself, who had stood by him through every fight, every high, every low.

And now, here you were, walking toward him, about to be his forever.

His throat tightened. His chest ached with the sheer force of everything he felt. And it took him a second to realise—damn it, he was actually crying.

Bobby’s grip on your arm was steady, though Dean didn’t miss the way the older man’s fingers clenched just slightly, like he was holding on for one last moment. Bobby had been your rock, your father in every way that mattered, and today, he was giving you away.

When you reached the altar, Bobby turned to Dean, meeting his gaze with the kind of silent understanding only a father figure could give. His eyes softened, but there was steel beneath them—a warning, a promise.

"You take care of her, ya hear me?"

Dean swallowed hard, nodding with confidence as he told him, “always.”

Bobby gave your hand one last squeeze before placing it in Dean’s, stepping back with a small, gruff sniff.

The warmth of your touch sent a shiver up his spine, grounding him, steadying him.

You looked up at him as you stepped up to the alter, eyes shimmering, lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “Hi.”

Dean let out a quiet, shaky laugh, shaking his head as he drank you in. “My god, you’re beautiful.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and overwhelming, and as you stared into his eyes. Those same green eyes that had been home for as long as you could remember. You knew, without a doubt, that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Every step that had led you here—every late-night conversation, every argument, every kiss, every stolen moment—had been leading to this.

To forever.

The reception was already in full swing, the room buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses, but everything quieted when Gabe stood, a smirk already tugging at his lips as he raised his champagne flute.

"Alright, folks, settle in," he started, flashing a wink at you before glancing at Dean. "Now, I had a whole touching, sentimental speech planned—real tearjerker, would’ve had you all sobbing into your drinks—but then I thought… nah, let’s tell the truth instead."

A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd, Dean shaking his head while you rolled your eyes fondly.

"This story? This epic love story? It didn’t start with a grand romantic gesture, or some movie-worthy meet-cute. Nope. It started… with a dream." Gabe let the words settle before arching a brow. "And not in the chase-your-dreams kinda way—though, to be fair, there was some chasing involved."

Laughter rippled through the room, Dean groaning as he dropped his head into his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know what I mean," Gabe continued smugly, clearly enjoying himself. "But let’s be real, this was always inevitable. It was clear as day these two were made for one another, the rest of us were just waiting for them to catch up. And when they finally did? Well, let’s just say… history was made. And, in some small way, I’d like to think I played a part in that. Y’know, a guiding hand. A little nudge. A subtle push toward the right direction."

Dean snorted. "Subtle, my ass."

Gabe ignored him, raising his glass higher. "So, here’s to them—two people who took their sweet time figuring it out, but who got it right in the end. To love, to laughter, and to the two luckiest people in the world."

The room filled with cheers and the clinking of glasses, and you turned to Dean, shaking your head.

"You still sure we shouldn’t have revoked his speech privileges?" you teased, despite the tears in your eyes.

Dean chuckled, pulling you closer. "Nah, he’s an ass, but he’s our ass.” You hummed in agreement and allowed Dean to pull you in for a sweet kiss. 

Gabe clinked his fork against his glass again, clearing his throat dramatically. "Alright, lovebirds, enough of the mushy stuff, before you make us all sick. Let’s get to the part we’ve been waiting for." He shot a wink your way before grinning at Dean.

"Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, it’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance!"

Another round of cheers erupted as Gabe lifted his glass in your direction, smirking. "Try not to step on her feet, Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes as he stood, but then grinned down at you, taking your hand and guiding you toward the dance floor. Your heart pounded—not from nerves, but from the sheer overwhelming happiness swelling in your chest.

Then, the unmistakable opening chords of Ramble On filled the space.

You blinked, then let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head as you glanced up at him. "Seriously?"

Dean smirked, pulling you in close. "What? You really thought I’d let our song be anything else?"

You melted into him as he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting warm and steady on your waist. The world faded, leaving just the two of you swaying together as Plant’s voice crooned through the speakers.

It was perfect.

From childhood best friends to navigating the tangled mess of emotions that came with your so-called arrangement. The night you finally admitted the truth—that you had always loved him. And whats more, so had he. You’d both been naive idiots thinking you could be anything other than this.

A year later, Dean had proposed.

He had done it under the stars in your father’s scrapyard, the place that had always been special to you as a kid, where you had felt closest to your mom. He had decorated it with fairy lights, roses, the whole nine yards, and when he dropped to one knee, looking at you like you hung the damn stars, you hadn’t even let him finish his speech before tackling him to the ground with your answer.

And now, here you were.

Your matching wedding bands, new but already familiar, warm against your skin.

Your arms around him, your heart pressed to his, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Dean pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, swaying with you in time to the music, his voice low as he murmured, "Took us long enough, huh?"

You smiled, tightening your hold on him. "Yeah," you whispered. "But we got here."

The song carried on, and as the tempo picked up, you felt Dean shift against you. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "You ready to really do this?"

Before you could ask what he meant, he pulled back, a devilish grin spreading across his face just as the beat kicked in. With a playful tug, he spun you out, making you laugh in surprise, and when he pulled you back, he didn’t slow down.

The two of you let loose.

Gone was the slow, tender sway. Instead, Dean twirled you, moving with an effortless ease that made your heart race for an entirely different reason. You chuckled, shaking your head at the fact Ramble on was your first dance song, but damn if it wasn’t so him—so you.

When the lyrics hit, Dean pointed straight at you, his voice loud and clear as he sang along, "I'm goin' 'round the world, I gotta find my girl—"

You didn’t miss a beat. Grinning, you sang right back, "I've been this way ten years to the day—"

The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy crackling through the room like wildfire. One by one, your friends and family got swept up in it—feet tapping, hands clapping, laughter spilling from every corner.

Charlie and Jo grabbed each other, twirling dramatically before rocking out to the familiar riffs, their hair flying as they head-banged in sync. Sam was pulled in by Jess, who grinned up at him with that determined look he never could resist.

Even Bobby, usually content to watch from the sidelines, let out a gruff chuckle before grabbing Ellen’s hand, the two of them stepping onto the dance floor like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

And then there was Gabe—fully committing to the moment, arms flailing, air-guitaring like his life depended on it. The sheer ridiculousness had you dissolving into laughter as you twirled in Dean’s arms, breathless, giddy, caught up in the rush of it all.

Your friends and family surrounded you, the circle growing tighter as the song surged on. Twirling, jumping, shouting the lyrics like you were at the best damn concert of your lives. It was wild. Chaotic. Perfect.

And through it all, Dean never let go of you.

No matter how much he moved, how hard he laughed, how off-key he sang, his hand always found yours. Always drew you back to him. Like he was tethered to you, like you were the one thing in the world he’d never lose sight of.

By the time the song came to an end, you were breathless, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. The room blurred around you, a hum of joy and celebration, but all you could see was him.

Dean pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips as he panted slightly from the exertion. His green eyes, bright with mischief and something even deeper, locked onto yours.

“I love you, Mrs. Winchester.”

The way he said it—like he was savouring the words, letting them settle into his very bones—you knew he’d never tire of calling you that. And neither would you.

“And I love you, Mr Winchester.”

Dean’s smile was radiant, warmth and adoration shining in his gaze as he cupped your face, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss so soft, so reverent, it stole what little breath you had left. In that moment, with the music fading and the world narrowing to just the two of you, your heart felt impossibly full. Your soul, finally, was whole.

3 weeks later.

The soft sound of waves gently lapping against the shore blended with the distant chirping of tropical birds as the golden morning light seeped through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the plush California king-sized bed.

A gentle breeze drifted in from the open window, carrying the scent of salt and sun-kissed sand, ruffling the gauzy fabric ever so slightly. The silky sheets were cool against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of Dean’s body beside you. With a contented sigh, you burrowed deeper, letting the warmth of the moment settle in your bones.

It had been a whirlwind since your wedding three weeks ago—an intoxicating rush of something long overdue. Of love, laughter and celebration with everyone who mattered most, all of which still echoed in your mind. 

Unfortunately, reality had hit fast afterward, with both of you needing to dive back into work almost immediately, your honeymoon put on hold until the vacation days finally kicked in. But now, you were here. Just you and Dean. Together. Alone in paradise.

And what a paradise it was.

Ten glorious, sun-drenched days in the Maldives, tucked away in your own private villa perched over the crystalline water. The white sand stretched like silk beneath your feet, the ocean a dazzling shade of turquoise that shimmered under the endless blue sky. Every morning felt like something out of a dream, like waking up inside a living postcard.

You’d always imagined a warm, beachy destination for your honeymoon—Hawaii, maybe the Florida Keys. Something close, something simple. But you never expected this. Your parents and Dean’s had banded together, insisting you take your first trip as husband and wife international. A wedding gift so extravagant it had left you both stunned, speechless even.

Of course, you knew why you and Dean had initially opted to keep things local.

Your lips twitched at the memory of the exact moment Dean had opened the gift, his expression shifting from excitement to sheer, unfiltered dread. Because the Maldives didn’t just mean a long flight. No, it also meant taking a seaplane to reach the private island resort.

Looking at him now, utterly at peace, snoring softly beside you, his upper body bronzed from days in the sun, freckles scattered across his golden skin like constellations, it was almost impossible to believe this was the same man who damn near lost his shit on both flights. The contrast was almost comical.

Gone was the stiff, panicked man who had sat ramrod straight in his seat, white-knuckling the armrests like his life depended on it. The man who had hissed “This is a terrible idea” every time the plane so much as dipped slightly. The same man who, when faced with turbulence, had squeezed your hand so hard you were genuinely worried about circulation loss. And when the seaplane landed on the water? He’d practically kissed the ground the moment you stepped onto the dock.

Your heart ached in the best way as you thought back on the past week—warm sand between your toes, the taste of tropical cocktails, the lingering press of Dean’s lips against your sun-drenched skin. Late nights filled with soft laughter and slow kisses, tangled sheets as you celebrated your marriage in the best way possible. 

It had taken you both a long time to get here, to this moment, but damn, were you happy.

Unable to resist, you swam through the sheets, moulding yourself against the familiar warmth of Dean’s body. Your fingers trailed across his chest, tracing over the scattered freckles like your own personal game of connect the dots, mapping out the skin you had come to know so intimately. 

Your touch was light, teasing, before finally settling over the hand resting on his stomach, now adorned with the simple silver wedding band that matched the ring on your own finger. A symbol of forever.

Dean stirred as the soft press of your lips ghosted along his shoulder, trailing kisses up the strong column of his neck. A deep breath shuddered through him, his muscles tensing before melting into your touch. He shifted fully onto his back, blinking his tired eyes open, only to be greeted by the most beautiful sight.

The soft glow of morning light behind you, your hair tousled, your eyes sparkling with warmth and mischief.

That damn smirk of yours.

His lips curled up at the edges, but before he could say anything, you leaned in, continuing your path of lazy, unhurried kisses along his jaw, your mouth warm and soft against his skin. His breath caught when your teeth grazed his pulse point, the sharp contrast sending a thrill straight through him. His eyes fluttered shut again at the feeling, his breath coming quicker. 

But then a thought, albeit fleeting, hit him. Why did this feel so familiar? 

However, his grip tightened instinctively on your waist, heat blooming low in his stomach as you suckled at his skin and he pulled you up, crushing his lips to yours in a slow, searing kiss.

Your tongue caressed his, your touch sending fire through his veins, and then your hand slid down his abdomen—fingertips just barely grazing the hard planes of his abdomen, slipping beneath the sheets with agonising slowness.

And that’s when it hit him. Just like Déjà vu.

The dream. 

This was exactly what he had pictured two years ago. The one thing that had shattered every illusion he had about what you were to him, the moment that had forced him to confront the truth—that he wanted you in ways he had refused to acknowledge before. That you were so much more than just his best friend.

It had led to The Arrangement. The realisation. The confession. Everything between then and now had stemmed from that dream.

And now, here you were. Not some figment of his imagination. You were real, you were his wife. 

And this time, there was no rude awakening. No air horn. No sudden jolt back to reality.

Just you and your fingers curling around his hard length in a teasing grip, that had his breath stalling in his throat.

A dream literally come true. And damn, if this wasn’t a full circle moment. 

“Fuck.” Dean huffed, head falling back against the pillows as your touch grew more purposeful, the whole thing made more intense by this little realisation. You tugged him softly, playfully, the pads of your fingers stroking his heated skin with an almost lazy confidence, and Dean let out a long, shuddering exhale.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he groaned, one hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in your hair. “Feels so good, baby.” You hummed in response, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, then down his throat, your pace never faltering as you worked him, watching the way he came undone beneath you.

Dean’s stomach tensed when you suddenly slid lower, a slow, teasing descent, your mischievous gaze locked onto his as you kissed your way down his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body thrumming with anticipation as your lips trailed lower.

“Shit,” he rasped as you reached his lower abdomen, your teeth grazing over the sensitive dip of his hip. His cock twitched in your grip, thick and pulsing with need, and you smiled against his skin, amused at just how wrecked he already was.

“You okay there, handsome?” you teased, your voice warm and sweet, a sharp contrast to the absolute sin in your eyes.

Dean let out a strangled chuckle, shaking his head. “You know what you’re doin’.” 

“Mm. Maybe.” Your fingers tightened around him, stroking him once, twice, before your tongue darted out to tease the tip, swiping across the leaking head in one slow, torturous lick.

Dean’s hips bucked on instinct, a wrecked groan spilling from his lips. “Fuck—”

And then, without warning, you took him into your mouth, warm and wet and perfect, and his whole world tilted.

“Shit—baby—” His hand fisted in your hair as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, your tongue working him in a way that had his jaw clenching and his abs flexing beneath you.

You were relentless, sucking him down with slow, deliberate drags, your eyes locked onto his the entire time, like you wanted to watch him fall apart. And he was—fuck, he was unraveling at the seams, barely holding onto control. 

“You’re too good at this,” he rasped, his fingers tightening their grip in your hair. “So goddamn good. Fuck—gonna make me—”

But before he could lose himself completely, he forced himself to move, a growl ripping from his throat as he reached down and hauled you back up, capturing your mouth in a desperate, heated kiss.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick and rough, still breathless. “Wanna taste you, sweetheart.”

And then, in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you, his lips trailing down your body, kissing, worshiping, taking his time to appreciate every inch of you.

His hands spread across your thighs, parting them, his breath hot against your skin as he settled between them. His mouth found your inner thigh first, teasing, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh just to hear the way your breath hitched.

“Dean,” you whimpered, your hips shifting beneath him.

He smirked, dragging his lips up, and up, until he was right where you needed him. “Relax, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough, filled with promise. “Lemme take my time with you.”

And he did.

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue through your folds, slow and deliberate, savouring you, his hands gripping your hips as he pinned you down, determined to make you feel everything.

You gasped, your fingers threading into his hair, your back arching off the bed as he worked you open with his mouth—licking, sucking, teasing, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

“Dean—”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with hunger, dark with raw need. “Let me hear you.”

And so you did.

You didn’t hold back.

You cried out as two thick fingers slid deep into your dripping cunt, curling just right—hitting that devastatingly perfect spot he had long since memorised, learned by heart just to ruin you over and over again. Your back arched, muscles clenching as he pumped them in and out, each stroke dragging a fresh moan from your lips.

His mouth came away from you, slick with your arousal, his focus now solely on his hand as he fucked you with his fingers, determined, relentless. His wrist flexed, his pace quickening, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

Your thighs trembled violently, your body caught between the unbearable pleasure and the overwhelming pressure coiling deep in your core, rising fast, too fast.

“I know, baby,” Dean groaned, his free hand gripping your thigh, holding you wide open as you writhed, instinctively trying to fight what you knew was coming. “Don’t run from it. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

The raw command in his voice shattered you.

With a strangled cry of his name, your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot, electric, tearing through every nerve in your body. Your release poured out of you, soaking his arm, drenching the sheets beneath you. The sheer force of it left you shaking, gasping, completely wrecked beneath him.

And Dean all but growled.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, dragging his fingers from your pulsing cunt, watching in fascination as your slick dripped down his wrist. He lifted them to his mouth, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he sucked them clean, groaning at the taste.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something darker, something purely possessive. “Every time… I swear, it just gets better.”

Heat flushed through you, but the shame that once crept in at moments like this was gone.

Dean had stripped it from you, erased it with every moan, every praise, every time he worshipped the way your body responded to him. He loved this. Loved dragging you over the edge so hard, so deep, that you couldn’t hold back. Loved watching you come apart, seeing the proof of how fucking good he made you feel.

And fuck, did he make you feel good.

You swallowed, watching as he smirked, his hand gliding up your trembling thigh, rubbing soothing circles as he took in the mess between your legs like the goddamn masterpiece it was.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, trailing his fingers through your slick folds, groaning at how sensitive you still were. His cock twitched from where it was trapped against the mattress. “And already dripping for more.”

You bit your lip, eyes half-lidded with need, your body still molten, still buzzing, but the hunger in his gaze sent another sharp pulse of arousal straight to your core.

“C’mere,” you murmured, crooking a finger at him, and Dean obeyed instantly, moving up your body with a predatory grace until he was caging you beneath him, his forearms bracketing either side of your head.

You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him down for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, desperate and messy. You moaned into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, the way he devoured you without shame. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, tugging him closer, needing him now.

Dean chuckled against your lips, low and husky, cocky as ever, but fuck, he loved you like this—needy, impatient, desperate for him. He rolled his hips, his thick cock gliding through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick, teasing you both with the friction.

“Dean,” you whined, your nails biting into the firm muscles of his back.

He groaned, his head dropping into the crook of your neck. “Goddamn, baby—”

You whimpered as the head of his cock caught at your entrance, your whole body arching, pulsing, silently pleading.

“Baby, please,” you breathed into his ear, your voice drenched in pure want.

And fuck—Dean couldn’t deny you anything when you begged like that.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he tilted his hips and pushed in, inch by glorious inch, stretching you open, filling you to the brim.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt in your tight, throbbing heat. His forearms trembled where they held him up, his jaw clenched as he fought for control, fought against the primal urge to pound into you, to take you the way he needed to.

“Jesus Christ,” he gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re perfect.”

You gasped, your walls fluttering around him, nails dragging down his back, your body begging for more.

“Fuck me, baby,” you pleaded. “Please—”

And with that, he was gone.

All restraint shattered.

Dean fucked you, deep and unrelenting, hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that had you keening, moaning, gasping his name like a prayer. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your stomach, palming your breasts, fingers finding your throat, owning you.

He growled against your lips, biting at your bottom one as he pulled back, eyes dark, feral. “This what you needed, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t even form words, just nodded frantically, lost in him, in the overwhelming pleasure he wrung from your body with every deep, punishing thrust.

“Goddamn, you’re so good for me,” he groaned, voice wrecked, his pace growing erratic as he felt you tightening around him, pulling him deeper. “Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna soak my cock this time?”

You sobbed, your entire body trembling, on the edge of bliss so sharp it made you ache.

Dean reached between you, his fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles.

That was it.

That was fucking it.

Your climax crashed over you, stealing every last bit of breath from your lungs, and you screamed his name as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing him like a vice, milking him for everything he had.

Dean groaned, long and deep, his hips stuttering, his body locking up as he spilled into you, filling you with everything he had, holding you tight, panting against your sweat-slicked skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just lay tangled together, bodies trembling, completely spent.

Dean finally let out a slow, satisfied breath, brushing damp hair from your forehead as he kissed you, slow and deep, nothing but pure devotion in the way his lips moved against yours. 

“God, I love you,” he murmured between kisses, voice hushed and reverent, as if the words themselves weren’t enough to contain the depth of what he felt.

Your heart fluttered, as it always did when he uttered those three words, and your arms around his neck tightened, holding him closer.

“I love you too,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers ghosting over his cheek. His green eyes softened as he leaned into your touch, letting out a contented sigh before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to your palm.

And then a quiet huff left his lips as he dropped his head onto your chest, the weight of him grounding you, comforting in a way you could never quite put into words. Without a second thought, your fingers drifted into his sweat-slicked hair, combing through the damp strands, soothing him as exhaustion slowly pulled you both under.

“I can’t believe this will be our last night here,” he mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep.

You hummed in agreement, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. This place, this little bubble you’d created together, had felt like a dream—one you weren’t quite ready to wake up from.

“Maybe we should just move here,” you murmured playfully, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Quit our jobs and stay forever.”

Dean let out a lazy chuckle, his breath warm against your skin. “Don’t tempt me.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling him snuggle closer, his breathing deep and even. Within moments, sleep, once again, claimed you both. 

A couple of hours later, the sharp grumble of your stomachs had dragged you both from your unplanned nap. The two of you groggily peeled yourselves from the tangle of sheets, reluctantly leaving the comfort of your bed to shower and dress. 

The day passed in a slow, blissful haze—lounging on the terrace, nibbling on fresh fruit and pastries, talking about home, about work, about everything and nothing at all.

As the evening approached, you had one last dinner reservation at the resort’s restaurant. Dean opted for a quick dip in your private pool while you got ready, the sound of water rippling as you slipped into a white, flowy sundress, the light fabric brushing against your ankles. You left your hair down, the soft waves cascading naturally over your shoulders—just the way Dean liked it. A touch of mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and you were ready.

“You look beautiful,” Dean’s voice was thick with appreciation as he appeared behind you in the mirror, his reflection stunning—his hair damp, torso bare and glistening with droplets.

You bit your lip, heat pooling in your stomach as he trailed his fingers over your exposed shoulder. Respectfully, he refrained from pulling you flush against him—knowing he’d soak your dress—but he still pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your skin.

Dean winked before stepping back, and with zero shame, dropped his shorts, giving you a perfect view of his delectable peach of an ass. He caught you staring as he looked over his shoulder, and with a cheeky grin gave his own firm cheek a light smack before stepping to the shower.

You were still giggling and shaking your head as you slipped on your sandals.

The restaurant was breathtaking—an open-air dining space set against the endless stretch of ocean, the sky painted in fiery hues of orange and pink as the sun melted into the horizon. Soft lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, casting a golden glow over the wooden tables adorned with crisp white linens and delicate floral arrangements.

The scent of salt and grilled seafood hung in the air, mingling with the distant hum of waves rolling onto the shore and light spoken conversations from the other guests.

Dean pulled out your chair for you before settling into his own across from you, already reaching for the menu with a familiar furrow of his brows.

“You know, we’ve been here all week, and I still don’t know what half this stuff is.” He let out a huff, rubbing a hand over his jaw. The two of you had tried different restaurants around the island, and while the menus varied, the dishes always seemed to push him slightly outside his comfort zone.

You giggled, shaking your head before deciding to take pity on him. “How about the steak?” You leaned over, tapping the menu where the 8oz fillet with sautéed potatoes was listed. “It’s about as close to a burger and fries as you’re gonna get.”

Dean followed your finger, eyes scanning the description with renewed interest before nodding. “Alright, yeah. I can work with that.” He flagged down the waiter, ordering you both a beer along with his steak, while you opted for grilled salmon with fragrant coconut rice.

When the food arrived, Dean eyed his plate warily, poking at the steak as if it might bite back. Clearly not used to the meat un-minced and patty-like. He cut into it, taking a tentative bite, chewing slowly as he mulled over the flavours.

“Well?” you prompted, watching him closely, lips twitching.

Dean let out a low hum of consideration. “It’s… not bad.”

You let out a laugh. “That’s practically a glowing review from you.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smile played on his lips. “Hey, I like what I like.”

Still, he indulged in the experience, even letting you feed him bites from your own plate after some playful coaxing. He’d grumble about it, but the way his eyes flickered with enjoyment every time he took a bite of your dish didn’t go unnoticed.

The night carried on in soft conversation and easy laughter, the warm glow of the lanterns reflecting in his eyes. And through it all, his gaze never strayed far from you—watching, adoring, committing this last night to memory.

Back in your villa, the island's natural warmth was thick in your hut with the scent of salt and jasmine as you pushed open the patio doors. Behind you, a familiar melody drifted through the space—the soft, unmistakable chords of Your Song filling the air as Dean messed with the vinyl player. The resort seemed to be a big fan of Elton, you'd noticed.

You smiled at the song choice, turning just as he held out a hand, a boyish grin tugging at his lips.

“Dance with me?”

Your heart melted, and without hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you close. His hands settled at your waist, yours looping around his neck, and he swayed you both to the slow rhythm. His chin rested atop your head, his fingers tracing lazy, absent patterns along the small of your back.

The gentle hum of Elton John’s voice wrapped around you both, the moment steeped in quiet affection.

“I hope you don’t mind, that I put down into words…” Dean sang along to the chorus, his voice soft and deep, trailing off as he smiled down at you.

“How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he finished, his gaze holding yours, warm and full of something that made your chest ache.

Just as you rose on your tiptoes, he wasted no time meeting you halfway, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow and deep. The warmth of his body, the press of his hands against you, the way he kissed you—it all built into something deeper, something more desperate.

But then—

A sharp pang shot through your stomach.

You froze, your breath hitching. Then, it twisted, turned, and a wave of nausea slammed into you so suddenly, you barely had time to shove Dean back before sprinting to the bathroom.

“Shit—sweetheart?”

Dean was at your side in an instant, gathering your hair as you lurched over the toilet, emptying your stomach. His warm hand rubbed slow, soothing circles over your back, his voice laced with concern.

“Do you think it was the food?” he asked, frowning.

You let out a weak breath, wiping your mouth. “Maybe,” you murmured, though doubt crept in. If it was the food, wouldn’t Dean be sick too? He had shared bites of your meal, after all. However, another wave of nausea hit you and had you hugging the toilet bowl once more. 

You spent the rest of the night curled on the cool tile floor, Dean refusing to leave your side. He wiped your clammy forehead, whispered reassurances, cradled you against him when you finally had nothing left to give.

By the time the early morning light filtered through the windows, you were drained, barely able to crawl into bed.

When you woke a few hours later, your body was still heavy with fatigue, your stomach uneasy, but you managed to push through, packing sluggishly as Dean went to check out.

You were in the bathroom, collecting your toiletries, when your gaze landed on something that made your breath hitch.

Your box of tampons.

Unopened.

A strange, uneasy feeling settled in your chest as you stared at it. Slowly, you did the math in your head, counting back the days, trying to recall the last time you’d needed them.

Two weeks late.

Your stomach flipped—not from nausea this time, but from something far more terrifying.

No. No, it was impossible.

You were on the pill. You took it religiously.

But they aren’t always foolproof, your annoying voice of reason argued.

A sharp breath left you as you stared at the box, heart hammering in your chest. However, a thought hit you. You remembered finding it on your first night here. 

Rummaging through your toiletry bag, you exhaled in relief when your fingers brushed against it. A pregnancy test. One Charlie had slipped in as a joke—a homage to her annual Twilight binge—thinking she was hilarious. And right now? You were thanking her ridiculous sense of humour.

“Right. You’re just being irrational,” you whispered, trying to calm yourself. “You just ate something bad and your body rejected it. It’ll be negative and you’ll feel real stupid for freaking out over nothing.”

Your fingers fumbled with the packaging as you ripped it open, barely noticing the way your hands shook. Luckily, you needed to pee anyway, and with a deep, steadying breath, you settled onto the toilet, slipping the stick between your legs.

When Dean returned, the sight of your half-packed suitcase made his stomach tighten. You weren’t in the main room where he’d left you.

Had you gotten sick again?

The thought unsettled him. He’d spent the entire walk back hoping last night had been a fluke—that you wouldn’t suddenly take a turn for the worse, forcing him to figure out where the hell the nearest hospital was on this island.

You looked better this morning. Tired and a little pale, but no vomiting. No fever. That had been enough to ease his nerves—until now.

Then, he saw the bathroom door slightly ajar.

Quietly, he stepped forward, pushing it open. You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head down, shoulders tense.

“Hey, is everything o—” His words died in his throat when his gaze landed on the object grasped tightly in your hands. A little white stick.

His heart spiked.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up, eyes wide and alarmed, not easing his nerves at all. 

“Dean,” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

AN: Now... I have a confession. I had originally ended this at the wedding, but inspiration struck. And maybe stubbornness to finish up with these two. So the honeymoon was added and thus the premise to... *drum roll*... The Predicament. A sequel series that will follow Dean and the reader becoming parents. That's right! This isn't the last of this pair. 🤪 Also want thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me throughout this series! I hope you're all excited for another adventure with these two! 💙

Dean Winchester/Series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

[deadbaguette]

What with the Wisdom Saga out now AND me having major Odypendio brainrot that involves Telemachus, I ended up giving him a sorta temporary design (I haven’t fully decided if I wanna adjust it) much earlier than anticipated

It’s like halfway there, and honestly it’s just me wanting to see in what ways can I make him look like his mom and dad😭 more thoughts below

I want him to look a lot more like Penelope, but there are certain qualities of Odysseus that shine through quite obviously. Namely his hair (which no matter how he or Penelope try seems to always fall similarly to the way Odysseus’ did) and if you look close enough his eyes. This is due to a personal head canon that those favoured by the gods can take on certain qualities of them (I usually do this in the form of their epithets/attributes of how they’re described), and for Athena specifically I usually give those favoured by her grey eyes (ofc this means my Odysseus and Diomedes). I imagine Telemachus’ eyes have always been somewhat grey as a result from inheriting it from his dad, but when Athena becomes more present in his life during the Odyssey they become visibly more grey.

I just want this kind of vibe where he looks so much like Penelope, but some days she’ll stare at her son a little too long while doing his hair. For just a second he looked so much like his dad and Penelope is filled with the feeling of how much she misses him. Telemachus knows this and has pointedly, for maybe both his own and his mom’s sake, kept it reasonably short. On the fence abt giving him facial hair but here’s what it would look like. If he managed to grow a beard it would look like the one Odysseus has!

I have a lot more thoughts about a dynamic between Diomedes and him, but that’s for another post for another day <3

[detachedminxsfics]

Challenge

Masterlist

Characters: Cal McCarthy x F!Reader

Summary: When another avid pool player steps onto your turf and threatens to damage your hustle at your usual dive bar, you take matters into your own hands.

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: NSFW - Implied age gap, vaginal sex, exhibitionism elements, public bathroom sex, praise, dirty talk, dilfy cowboy (damn you jdm)

A/N: Oh boy, it has been SO long since I have been able to finish writing anything, but for the first time in forever last night I returned to one my many unfinished oneshots and somehow managed to finish this one. I'm quite rusty so I do apologise in advance. 😭

Scanning the room for the third time in the last hour you look over the rowdy, mostly drunk patrons of the bar you'd been frequenting for the past month or so, idly tapping the side of your glass as your eyes settled on a particular man. You mostly came here to scope out poor, unsuspecting dudes who would confidently empty their wallets thinking there was no way in hell you could beat them in a game of pool, only for you to do exactly that without letting them shoot a single shot and then collect your prize money whilst your defeated opponent grumbled something under their breath. Rinse and repeat, though tonight seemed to be panning out a little differently. More often than not it was the same guys, a couple of regulars and the occasional newcomers that would let their arrogance get the best of them allowing you to clean them out before they even knew it, but it would seem you had some competition. Cal, as the people who murmured in disdain before handing him their money had called him, was gathering a couple of twenty dollar bills from the pool table to join the plenty of others he had already collected tonight, folding them and stuffing them into his pocket. He sets his pool cue down before picking up his cream cowboy hat from one of the adjacent pool tables, then places it on his head and fishes a pack of Marlboros from his pocket before heading to one of the doors that leads out back. You couldn't tell if it was the irritation that someone was trying to beat you at your own game on your stomping grounds, or if it was the fact that the bastard was handsome as hell too, but you needed to beat him. 

Sliding off of the bar stool you'd made yourself comfortable on you adjusted the skirt of your dress that had hiked up a little from sitting down, then retrieved a pool cue and headed to the nearest available pool table, the one that your mystery man had just left. You didn't have to wait too long, Cal returning through the same door he had left from and immediately looking in the direction of the pool table he had just left, which he had also propped his cue up against. He notices you leaning up against it and locks eyes with you prompting you to give him the sweetest smile you can manage, beckoning him over with your hand. When he reaches you there's a grin playing on his lips, and you try not to let yourself be distracted by how much more appealing he is up close. He's wearing a black shirt that's unbuttoned just enough to expose some dark curls of chest hair, his sleeves rolled up to reveal some of the tattoos decorating his forearm, which sit prettily against some of the veins running up his arm too. His grey beard which mostly darkens above his top lip also didn't do you any favours when it came to focusing on the glorious win you were determined to secure, this guy was totally your type.

“Hope I didn't leave you waiting too long, darlin',” he drawls, the accent alone enough to sabotage your entire idea.

“Not at all, I was hoping you're up for a game of nine-ball. Say, fifty dollars to whoever wins?”

He playfully places his hand over his heart and exhales, “A woman after my own heart. You're on, I could never say no to some nine-ball.”

And you knew he couldn't either. In the time that you'd been observing the room, it was practically all he had played. He clearly had a preference for it and you'd need him to feel as though he had this in the bag. He rounds the table to where he'd left his cue and then chalks it whilst you rack the balls, lifting it and setting it aside afterwards. Cal positions his cue ball on the table and then passes you yours, both of you leaning down and then taking your shot to determine who goes first. Whether you got the first go or not didn't matter too much since you planned on letting him win this first game anyway. You needed him to feel confident in a rematch, to get him to a point where he felt as though he could double his winnings without so much as breaking a sweat. Yours was closest to the top rail meaning you got to start, so Cal removed his cue ball and set it aside.

“How long have you been playing for, Cal?” You ask as you lean down and position the cue, you couldn't deny that a part of you was curious about him.

“Oh, a good long while now, probably since before you were born.” He chuckles, which you pretend to find equally as funny. “How 'bout you?”

You take your shot before responding, pocketing the lowest ball.

“Four years give or take.” You reply as you move to a different side of the table and line up your shot, pocketing the second ball.

“That how long you've been playing in bars too?”

You look up at him as you try to calculate your angle, your hand resting on the surround of the pool table.

“Nope. I started in college, mostly playing at stupid frat parties. Eventually, it just wasn't challenging enough for me.”

He ran his hand over his beard as you spoke, the way his eyes were roaming over you as you leaned down to take your next shot making you feel hot all over, but you kept your composure. It was on your fifth shot that you decided it would be best to screw up, positioning the cue so that the ball would only just graze the pocket but ultimately roll back. Cal sucks his teeth as the ball rolls before coming to a stop, uncrossing his arms and making his way to your side. He places his hand on the small of your back and leans in close as if to comfort you, though the taunt that follows does anything but that.

“Well, ain't that just a damn shame. Bad luck, sweetheart.”

He softly patted where he was resting his hand a few times, and you were hoping he didn't hear the way your breath caught in your throat when he removed his hand and turned his attention back to the game. There was no denying that the man was skilled as he pocketed each remaining ball without missing a beat, maintaining eye contact with you as he leaned over and bit down on his bottom lip in concentration whilst lining up his final shot. When he'd cleared the table he straightened his back as an amused sound rumbled from his throat, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sauntered over to you expectantly.

“So, how 'bout that fifty dollars we agreed on, hon?” He reminds you proudly, the statement practically dripping with pride.

He may be one hell of a fine-looking man, but you still couldn't wait to crush him.

“Actually, I have a proposal.” You reply, the response catching Cal by surprise causing him to tilt his head.

“Go on.” He prompted, urging you to elaborate.

“I want a rematch, but this time we play for a hundred dollars.”

It was a no-brainer. Why not double your money by beating the cocky, young woman that doesn't know when to stop and can't even make it past the fifth ball?

“Are you sure? I mean you ain't half bad, but I don't want a pretty lady such as yourself goin' home empty-handed tonight. It ain't too late to cut your losses, doll.” He insists feigning concern, but there's an eagerness in his eyes that implies otherwise.

Great, not only did he pity you but now he was somehow simultaneously complimenting you and brandishing you with pet names all while stroking his ego. And yet, every little term of endearment he threw your way made it feel like the room was spinning, his eyes burning into you from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat leaving you flustered under his gaze.

“Why, too scared to put your money where your mouth is?” You taunt, knowing that would be more than enough to get him to agree to your deal.

He grins and swipes the chalk from the side of the pool table to freshen up his cue, “Oh you're on, a hundred dollars it is milady.”

After chalking up your cue as well you both position your respective balls and lean down to line up your shots, with you putting a lot more focus into it this time. You needed to go first. If you let Cal take the first shot the man would clean you out without giving you a single opportunity to play, hell you'd seen enough of that tonight to know that was exactly how it would go down. With everything riding on that very moment, you take your shots and watch to see whose cue ball ends up closer to the top rail, waiting with bated breath as they roll softly along the felt of the pool table. Yours was closest, meaning you got to take the first shot. You tried to hide your enthusiasm to not raise too much suspicion, but you were pleased that everything was going according to plan.

“Alright sweetheart, you're up.” Cal enthused, taking a seat on a nearby stool and resting the pool cue between his legs while holding it against his chest.

Cal watched closely as you pocketed every single ball flawlessly, not faltering once even when it came to the trickiest of shots. You would glance up to meet his eye now and again only to be met with the sight of him biting down on his bottom lip and a small smile playing on his lips, though his expression was hard to discern. You expected him to be irritated, and part of him probably was which was to be expected when you know you're about to be a hundred dollars down, but instead, he almost looked, impressed. When you pocketed the nine-ball you straightened your back and took slow steps towards Cal, the slightly staggered look on his face only making your victory that much more satisfying. He stands from the stool and chuckles a little in disbelief, a small sigh leaving his lips before he speaks.

“Even if you did play me for a damn fool I gotta give it to you. You sure as shit showed me.” He praises, taking one hand off the pool cue to outstretch it towards you gesturing for a handshake.

You reach out and shake his hand, desperately trying to ignore how nice the rough callouses on his hand felt against your palm and the way your fingertips grazed over the tattoos adorning his knuckles. It seemed the both of you let the handshake linger a little longer than it ought to, your eyes locking in an unwavering stare as though you were trying to read each other's thoughts. Just as you parted your lips to speak he broke the eye contact and started to fumble through his pocket, retrieving a wad of bills and counting out a hundred before passing it to you. You take it with a triumphant smile and shove it in your pocket, setting the cue on the table and crossing your arms over your chest as you turn back to face him.

“So since I won, do you mind if I make a suggestion?” You start, the drink you'd had at the bar earlier providing you some very needed liquid courage.

“Shoot,” Cal replied, his gaze filled with intrigue.

You stepped towards him, wanting to be close enough that nobody else in the bar would be able to hear the filth your mouth was about to spew. With your faces close together, his gaze appearing to flicker to your lips for a fleeting moment, you whispered.

“Why don't you take me into that bathroom, and you can prove to me that you don't suck at sex as much as you do at pool, hm?”

It was bold, but truth be told you were just speaking what had been on Cal's mind the entire time he watched you effortlessly clean that pool table. Honestly? Finding someone who could actually prove to be a challenge and beat him at his own game turned him on, it was invigorating. And he hadn't exactly shied away from checking out your ass whenever you had to bend over to take a shot from the side of the pool table he was sitting at either. Cal takes his cowboy hat off and sets it on the pool table, placing the free hand not holding his pool cue on your waist and leaning in to whisper into your ear, some of his beard scratching against the side of your face.

“Oh I will, and we'll see how cocky you are when I'm balls deep inside that pretty little pussy of yours.” He discreetly pulled you against him as he rasped his dirty promise allowing you to feel the bulge pressing up against your groin, a small grunt escaping his throat as you pressed into his jeans providing him some friction.

“You talk a big game, but can you back it up?” You challenged, only hoping to rile him up even further.

His fingers curl around your wrist as he leads you towards the women’s bathroom, sparing a quick look around the bar to see if anyone would notice before he pushes the door open and leads you inside. Collectively, you scan the stalls for signs of any people and rush into the nearest available stall when it all looks to be clear, with Cal locking the door behind you both. The moment the click of the lock was heard he was on you, pinning your body against the wall of the stall and crashing his lips against yours. You work on unbuckling his belt as he slips his tongue into your mouth, the taste of the tobacco on his tongue and a hint of liquor only making you want him that much more. When his belt comes apart he doesn't hesitate in making quick work of the fly on his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing the waistband down past his hips along with his boxers allowing his cock to spring free. The fabric pools at his ankles as he hikes your skirt up enough to reveal your panties, running a finger through your clothed slit and letting out a pleased hum at the way the material was clinging to your sopping cunt.

“All this just from a game of pool? I think you were made for me.” He remarked on how wet you were, the way his thumb briefly circled over your clit making you squirm a little.

Cal takes hold of your thighs and hastily lifts you causing your arms to instinctively wrap around his neck for support as he traps you between the stall and his own body. Letting one of your legs drop slightly he reaches down to dig his fingers into your panties and push the material aside, feeling a brief prod at your entrance until he lifts his hips, a sharp gasp escaping you as he sinks into your aching hole with ease. A drawn-out groan rumbles from his throat as you take him to the hilt, his breathing heavy as he starts to move in and out of you. He sets a fast, unforgiving pace, pounding into you so deeply that your hands scramble to grasp the top of the stall which was shaking with every thrust of his hips.

“Mm look at you, takin' my cock so good. This what you wanted, baby? Is this why you wanted to impress me?”

You bite down on your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the cries you were so desperate to release, trying to cling on to what was left of your dignity as he plunged into your cunt over and over until it felt like you were seeing stars, his fingers digging into your thighs with a bruising grip as he fucked into you. There was no hiding it now, if any poor person were to walk in they would see the walls of one of the stalls shaking so hard that you were convinced it was going to break. The needy, unbridled moans that you were struggling to suppress spilling from your mouth and reverberating throughout the bathroom. You feel that familiar sensation building as he mercilessly buries his cock inside you, his mouth smashing against yours and muffling your whimpers whilst his moans also bleed into the earnest kiss.

“Fuck me, you're so tight,” Cal growled out, punctuating his words with a few particularly hard thrusts.

Your legs quiver in his grasp, your whole body overcome with a rush of heat as you grip the top of the stall so hard you're sure your knuckles have turned white. With a shameless cry of his name your orgasm washes over you, all the while he relentlessly fucks you through your release in a desperate attempt to reach his own. It doesn't take long before Cal's hips stutter, removing himself from you and letting one of your legs drop so he can stroke himself as he spills onto your inner thigh with a raspy groan. As you both bask in the ecstasy of your release all you hear is the way your heavy breaths reverberate throughout the bathroom, and the wet rush of his load slowly trickling down your thigh. Trying to regain his composure Cal pulls his jeans back up and starts doing his belt up, his eyes lifting towards you as he does. The tired, but satisfied look on your face as you come down from your high makes his lips curve into a smile.

“Best pool game I've ever lost.” He notes a tad breathless, the comment making you snort your laughter.

“Yeah? Well, get used to it, because that's not the last time you're gonna lose to me.” You retort as you reach for the toilet paper and start to clean yourself up.

“Are you challenging me, hon?” He replies amused, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Oh, you bet your ass I am.” You double down knowing you've already beaten him once and that you will surely do it again.

Cal places his hands on your hips after you've smoothed your skirt back down.

“Do I get to fuck you every time I lose? Because in that case, I might have to start losin’ more often.” He crudely quips making you roll your eyes and playfully hit his chest earning a chuckle from him.

“Hey, if that's what happens when you lose, imagine what could happen if you win.” You tease, a brazen lust filling his eyes as he mulls over your words.

He grabs your hand and unlocks the stall door, a newfound motivation to beat you at a game of pool even more so than he had before.

“Shit, let's go find out.”

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

i’ve been seeing a lot of grey-haired louis at glastonbury lately (including some grey beard hairs!!) and i am just thinking or what harry thinks about the greys. i bet he loves them and calls louis a silver fox hehe 🤭 i love them so much 💙💚

Oh my gosh, anon, HUGE SAME!! 👁👁💦

Louis' grey hair (including in his beard) has me by the THROAT

and judging by Harry complimenting the "handsome silver fox" at his show in (I think?) 2018, I can totally imagine he calls Louis that all the time, too and that he LOVES IT 🤭👀 -- someone in the tags said "Harry is being fed so good now 😭" truuuu

Harry 🤝 us

like how does Harry even survive when the weather is nipple-y, Louis' hair and beard are wonderfully greying and he's got a soft smile like this directed at him all the time? 🧎🏼

(gif credit)

also not to toot my own horny horn, but I've made a manip of it in 2015, so seeing him at Glasto🏕 was like a fever dream come true (⊙‿⊙✿)

we're on the same grey wavelength, dear anon 😌

thank you for the kind message 💖 x

[yourlocalsilly2763]

007n7 and c00lkidd fans, eat up

short(?) fic I made a few weeks ago.

I did not spellcheck this yall 😭

The sun shined in from the window, lighting the room up with a warm hue. A child sits in his bedroom playing with his toys. His skin is red due to a skin condition of his. His hair is short, fluffy and almost as red as his skin. He sports a red shirt that states ‘team c00lkidd join today’ and a colorful propeller cap. A wide smile forms on his face, practically grinning ear from ear as he uses his imagination. He giggles a bit. The colorfully decorated door, with a poster of a drakobloxxer hanging from it slowly opens. The man that arrives at his door is the boys father. A relatively stocky man with a short beard and glasses. He wears a shirt of a character from a meme, as requested by his son that day. He also sports a wristwatch, a belt and some blue jeans. On his head is a hat shaped like a burger and a smiley face on top of it. He checks up on his kid, a smile on his face. The room around them has a peaceful atmosphere. The man finishes talking to his child and shuts the door yet again.

He steps down the hallway and back downstairs. Blue carpet covers the floors. As he nears downstairs though, something starts to feel off. Some sort of gut instinct tells him something bad is about to happen. He wants to just ignore it for now, maybe he was just overthinking things. He shakes it off and goes to visit the living room and sit back down once again but is stopped. The walls around suddenly cave in, shrinking in and out making him dizzy. The room flashes black, his heart rate picks up sensing the room around it. To be completely honest, he’s rather anxious. He believes he might just be sick and that his mind is playing tricks on him but as the rooms continue to move and loud whirring sound picks up, everything swirls around him. He is knocked unconscious.

He lays towards the ground as he wakes back up. He slowly gets up and brushes himself off. No longer is there the wooden floor below his feet but rather, dirt. He looks around finding himself in a place he doesn’t recognize. Around him are several boxes and pillars, in front of him is a white sign that from this angle is unreadable. It is pitch black outside, so he can’t see too much. But, he isn’t really concerned with that right now. If he has no idea where he is, who’s going to take care of his son? He had just suddenly vanished from the entirety of his house altogether put in this weird place he didn’t recognize. Somehow, he had a feeling that wasn’t the case though. Kidd had to be around here somewhere, he knew it. He walks towards the white sign hoping to be able to find him if he searched long and hard enough. He read the sign once he neared it, maybe it would give him context as to where he was. The sign read ‘Brandon World’ and had a famous internet character, the epic face right next to it. Such a strange little sign. Who the hell was Brandon?

He continued to walk past walls and walls, hoping to find his son once again. He had been walking for a bit now and still hadn’t found him yet. But he was still convinced he’d be able to regardless. He walked through the dark area, past walls, trees and cars. The place was kind of unsettling, to be completely honest. Eventually, he would come upon a grey castle. It had blue banners with a red and white ‘R’ featured. A small light shone from a torch in the inside of the building, the most light he had seen since then. The castle led into long planes that led up to the top of the building. It looked rather nice, that was until people came running down quickly from its sides. They looked panicked, horrified even. One of them was badly injured. The other, presumably a comrade to the injured one, threw out a piece of pizza which he caught on to and ate which allowed him to get back up seemingly healthier. What was everybody so scared of? Had the kid been up there too? Was he.. hurt? He heard giggling coming from the top of the building. It sounded just like his kids but.. more distorted. It was almost unsettling, but he needed to find out what was going on.

He ran up the plane and to the top of the tower with all his might. He needed to know if his kid was okay, and he would go through any cost to see him again and to know he was alright. His heart pounded in his chest as he turned to face the open area that lie at the top of the castle. He hoped with everything in him that everything would be okay and that he could take away whatever was trying to cause harm to him child. But what he saw, was much more shocking. What he saw didn’t look like his son. His fluffy hair, his bright red shirt, none of it was there. Instead, he encountered a creature much larger than him. This creature was the exact same shade of red as his son was. You could its ribcabe, it had heavy arms that swung down and had sharp claws connected. His legs were more animalistic and digitigrade than before. He had a large tail that wagged behind him. His eyes appeared sunken in as the stared back down at him. His teeth were razor sharp as he smiled widely, you could say ear to ear, but quite literally this time. His claws were coated in red. He giggled, the exact same that the man had heard earlier. He looked so.. different. But something about still seemed familiar. Despite the obvious blood on his claws, it felt like the son he knew and loved had to still be in there somewhere. He was smiling innocently not even noticing what he had done. The man looked at him “s-son?”

[musette22]

So I'm looking at all the pictures that have Sebastian with the white in his beard and I can't help but think of Steve and Bucky...Steve seeing Bucky go grey and look more and more like a silver fox. As attractive as he's always been but it's also so special because Steve spent a lot time thinking he'd lost Bucky and would never get to experience this. So now he cherishes every grey hair

Oh god 😭 I love this. I love it sooo much. Stuff like this gets me right in the Stucky feels. I can perfectly imagine Steve watching Bucky all the time, his gaze lingering on those few grey hairs and the deepening laughter lines around Bucky's eyes, marvelling about the fact that he gets to have this. That he gets to see Bucky grow older, that they get to grow older together, just like he'd always hoped when they were younger, before everything.

He always gets such a soft, mushy look on his face whenever he has thoughts like that while he watches Bucky go about his daily business that Bucky only has to take one look at Steve's face to know what Steve is thinking, and he always makes sure to give Steve's hand a reassuring squeeze or give him a soft kiss, to let Steve know that he's there, and he loves him too, and he's just as thankful for the second chance they've gotten as Steve is 🥺❤️

[sunthyme]

Ah... welcome to another instalment of my headcanons. I lowkey lied again but I think my prefect will be the last of the headcanons to come out. Tyty for all the love, as always, and now...

🪶The NRC Staff🪶

Trying to find characters I hadn't already twisted for my student ocs to make my staff ones was such a pain 😭😭😭 but here they are!!

🐦‍⬛Dire Crowley🐦‍⬛

(he/it) - Bisexual

The most USELESS HEADMASTER EVER!!! God, I know his SSR card looks great but I won't pull for it istg this bitch. We could have had Sam or Crewel but nooooo...

- I wanted him to look a bit older but since we don't know his age, I didn't push it too much. No spoilers for book 7 but I assume he's probably fae or smth idk.

- You'll notice I honestly didn't change much about the staff in general but I do like most of their design already. Kept his sclera dark cause it looked cool and made the gold eyes pop.

- He talks in a weird mix of old language that literally no one uses, like hella old-fashioned, and poorly used teen lingo. He's trying... A for effort, ig.

- His house and office are super cluttered with a ton of stuff he's found throughout the years but knows exactly where things are. His memory's actually incredibly good, he's just lazy. He likes to collect teaspoons.

- Later in the story, when he starts kinda view the prefect as his kid of sorts, it starts dropping off little trinkets at Ramshackle. Various things from old photos to books with old annotations to pretty rocks. He just wants the prefect to make the dorm 'more homey'.

- I'll get into this more with my prefect design but when Crowley attended NRC (in my headcanon idk if he actually did), he was a Ramshackle student. As such, my MC is using his old uniform as he didn't have any extra ones.

- He really likes cats but they just fcuking hate him. Lucius hisses everything he see Crowley. This is why he cries himself to sleep.

Enough of my dead-beat dad, onto the good dad!

🐕Divus Crewel🐕

(he/they) Transmasc - Panasexual

The good father-figure!! I love Crewel. Also, ignore me misspelling his name in the big one, I thought it had two 'l's...

- He is my Mexican father. Idk they give like simultaneously abuelita and Mexican mom vibes and I am so here for it. (Apparently also Jewish grandma vibes according to @thearchiveofalexandria but I wouldn't know lol).

- I also think he'd be older, like late 40s/early 50s but because of those anti-ageing Mexican genes, they look like 30. (Literally, my mom gets mistaken for being that young, she's in her 50s) Gave him some gray hair at the back but don't be fooled, that's just from putting up with Crowley's bullshit. The shit that goes down in-game for sure results in a couple grey hairs for poor Crewel.

- Is the father figure I never knew I needed, well, my prefect anyway. I know my MC would go to him for anything ranging from 'Crowley's threatening to cut off my water supply!' to 'Can you help me make a Halloween costume?' and his ass always helps. Stan Papa Crewel.

Oh god, this next one was HELL ON EARTH I hate drawing masculine men...

🏈Ashton Vargas🏈

(he/him) - Heterosexual

God, I hate Vargas' og design. The worst part is it does it's job, I couldn't find much to change. Also, didn't even know he had a first name lmaooo.

- I gave him more of a beard because it looked so fcuking bad without it ong 😭😭😭 I hated this... that's pretty much all I did.

- That being said, I do think Vargas wants the best for his students. Wait. Dad-bod Vargas. Guys, I just had an epiphany.

- He's got a wife, kids in like elementary school, and like two dogs idk. I feel like he's older thirties. He's giving total family man and likes to cheer on his students like they're his kids too.

- I feel like he's got mad ADHD and it's one of the reasons he became a gym teacher, just to be constantly moving and doing stuff.

My opinion of Vargas has increased while writing this. Onto my funky uncle...

🏷️Sam Cecil🏷️

(he/they/it) Genderqueer - Asexual Aromantic

I LOVE SAM!!📢📢

- They're like mid-twenties, I don't know if they went to college but if they did, they were a business major. I gave him a last name too, idk the fact that he didn't have one made me mad. Cecil cause Dr. Facilier had a daughter named Cecilia apparently.

- I tossed in a couple more piercings and I love the idea that he has tattoos too.

- He's like the fun uncle that occasionally sponsor your weird ideas. Wanna make cookies at 3am? His store's still open. Need some Nerf guns? He's got 'em. If he says it's in stock, he will literally have anything. Don't ask, he won't answer you anyway.

- Also has crazy good like and low-key knows the future but typically drops hints in a joking manner. He's also very good at communing with the dead, sales for sessions are discounted in October.

- Incredibly rich. Probably canon given his store branches and the crazy shit he has in his shop but I felt the need to reaffirm it.

- Also supplies Ramshackle with snacks and groceries. My MC works at its shop part time in return but I firmly believe that it'd refuse to let the MC starve.

Now for the gramps,

📚Mozus Trein📚

(he/him) Transmasc - Heterosexual

- Trans old man, idk. He is to me. Also, he's both the history and literature teacher.

- Also changed pretty much nothing lol, he's just an old trans man whose sick of Crowley's bullshit (you'll notice a running theme).

- All the grandpa memes and stereotypes are so true for him. His drinks tea every afternoon, plays chess with Crewel (that's canon btw), and squints whenever you try to show him something, especially on a phone.

- He uses a flip phone mobile-y but his house has a rotary one. His daughters keep telling him to replace it but he refuses, saying modern one are too complicated. His daughters also went to Royal Blade as he originally worked there before recently transferring to NRC.

- Hates pumpkin-flavoured anything so doesn't care much for fall. Winter is his favourite season though as he loves sitting with Lucius by the window on snowy days and reading. Very academiacore, gramps.

- He totally advocated for NRC to allow students to use preferred names.

Onto the ocs!!

🪐Mèng yáo Yuan🪐

(she/they/it) Agender - Biromantic Demisexual

- First up is Mèng yáo, twisted from the Horned King from The Black Cauldron. Never seen it personally but @thearchiveofalexandria has and recommended I use its villain.

- She's Chinese and a fae of sorts so she's likely quite old, though she looks in her twenties.

- She's the astrology and philosophy teacher because I thought it would make for a good course since it's mentioned in passing in Book 4.

- She's also skilled in potionology and she and Crewel test out potions for Crewel to teach in class. She is intrigued by the concept of immortality but it's more of a passive study for her.

- She's really bad at getting jokes, though she tries. She's generally not too familiar with modern human concepts but does her best to learn.

Finally,

💎Kore Gorgon💎

(she/her) - Sapphic

- Kore is based on Madame Medusa from The Rescuers, which, fair warning, I ALSO haven't seen. I really needed villains though lol. I read the wiki page and prayed tbh.

- She's around her mid-fifties and is the Math and Physics teacher. She works to integrate known magical physics with standard math and physics and teaches such.

- Her wife is named Crystal (based on an inspo character for Madame Medusa) and they're Kyra's adoptive parents. This is a small nod to Madame Medusa having two pet crocodiles. Kyra kept her parent's names as a sort of way to remember them but likes her adoptive moms a lot too.

- Kore's name is a reference to another name for Persephone and is associated with not only 'the maiden' with the underworld as well.

- She loves shiny things and adores being dressed to the nines all the time. She has a small collect of pretty rocks and tends to decorate her classroom with various trinkets.

- She and Crewel get along super well as their personalities are rather similar. (Fun fact: Madame Medusa not only was heavily inspired by Cruella De Vil, but also served as an origin for Ursula's design.)

- She has bipolar disorder and does her best to work around it, sometimes having pre-recorded lectures if she's not able to be in person.

I'll be sharing my designs for some side and family characters tomorrow so stay tuned! Love y'all!🩷🩷🩷

[walrus150915]

Since you liked my rambling abt my random Nimona headcanons, here's part 2

- Starting off with the queen (rip), I think her white hair is actually a wig and she has some gorgeous greying tight curls under it

- There was a thingy "the Boldheart project" which was created when Bal got accepted into the Institute's knight program. "The project" followed his progress in training to figure out if commoners were able to train as good as nobles. If he completed the course successfully, the reform would be set (sry I like talking abt fantasy politics- yea, putting responsibility on a literal child to become a figure of "equality" is... Sure a strategy)

Let's stop with the politics amirite

- Ambrosius sings in the shower. First it was like quiet humming n stuff but when him and Bal start living together this guy's shower was akin to opera (hah- soap opera- get it-)

- Ambrosius would be a type of a rich dude who fantasizes about living on his own and providing for himself and having this sweet humble suburban way of life with his husband until he actually starts living this way (he's a literal nepo baby- cmon the habits will be there even if he tries being independent)

Ambrosius: Bal, I don't get why I keep burning my bread! It's the second time I fail!

Ballister: Practice makes perfect, darling

Ambrosius: But these KitKoters make it look so easy😭😭

- He catches up gradually tho. Bal is very understanding, Nimona is having a lot of fun with this

- Does fun include bullying Ambrosius for not knowing how to remove plants to the bigger pots?. Yea kinda

- Nimona's hanging out with the kingdom's kids from time to time. She goes out of her way to make them laugh or make them feel happy in general. It heals her inner child, in a way

- Even though she hangs out with them from a perspective of a cool older shapeshifting punk sibling, she still feels like their peer and can't help but transform into her child form sometimes

- idk I think Nimona shapeshifts into a child pretty often if she feels overwhelmed or emotionally devastated or just wants to be taken care of

- Ballister does take care of her

Wow this got sad fast. Anyway

- Ambrosius is left-handed but was forced to relearn because the perfect descendant of Gloreth cannot be left-handed, it's abnormal🤓

- Ballister can't help but go 😬 when either Ambrosius or Nimona take food with their left hand while eating. Yeah technically eating with his flesh hand would be easier for him. No he won't do that for the life of him (saying hi to all Muslims out there)

- Ballister decides to grow out a real beard and Nimona thinks it's the coolest thing ever to play with during their family quality time. Ambrosius also likes this change in his looks but for rather uh... gay different reasons😁

If we're talking about gay stuff I might just as well talk abt some Goldenheart hcs

- When they've only started dating Ballister had a really difficult time with the eye contact bc Ambrosius's loving gaze was too much to handle for him. He'd see how gentle and soft his eyes are and how they're filled with complete adoration to the top and just look away all blushy and smitten

- I think we as a fandom agree that Ambrosius's love language is arm chopping physical touch. Have you considered how important kisses can be to him in expressing his love tho

- Ambrosius LOVES kissing Ballister. He's probably kissed him everywhere if you think about it-

- But yea. He steals kisses from Bal as often as he can. Boo goes to work? Kiss him goodbye. Boo gets back? Kiss him goodhi - doesn't matter where😉

- His favorite place to kiss is probably Bal's neck bc he just likes nuzzling into it and making him all flustered

- Ballister loves kissing Ambrosius as well. His favorite thing ever is press kisses into Ambrosius's hair while they're lying down on the couch, Ambrosius's head on Ballister's chest n his arms around Ballister's torso. It makes them both feel very soft and warm and safe❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

- (teenage years) You know this type thing when kittens playfully fight each other and jump onto each other and bite and stuff? Yea that's teenage Goldenheart

- (a little older than teenage years) current sparring trend in the writer part of the fandom. That's it. You know damn well what I'm talking about

- At some point their private training sessions became the reason they succeeded in combat and got the highest of marks

Okay gay stuff is over

- Nimona has some pretty dark humor but draws the line at the things that could really trigger her or other people. Joking about burning everything down? Of course. Joking about... Well... The act 3 of the movie? Nope, never

- Nate Knight (do ya remember him?) does drag in his off-duty time haha RuPaul hi

- Ballister snores in his sleep bc he's a dad like that

- Ballister also is a type of dad to sleep on the couch while watching TV, and when you turn it off he wakes up and tells you he's been watching it this whole time

- Both Nimona and Ambrosius encourage Ballister to speak his mother tongue more often bc he used to hide it at the Institute

- Nimona scrunches her nose when she tries to remember things

- Ballister snaps his fingers while remembering stuff, especially in "Huh... What's the word for..." situations (he just like me fr)

- Nimona loves biting pencils and pens but sometimes she bites too hard and they break in half or something

- I feel like her stomach is iron. This punk can eat an eraser or swallow a knife or drink lava-hot water and all she'll do is burp maybe

- After leaving the Institute Ambrosius would have one hell of existential crisis. All he's dedicated his life to for all these years were lies and propaganda, what's the purpose of his life now? He tries out as many new things as he can - baking, painting, singing, playing musical instruments, photography, even science (with Bal's help ofc) my dude has tried it all. He sometimes felt worthless bc his life had no greater purpose but Bal and Nimona would reassure him that living happily with people who love him is more than enough and that you don't have to be the greatest person ever to live the best life. Find joy in the smallest of things n stuff😌

- Ballister has found ways to renovate his arm and made a bunch of new prosthetics for different purposes. I feel like he'd use a hook as well sometimes (as I've heard from the disabled community, hook is a very comfortable aid). No I'm not talking about that one post about his prosthetic's... renovations (😳) from the fan acc I follow

On this quite interesting note I'll end the post😁

Gn!!

[snotbuggle]

Hoe. Lee. Fuck.

That was a lot- good god where do I start? (Major spoilers for pretty much everything vvv)

I was super concerned about Wrecker since he was struggling so much… BUT CROSSHAIR?!?! CX-2 WAS SO SALTY (which I kinda find a little funny) HE FUCKING CHOPPED OFF CROSSHAIR’S HAND?! ALSO CROSS SAYING CLONE FORCE 99 DIED WITH TECH AND HE DESERVES TO GO IN ALONE?????? AND ECHO MY MAN YOU HAVE TO STOP WORRYING ME- I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO DIE LIKE FIVE DIFFERENT TIMES. He literally got stabbed in the back and he kept walking around and ripped it out like it wasn’t shit. Also him and Wrecker teamwork? Not something we got to see a lot. The first poor prison clone who got shot broke my heart ohh my goodness. CX-2 I’m content with being a random guy. Kinda funny how he died not being able to touch the ground with his tippy toes though. ALSO RAMPART’S DEATH LMAOOOO- And Hemlock’s? Beautiful. They did not stop shooting until his ass was gone. I am sad about Scorch though… BUT NO TIME FOR THAT WHEN WE GET A CROSSHAIR HUG AND THEN A GROUP HUG WITH HUNTER AND OMEGA AND CROSSHAIR AND THEN OMEGA RESTING HER HEAD ON HUNTER’S ARM. ALSO OMEGA AND ECHO 😭

“Omega let the Zillo beast out!”

“How do you know????”

“That’s what I would do!” *is so so proud*

I can’t tell you how much I love his reflection onto her. This is the SECOND TIME the boys were like “Echo or Omega.” “Probably Omega.” If some crazy shit happens it’s one of them. Omega’s the primary suspect, but Echo’s a close secondary.

ALSO LMAO DID OMEGA DRUG THIS BITCH SCALDER?????

THE CLONES HAVING MEALS FROM THE VENDOR?! Oh my lord they were so adorable I love them. Let these men EAT.

Older Hunter… he’s exactly how we imagined. The hair, the beard, the grey streaks—I swear all of the fanart of how people envisioned him is either a pixel copy or real darn close.

And older Omega? I’m kinda disappointed she became a rebellion pilot. I always imagined her fighting the evils outside of the Empire. Like Tech. Either way though, she has her treasures + a metal puppy. She’s probably got Hera out there somewhere too.

Man… my heart was racing through almost all the episode. But now we have some more ends so… Rex spin off series with Echo…??? (Just don’t kill my man)

Anyways this show will always be something so special to me. It’s sad to see it come to a close, but I’m satisfied with it for the most part. We got our happy ending ish. Force be with you.

[midnight-drip]

sketches for @skrimbled 's epic roleswap au, with a little of my own ramblings and ideas :)

If you're unfamiliar, the premise for this au is that,

-Polites takes Odysseus' place. He's the captain, and generally tends to lead with kindness, but his general drawbacks are that he is too trusting and doesn't always think things through.

-Odysseus takes Eurylochus' role as second-in-command. He reminds Polites to be cautious and typically does more of the planning.

-Eurylochus takes Polites' place. He plays a very similar role as he does in canon, being Polites' voice of reason and not letting him jump onto everything headfirst. He dies in the cyclops cave, causing Polites to begin doubting his whole "open arms" thing (he's never had to deal with one of his crew dying before.)

Hopefully I explained that well haha. Anyways, on to the drawings :)

Anything plot-relevant from here on is my own headcanon, btw, and not necessarily canon to the au because it is not mine

here are my designs for the main 3 :)

and them later on in the show (underworld saga and act 2) I really love the designs that give Odysseus Polites' headband after his death, and I wanted to do something similar. So, after Eurylochus dies, Polites replaces his red headband with the navy blue one that Eurylochus kept tied around his arm. Also, Odysseus is getting grey hairs due to stress, and they become WAYYYY more noticable after Eurylochus' death. (Just realized, I forgot Ody's beard in this one 😭)

i had the idea that instead of Athena, in this au Hestia would be Polites' patron goddess. (which is why the clasps on Poli's cloak have little chaste flower designs on them!!) I did two different designs for her. I think that she was pretty upset with him already because of all the things he did in the Trojan War, and she abandons him after the encounter with the cyclops, because the crew didn't give their fallen men a proper burial with the honour they deserved.

and finally here's some assorted sketches. These were made before I created the actual designs, hence the slight differences in the way characters look (specifically Ody, I originally wanted to give him a hairstyle sort of like Trucy from Ace Attorney but decided against it). Also, I forgot to include it in the other drawings, but Polites has a bow. He doesn't start carrying it on him consistently until after their encounter with Poseidon.

[missmungoe]

Please help, I am looking for the scene where Makino and the crew are reunited and they all line up for her to inspect how much they have changed. I absolutely cannot remember which fic it is from 😭

I've got you, anon! That would be the opening scene of chapter 2 of Tethered to Kinder Shores<3

Their return to her necessitated a thorough inspection, but then after ten years there were more than a few changes between them, although in some respects, very little had changed, Shanks thought, observing as she walked the length of her bar from pirate to pirate, his whole crew having cheekily lined up for her to inspect, standing at attention like fresh navy cadets, some elbowing others out of the way to get to the head of the line.

“Hey, I was first!”

“I’m older!”

“I’m better looking!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Yeah,” Shanks said, observing the spectacle from his seat at the bar, those who hadn’t lined up standing ready to do so, but the note of warning went unheeded, met instead with grins, and a prim look from Makino as each pirate bent down for her examination.

Changes were catalogued―beards and ill-conceived moustaches, deeper laugh-lines and grey hairs, tattoos and scars and missing fingers. Ben’s silver mane was noted, with that demure little smile that managed to say more than ten years of teasing from the rest of them combined, but, “It looks dignified,” Makino said, considering their first mate where he stood, his arms crossed and his long-suffering expression conveying that he should be above this kind of foolery, but he’d still lined up like the rest of them.

“Hear that, Ben?” Yasopp shot in, grinning as he leaned close. “Our efforts paid off!”

“I’m so pleased,” Ben deadpanned, although the grin jutting around his cigarette ruined it somewhat.

Undeterred by their teasing, “Many women love a silver fox,” Makino pointed out.

That got their attention, as every head down the line turned to look at their first mate, some of their younger members muttering under their breaths, raking their fingers through their own hair. For his part, Ben just grinned.

“Not everyone needs the silver hair to be a fox,” Shanks said. “Red foxes are a thing.” He swept his hand across himself, and saw how her eyes darted to his half-bared chest. “Exhibit A.”

“Don’t speak too soon, Boss!” a voice called from down the line. “We’ve all seen them!”

“Won’t be long now!”

Spluttering, Shanks flipped them off, although catching Makino's eyes, didn’t think she looked so opposed to the thought, and his look softened as he let their cheeky insubordination slide.

She’d stopped before Yasopp, whose grin said enough about his own assessment, as he turned this way and that to give her a better look.

“Don’t hold back,” he said, as he flexed for good measure.

“You probably should hold back,” Limejuice said.

“For all our sakes,” Snake agreed.

Her eyes smiled, and, “You look spry,” Makino chirped, and had moved on before Yasopp could choke out a reaction, his laughter chased by theirs.

Stopping before him, “Lucky Roo,” Makino said warmly, as he beamed down at her. “You haven’t changed.” Then to the hulking figure beside him, so tall even craning her neck couldn’t meet his eyes, but she didn’t cower, only said, prim, “Bonk Punch.”

That grin usually sent their enemies running, although the look in his eyes was softer, as, “Little monkey,” Bonk Punch returned, his teeth bared, but his fearsome expression faltered when Makino reached up, her palm pressed to his cheek, tilting it a bit to inspect the new scars mapping it. And she said nothing, only saw them, but Shanks knew how it felt to be in the direct trajectory of that look.

Reaching out to touch the top of her head, Bonk Punch just grinned, although Shanks saw how his fingers shook, brushing her kerchief.

Monstar chittered then, climbing down from Bonk Punch's shoulders to hers, his tail curling around her neck as she laughed.

From his seat at the bar, Shanks watched as she moved on, a gentle captain where she walked down the line, tiny compared to every single pirate in his crew, but fearless as she made a point of inspecting them all, like eager cabin boys on their first voyage. And those she didn’t know she took the time to introduce herself, to ask their names and rank and where they came from, her face open and attentive, and in that way that could turn even a sea-weary sailor flustered, and no pirate who’d been in his crew when they’d left her showed surprise at the gentle deference she compelled with only a smile and a few words.

"What do I call you?" she asked the pirate beaming down at her.

"Rockstar, mistress."

She laughed. "Please, just 'Makino'."

"Aye, mistress. I-I mean, Makino!"

"She'd give Garp a run for his money in intimidation," Yasopp mused, observing with amusement as they straightened their backs, some even going so far as to take off their hats.

"Who do you think she learned it from?" Shanks asked.

Her inspection of his crew complete, she came to a stop before him, reclining against the counter; his favourite seat that he’d returned to claim. She was so short that even sitting, she barely reached his chin, but he felt the sudden compulsion to sit straighter in his seat as Makino said gently, “Captain.”

Smiling, “And?” Shanks asked, the roughness in his voice betraying a feeling he hadn’t counted on, but then wondered why he was surprised. “What’s your verdict, barmaid?”

Soft eyes roamed his face, noting the changes, the deeper lines and the salt in his beard, and the occasional vein of silver glimpsed between his red hair, but then for all their teasing, the grey hairs were the least of his worries, observing her thorough inspection, before those doe-brown eyes met his.

He realised he was holding his breath, but before he could release it, a small hand reached for his chin, a touch so gentle it seized his whole body, as she tipped it.

Then Makino smiled, and quipped, “You’ll do.”

His laugh choked from him, and her demure cheek lasted only a second before her grin ruined it, even as the look in her eyes remained; the one that said all he needed to know, but then even if he’d acknowledged his own differences, the one change he’d feared was the way she looked at him.

Still, “This is what I get for my efforts,” Shanks sighed, as she brushed her thumb through his beard. “Didn’t wash or shave for a few days just so I’d look especially rugged for you.”

Makino hummed. “That explains the smell.”

“Hey, you’re going to have to deal with a lot worse when you come out to sea with us,” Shanks reminded her. “Consider this a trial run.”

Her smile brimmed, a feeling in it that couldn’t be contained, and turning his cheek to kiss her fingers, he felt how they shook, but then the reminder had been deliberate, because they hadn’t just come back to her; they’d come back for her.

Turning to her crowded bar, barely big enough to seat all of them now, “It’s quite the crew you’ve brought me this time, Emperor Red-Hair,” Makino said.

He tried not to latch onto the moniker, but then with her, he’d only ever been Captain, but like the salt in his beard and his scars, it was a change, to be acknowledged and catalogued like the rest.

Shanks looked at them all, wearing those stupid grins. “Rogues and vagabonds,” he said. “It’s a wonder I manage to keep them all in line.”

“You manage?” Ben asked.

Ignoring him, “It really says something about my leadership skills,” Shanks said.

Her grin was too sincere to be teasing, and he felt his instinctive response to it, as ridiculously gratified as it had ever been. “And you?” Makino asked him. “Who keeps you in line, my lord of vagabonds?”

He really shouldn’t be so pleased, but it was hard with that look on her face. “I thought it might be a nice challenge for you,” Shanks said. “Shake your quiet life up a bit.”

Her smile trembled, and this time there was no teasing in her voice as Makino said, “You’ve always been good at that.”

A tender beat passed, their eyes holding. And he didn’t fear what she found now, his changes acknowledged but with a fearless acceptance that made his fingers itch to pull her into a crushing kiss, which he might have done, had they been alone.

His gaze shifting sideways found his crew grinning at them, but his chagrin wasn’t even half-convincing as Shanks said, “This moment would be a lot more tender if we didn’t have an audience, but then your expectations of a sweeping romance must be well-subverted by now.”

“I don’t know if I agree,” Makino said, and the words were directed at all of them as she told them fiercely, “This is everything I want.”

Their grins wavered, their silence more telling than even the glassy sheen in their eyes, and few things could render his crew speechless, but then there were few like her.

“Speaking of inspections,” Yasopp said then, leaning forward to tap her nose. “You missed one.”

She blinked. “Who?” Makino asked, turning to the room, the genuine concern that she’d forgotten someone prompting Shanks to shake his head, his grin helplessly affectionate.

“Gents?” Yasopp asked. “What say you?”

Shanks saw the moment realisation hit her, as brown eyes darted to his, but his grin offered no assistance as she was ushered into the centre of the room. But she complied as they inspected her in turn, rough hands tugging teasingly at her kerchief and her longer hair, remarking on her beauty until her cheeks were flushed and her laughter flustered as they circled her thoughtfully, her chin tilted and her spine straightened.

“This won’t do,” they sighed, their arms crossed. “No pirate I know is this cute!”

“Sitting right here, guys,” Shanks called, and was promptly ignored.

“Not enough salt in her hair,” one said, before her hands were inspected. “And no rope burns!”

“Just the one scar,” Hongou said, touching the little one bisecting her eyebrow.

“And no weapon,” Gab said, with a look at Shanks. “Unless you count the serving tray.”

“I’ve seen her wield that serving tray,” Shanks said. “I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you.”

“I taught her to shoot, too,” Yasopp shot in with a grin. “Unless you’ve forgotten?”

Her blush deepened, as though at a joke they weren’t privy to, Shanks thought with a flicker of intrigue as Makino cleared her throat, her eyes making an admirable effort of not meeting his. “I remember the basics.”

“Glad to hear it,” Yasopp said, with a grin thrown Shanks’ way as he chirped, “I’m sure Boss is, too.”

“I think I’m glad to be out of the loop on this one,” Shanks said, as Makino covered her eyes with her hand.

“But being a good shot will come in handy,” Limejuice said. “And she’s nimble, as a pirate should be.”

“She’ll be climbing aloft like a monkey in no time,” Bonk Punch agreed, to Monstar’s chittering approval.

“All that’s missing is a wanted poster,” Snake said.

“And a moniker,” Lucky added.

“If she has any sense, she’d get out while she still can,” Ben said, although the grin around his toothpick held a different assessment.

Makino endured the attention, their adoration offered without mercy where they’d surrounded her, one of the most feared crews in the world, but with her they felt none of it.

Turning towards him, her eyes sought him through the crowded room, and Shanks heard the din growing quiet, their attention on him now, and their newest member, brought before the captain of the ship.

And his own inspection wasn’t as cheeky as theirs, taking her in where she stood in the midst of his crew, a dainty anomaly among his rough and rugged men, whose grins had already named her what she was, even as it was his confirmation she sought now.

And smiling, Shanks gave it. “I’ll be expecting the mutiny any day now.”

Her grin broke, and their laughter swept her up like their hands as she shrieked, but they didn’t drop her, hoisting her up, a pirate’s initiation, and her shanty lifting with their voices, until she was blushing to the roots of her hair.

And regardless of their changes, their scars and wrinkles and grey hairs, the one thing that hadn’t changed was the way they loved her―loudly and without reserve.

[whatthefishh]

my last ask reminded me ab the thot i forgot ab lol:

facial hair

**I JUST READ YOUR REPLY AND YOU DON'T LIKE MUSTACHES???? 😭**

uhhh -- well, i write a lot of steven/miguel fics so i don't explore the facial hair aspect of oscar (even though he has the most iconic staches and beards out there) so let's discuss + lemme get you on the 'stache train with me:

Exhibit A: Llewyn Davis

this hot fucking mess has zero right to look this good. dude was literally on the verge of passing out and/or crying the whole movie. also his beard is way too well kept for him to be homeless.

tell me you wouldn't enjoy the beard burn he'd leave between your thighs or holding onto those cute curls eeee --

Exhibit B: Nathan Bateman

THIS BALD BITCH (ok -- peek at the vein in his arm...) literally doesn't need to be bald but he probably thinks he's too big-brained™️ for hair or something idk.

he could literally kiss me until my whole mouth area and chin turn red and i wouldn't care 😭. he'd probably be a dick and rub himself all over me just to irritate my skin (i'm sensitive) then tease me ab it after.

let's face it, dude would look magnificent eating ice cream (or dripping with heat as he lifts his face from my -----) uhhh ok next

Exhibit C: Blue Jones

yeah, he looks like a slut. i mean the porn stache really just staples the word "pimp" onto his forehead. he's definitely more into himself than anyone else and he looks like a class A pervert, but i'd still hit it tho 💀

NEXT!

Exhibit D: Duke Leto and Jonathan Levy

i put them together bc of their full beards and hair. both give off 'have a family but still ready to fuck' vibes, but jonathan is softer and domestic 🥺

look at those beards and how well they frame his lips, it's like he's FORCING you to look 🫠 AND THE GREEYING HAIRRR EEEEE I NEED

LAST ONE -> EXHIBIT EEEEE: THE FUCKING BEARD HE HAD DURING THE TF PRESS TOUR

"this is powerful"

"clean shaven 5 days ago" -- ok but why would he say that??? does he wants me to collapse??? does he want to be bitten???

i genuinely lost track of the reasoning behind this ask (i'm sleep deprived and deliriously screaming ab this man) idk if i like facial hair or if it's just irresistible on him...either way i wanna feel it everywhere 😵‍💫

Omg em!! I absolutely adore beards especially Oscar’s!!! It’s the moustache only look that I’m always eek about and yet I still pine after Blue Jones 😂😳

I need to watch Inside Llewyn Davis still, I know I’ve got some catching up to do but his beard does look ridiculously well kept for a homeless guy you’re right.

Nathan Batsman’s beard is something I’m a very open whore about yes to the carpet burnnnnnnn

Jonathan levy is the perfect example of just like… ‘Messy academic hot man that I want to make even more of a mess of’. That’s a type, right? Adore. Esp the greys!!!! I love the fucking greys!!! Father of my children!!!

The god damn TF interviews ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

He said that because he wants you to know that he knows exactly what he says and does to us.

Yes to facial hair especially on Oscar. Just the stache on other men get the fuck away from me 😂

[musette22]

Minnie, I know that the new pics of Sebastian are black and white so I might be completely off base here, but it seems like he might have some greys in his hair and now I'm thinking of how distinguished they'll make him look, while knowing that he still manages to be a cute kitten. I don't know if what I said made any sense or not...I'm overwhelmed with the new photos and how happy he looks in them

Oh you are making complete sense, honey. I definitely see it too, whether it's natural or just the lighting (I think it's probably the latter, but who knows). The grey has been pretty noticeable his beard for a few years now, though it's getting stronger lately, but his hair hasn't quite gotten the silver fox memo yet... but maybe it's starting to? 👀

I would definitely not be opposed that, he will look absolutely phenomenal once his hair will be noticeably streaked with grey 😭 I've been dreaming about it ever since the left pic below dropped, there was just something about it that kinda screamed dilf, and the older he gets, the stronger the screaming gets too lmao. He'll always be a cute kitten too though, you're absolutely right 💓

But like seriously.... man..... can you believe how utterly beautiful this man is??? 💔

[adelphenium]

do you have a fave player to draw from each team? or if you haven’t drawn a player from each team (/maybe even if you have and he wasn’t your fave) who do you think they would be?

ahh this is gonna be a long one! i'm taking you at your word and listing one from every team..... under the cut :D

also i've divided it up based on the teams each player was on when i drew them!

favourite players i have drawn, by team:

East

sens: definitely chabby! however i will also note that i have not yet drawn timmy in a finished piece and i am very much aware of how criminal that is. i will try to rectify this soon.

canadiens: i haven't drawn many but probably pk!

leafs: auston bc he's got really nice distinctive features! conversely i don't like drawing mitchy bc he's too conventionally attractive :( another forbidden answer is bertuzzi . he was so rancid i HAD to draw him and it was admittedly fun.. but it was only a one-time thing.....

panthers: matty tkachuk!

bruins: sway! he's got the sweetest face BUT so too does ully.. hm..

red wings: dylan larkin, gorgeous nose

pens: s. crosby, legendary nose

flyers: nolpat! love his blush and lashes and terrifyingly blue eyes

canes: brady skjei in all his grey glory <3

devils: nico!!! amazing brows

West

avs: natemac, no question. PHENOMENAL nose, dare i say the best. though cale is a close second!

wild: kirill!!! squishy and doughy

jets: i've only drawn heller and his HUGE ears but it was still fun

stars: robo my beloved!! though seggy kinda reminds me of mtkachuk (?just me??) so he's been fun too

chicago: so far only seth jones

oilers: i Cannot Believe i'm saying this but...... connor. he seriously grew on me like a zebra mussel. i had such a hard time getting his features right at first (why is his mouth so small. why are his eyebrows Like That. what's up with his facial hair) but he's. he uh. listen davo propaganda is real and i have submitted completely to it. i love drawing him now

sharks: i've only drawn ekarlsson but he was so fun with the flow and twirly mustache

ducks: definitely jamie drysdale! i am a sucker for freckles..... praying for his contract ��

canucks: only quinn as of yet but he is fun and pretty

kraken: only matty beniers but he is extremely fun!!

knights: only mark stone so far

teams whose players i have not drawn but want to:

East

lightning: i tried drawing vasy once and it went Very Badly. i think it'll be the same for stamkos. so maybe bogo!

sabres: definitely need to draw jeff skinner!! maybe i'll draw him with ej and josty just to make myself sad

islanders: mat barzal bc he reminds me of a handsome version of br*ndon urie

rangers: zibanejad!! i'm quite fond of him bc he looks like a male bearded version of one of my friends 😭

caps: nicke or sonny!

blue jackets: i don't really know these guys but maybe gaudreau.. he always looks a little freaked out, so. interesting

West

yotes: matt dumba! he reminds me of another one of my friends

preds: erm.... i gotta say ryan o'reilly. he's very pretty to me and i don't really know anyone else on the preds......

blues: brandon saad, super cute smile!

flames: i've drawn matty tkachuk while he was on the flames but he's otherwise represented on the list so i don't think he counts..!! so maybe naz or hanny?

kings: either kopitar or pld!

i really like to draw players with distinctive faces, but i am extremely partial to those i've emotionally imprinted on.. as well as those i've already drawn multiple times...... you can see i've got a bit of an eastern atlantic bias haha

[goongiveusnothing]

people are using that recent photo to say he has a full beard now, like? full beard? it’s the same pube hair but more grown out 😭 still super patchy too😭i think they’re just desperate to find something to say because saying “he looks so good” is too far from the truth at this point

this is so true. there's nothing to say anymore. they can't congratulate him on any updates on his career or life so they gotta start pretending that having a patchy beard is now a thing to discuss in their fandom. at the same time while ignoring all his grey hairs in his beard.