#in a different way than watching as a kid

[sangunary]

Sillouethe Of Your Soul.

BatFam x Neglected Reader.

SYPNOSIS: How could anyone missed something they've never had.

WARNING: NOT FOR SENSETIVE PEOPLE OR WHO HATE GORE. (Daddy issue incoming)

Some abuser never realised the extent of their actions nor do they try to understand the person they have hurt, they relish in being in power to chain an angel on Earth with them so they won't feel so envious of it's wings.

Some don't realise their own abused, the harsh word that left wounds deep inside their sweet angel's heart, their silhouette ligures around the house but their soul were never present... They do not understand that their own actions have consequences that hurt more than themselves.

You were abused in the silent ways, no one to cheer you own, no one to help you sleep, no one to love you.

You would watch a family so happy and perfect just that they were your family and you felt like watching as their perfection together formed an art while you watched. Just another audience watching a beautiful art.

"She was an angel"

Bruce began as he sit inside his office that left somewhere empty now... The guy who he was talking was from CPS conducting an interview after your death.

"I should have realised... she wasn't a bird like the rest, she was an angel who just needs some encouragement to fly"

Bruce was better at nursing helpless birds than an angel. He's been a father for more than he could remember but he never took onto consideration on how some kid's aren't all birds and he gave up so soon... After he realised he could nurture you like a bird.

"I would watch her silently, I couldn't realise what I was doing wrong... I didn't knew how to raise a bird like her and I realised something was wrong with her."

You would sit there at the side quietly as the rest of the family played around treating you like a ghost. Their playful banter and smile never reached yourside, you were treated like a guest at your own home.

"I kept trying tho, I pushed and pushed trying to force her to open her wings... Like the rest of the family, but it wouldn't budge"

Bruce would watch as he ordered you to do certain thing's that no one else had to, doing everybody else laundry, extra studies, outside tuition and even excluding you from certain family function.

He knew you weren't strong enough to be a vigilante, that's why the rest of your siblings have a hard time being near you... Your life were different. You were just too 'odd' to be include as a family to them.

"I never knew how much it hurt her..."

You could barely hold back your tears sometimes, everyone get the idle father but to you he was never a father he was just an instructor... Who clearly have favourite.

"I told Alfred to stop making food for her... To learn how to survive on her own, she was already weak I thought I was helping her survive"

You would stood there your eyes looking into the abyss, everyone had their plate on the table yet yours was missing. They did not asked or have a single concern as they happily ate their meal... As your flesh began to decay.

Every Christmas you were gone nowhere to be seen but everyone carried on their life like you were never there at the first place.

Your bones were crushed, your blood being drained slowly as their smile and laughter taunt you.

Why? Why would you ever missed something you never had?

You've spent your whole life without them. Why would you suddenly need them, they were heros... They were obliged to love everyone but you were being singled out.

"I don't know why she didn't scream when they dunk her head into the water"

The brutal scene of your death, some thugs decided to kidnapped you for money but when they realised your family nor the bats were coming they used you to fulfill twisted dreams.

Your wrist was red and some soft skin were pelling off. Tears, sweat and snot on your face as you begged God to save you.

Tim got kidnapped before and he was saved before an hour.. You've been down here for six hours, bruised and broken.

You thought for once that your family would show some mercy and come but they didn't, left you behind in the hands of two merciless people.

For six hour straight you've been beaten, they dunked your head into some cold water and before you could passed out and just let go they would pull your head back.

Your clothes were torn and dirty, your body was aching and there was a fine line of cut on your neck as blood wouldn't stop spewing out of it. Your fingers were mostly broken and you're been hit with a rench which left your jaw broken and your head bleeding.

"Dad...I, mis-ed u..."

You could barely speak but you used the bit of your strength on calling for your father, for him to embrace you in your dying moment... That's what you've wanted for a long time .

Memories flash across your mind as your breath began to slow down. You've watched alot of movies, you always wanted your father to pick you up into the sky and told you that he loved you.

The way a father would look at their daughter and be proud of. Everybody had a father by their side growing up atleast in your eyes, the one to hold their hands while they cheer, the one to embrace them when they accomplish even the smallest of thing.

But, he was never a present father to you. Ever award you won the only thing you care for was your father, you looked into the crowd of faces to see his proud face or just him but he wasn't there.

Unlike everyone else who had a father holding their hands to guide them through the darkness you only had yourself. Every compliment felt meaningless and every compliment was replaced with untold hatred.

"I couldn't stop myself that day... I hold onto her and cried. My baby was dead"

He continued as his face show a slight sorrow but he was holding it back.

"My child, my little angel... Lifeless on the dirty street left there to be eaten by the rats... I couldn't control my tears, so many word left untold... So many praise I've kept to myself, she died thinking she was a burden."

His voice cracked as his throat began to heat up from the emotion he was trying to surpass.

Your body was left at some nearby alleyway, you were still concious when they throw your body onto the cold cement. The light of the city blended in your eyes, you lay there paralyzed soaking wet from your blood.

It was cold and empty, trying to imagine the warmth of your father, but you couldn't...You didn't know how it felt to be under a father warmth. You never had that.

All those years filled with unsaid words and tension between the two of you. You couldn't speak and he didn't knew how to care for you. You watched as he would nurture all your siblings buy you.

Every birds by his side cuddling and loving while your feathers began to fall to warmth your heart, to play the role of being loved. You sacrifice your own greatness for fatherly love.

"Her body was cold and empty, not the girl I watched grew up... Her blood were warm, like she was trying to comfort me for the last time..."

Bruce looked at his hands as he looked back at the guy, he recoll running towards the scene, pushing the GCPD aside when they tried to stop him... But a father could never be stopped when their child is at stake.

He saw your body near the trash, they threw you away like you didn't meant anything but a trash to be taken out after it was done with.

He went on his knees as he dirty his perfect suit, his hands holding onto your body as he began to sob... Your face have went pale and he could see the damage done to your jaw and the large bruise on your left eye.

The bruise was swollen, purple and red colouring it... Seemed like they had hit you with something hard.

"Whoever killed her treated her no different from an animal. I hold onto her hands, I prayed to God to do something... I was... Late, too late to be a father to her."

"I ruined a beautiful angel... I wasn't a father... I treated her differently... I was too sucked up to understand that she needed a father and not Bruce..."

"I just, hoped that no father would do this to their child... She was my child, my angel, my baby... And I would die to bring her back and told her... I love you always"

I know this is shittu but im bored.

[lee-laurent]

Stay, It's Early - Luke Hughes

Summary: "Tess and Luke fucked!"

content: underage drinking, casual sex/situationship, slight angst, implied smut but no explicit smut, slow burn

wc: 7.2k

notes: new fic!! you guys voted for luke on the poll, so here you go!! either another luke fic or a quinn fic next :) hope you enjoyyyy

Tess Walsh was thirteen the first time she got invited to the Hughes lake house.

She wasn't there by choice, not really. She was tagging along, the only girl, the youngest by a year, the kid sister who got to come because her parents were close with the Hugheses and her brother had just joined the USNTDP. Ben Walsh was sixteen, which was a big deal in her world, and had somehow become inseparable from Jack Hughes, Trevor Zegas, and Cole Caufield seemingly overnight.

Tess wasn't part of the plan. She was an afterthought. But she packed like it mattered. Lip gloss that she only wore on special occasions, denim shorts that she thought made her look older, a stack of books she wouldn't read. The second they pulled into the driveway and she saw him-- Jack, in sandals, sunburnt, grinning with a hockey stick in hand--her stomach did a little flip.

He was the hottest boy she'd ever seen in real life. And for the next seven days, her one goal was to make him fall in love with her.

She tried everything. Sat near him at the bonfire, asked if he needed help when they carried stuff to the boat, even offered him the last popsicle like it was a normal thing that kids did. But Jack never noticed. Not really. He was nice, he was always nice, but he looked at her the same way he looked at the cooler or the bug spray. Something that was just there.

The rest of the boys didn't pay much attention to her either. They were busy, wrestling in the grass, talking shit, jumping off the docks to see who made the best splash. She couldn't keep up. When they played cards, she wasn't invited. When they took out the boat, there "wasn't room."

So she wandered.

And that's when she found Luke.

He was just a year older than her, though at the time it felt like a canyon. He was long-legged and lanky, quiet in a way the other guys weren't. When Jack was loud and electric, Luke moved in a way that made it seem like he didn't want to be noticed.

Tess found him sitting cross-legged on the dock one afternoon, flipping through a book of hockey trivia and eating Goldfish straight from the bag.

She hovered awkwardly nearby until he looked up and said, "You can sit, if you want."

So she did.

They didn't talk much, mostly just tossed crackers at seagulls. But he didn't ignore her. And he didn't treat her like a little kid, either. They played a card game later that night while the rest of the group was watching a movie too loud inside. He taught her how to shuffle right. She beat him once. He said it was luck.

The first summer ended quietly. She went home sunburned and smug, having not won Jack's heart but secretly satisfied that she hadn't spent the entire week alone.

She didn't expect the next summer to be any different.

And it wasn't. It kept going. Every year, the same week. Same lake. Same house.

The boys got older, taller, louder. She did too.

By fifteen, her crush on Jack had died the natural death most delusions suffer, slowly and with minor humiliation. She'd caught him making out with some girl on the boathouse steps and spent the rest of the night pretending to be violently interested in marshmallows. The next morning, she tore out the page in her diary where she'd drawn a heart around his name and never looked back.

But even after the crush dissolved, Tess kept coming.

Because somewhere between year one and year three, this thing, the group, the lake, the ritual, became hers too.

The parents still came, at first. Hers and the Hugheses, piling in groceries and yelling about applying sunscreen. The days were long, the nights were tame. She and Ben would share a bunk room. The boys would sneak snacks upstairs like they were being rebellious.

Then, eventually, it changed.

The parents stopped coming with.

Jack and Quinn bought a house down the road--bigger, cleaner, stocked with liquor and bad decisions. They had real money. Real lives. But every summer, they ended up at the same place.

And so did she.

Luke was always there.

They never texted. Never hung out during the year. But every summer, without fail, Tess would find herself next to him. On the dock, in the kitchen, in a shared silence that neither of them minded.

Sometimes they played cards. Sometimes they went for a swim. Sometimes they just sat together at the firepit while everyone else talked over them.

It was never more than that. They didn't flirt. They didn't get flirty.

But they were comfortable together.

Ben used to tease her about it when they were younger. "Your boyfriend's waiting on the dock again." And she'd roll her eyes like it was the dumbest joke ever told.

Luke never reacted to it.

She figured that meant it didn't matter.

Now, Tess was twenty.

Ben, Jack, Trevor, Quinn, Luke, and Cole were all in the NHL. Different teams, different cities. They posted pictures with new teammates, had lives that moved fast and loud and far from anything Tess wanted to touch. But every summer, no matter where the season ended, they all came back. To the lake. To each other.

And Tess did too. Not because she was explicitly invited, but because it was still just what happened. She showed up with Ben, or sometimes they drove separately. Threw her bag in the same room. Knew which speaker worked the best. No one ever questioned it. She was just there. She belonged.

She was still the only girl most of the time. Still the one who packed extra sunscreen, remembered the bottle opener, kept the cooler from being all beer and no water. She wasn't anyone's girlfriend. She wasn't a guest.

She was just Tess.

And Luke was still Luke.

They still never crossed that invisible line. They didn't hang out outside of the summer. They didn't text or FaceTime late at night. But something had changed. Slightly. Barely noticable.

Tess noticed his eyes more. The way his voice sounded when he was tired. The way her stomach jumped a little when his fingers brushed hers as he passed her a drink.

It was nothing.

It meant... nothing.

~~

The car rumbled as Jack pulled into the driveway, the driveway of the house he and Quinn had purchased once all the NHL cheques started coming in. The place was rough around the edges, pine needles everywhere, beer caps in the grass from last year's party, but it was theirs.

It felt like summer.

Ben unbuckled in the passenger seat and grabbed the keys to open the trunk. "I swear to God, Jack, if you didn't bring enough ice again--"

"Relax, Trevor's got two more bags."

"That's not enough."

Jack glanced back at Tess through the rearview mirror, grinning. "Your brother's still a control freak, by the way."

Tess smirked and pushed her sunglasses up. "And you're still reckless. It's nice to see nothing's changed."

It was going to be like every summer before... right?

~~

The party had started before the sun went down, which meant by the time darkness actually settled over the lake, it was already loud and crowded, spilling out from the back deck into the yard.

Tess stood barefoot on the edge of the porch, a cold can of cider sweating in her hand, watching as more cars pulled into the front like the invite list never actually ended. She didn't even recognize half the people. Some were definitely teammates, a few were girlfriends, and the rest looked like townies that Jack and Trevor had collected during an earlier beer run.

Someone had a speaker with better bass than the one wired into the house. The playlist seemed to be all frat-party classics with basslines she could feel in her chest and choruses being half-screamed. Bodies moved like background noise. Solo cups were everywhere. Someone was trying to light a joint with a tiki torch.

It was chaos.

Tess took a sip, ran a hand through her hair, and leaned against the railing, eyes scanning for Ben. Or maybe Jack. Or maybe--

Luke.

He was by the coolers, bent over to grab another beer, his t-shirt stretched across his back and riding up slightly at the waist. He stood up, turned, and caught her eye. Nothing dramatic. No smile. Just a look, like he'd been waiting for her to look first.

And somehow, she always did.

Later, the pong table came out.

"Alright, let's go," Jack called out, already racking cups with the expert precision of someone who treated drinking games like real competition.

Tess found herself easily pulled in, drink in hand, cheeks warm from the alcohol and the heat and the string lights overhead. Ben was on a team with Cole. Trevor had claimed some girl from town as his partner and was already showing off like it was the national championship.

"Tess," Jack said, nodding toward the open side of the table. "You up?"

Before she could answer, Luke appeared beside her, already sipping his beer.

"I've got her," he said casually.

Something about the way he said it, like he always did, settled right into her stomach.

Tess peered up at him. "Sure you can keep up?"

Luke cocked an eyebrow. "I've carried worse."

"Rude."

"You love it."

She rolled her eyes, stepping up to the table as he moved in beside her. Their hips brushed and he didn't shift away.

They were good together. Annoyingly good. Tess had never played better, sinking cup after cup, fueled by adrenaline, laughter, and Luke's low murmurs next to her every time she lined up a shot.

"Go left," he said once, his hand on the small of her back, his mouth close to her ear.

She did and she sunk the ball, grinning from ear to ear.

And when she jumped up in celebration, he caught her waist, hands warm, fingers sliding just slightly beneath the hem of her tank top as she laughed, breathless, flushed, proud.

She didn't move right away and neither did he.

It didn't feel like a moment then. Just part of the game, part of the night, but something about it stuck.

They won three rounds straight, and talked shit the entire time. Tess couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed that hard with him or noticed how often he looked at her when she wasn't looking.

It got later, the sky got darker and the drinks got stronger.

The backyard thinned out in waves, people disappearing in the dark or stumbling down to the dock, music fading as phones died or got dropped or drowned out. The party didn't stop, not exactly. It just shifted, got sweatier, looser, lit by string lights and adrenaline.

Tess was standing in the kitchen when Luke found her again. She was reaching for a bottle of water she wasn't actually going to drink, her skin warm from beer and body heat, her pulse beating in her throat.

Luke cleaned on the counter behind her. Close. The kind of close you only noticed when you realized you didn't want to step away.

"You good?" he asked, voice low, eyes scanning her face like he already knew her answer.

She nodded. "You?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah."

They stood there for a second. The air thick between them.

It wasn't like she'd planned on it. Wasn't like he asked. It just--

"Come up with me," he said, quietly, evenly. Not a line, just an offer.

Tess looked up at him, heart beating even harder, like her body had decided before her brain could.

She didn't say anything, just followed him up the stairs.

~~

His room was a mess. Not dirty, just scattered. A hoodie on his chair, phone charge falling out of the socket, suitcase only halfway unpacked. It smelled like cologne and lake water and something Tess could only describe as Luke.

He didn't turn the light on.

The door clicked shut behind them, and then there was nothing but breath and movement.

Tess didn't think at all, she just moved. Hands on his shoulders, lips on his mouth, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt like it was something she'd done about a million times before.

He kissed like he'd wanted to for a while. Slow, then not. Deep, then messy. His hands were firm on her waist, sliding under her shirt, and pulling her against him with so much certainty it made her head spin more than the alcohol.

They didn't really speak. Didn't ask questions, didn't hesitate.

Shirt. Shorts. Bra. Gone.

Her back hit the bed and he followed. Their bodies moved like they were drunk on each other, like the last few years of their lives had been leading here and they just hadn't realized.

It wasn't soft or rough. It was just real-- urgent, wrapped in years of proximity and tension filled summers spent pretending there wasn't anything there.

And when it was over, she lay there for a second, heart still racing, chest rising and falling, fingers brushing against his as they both stared at the ceiling.

He didn't say anything and neither did she.

It was just the sound of music still faintly playing through the floorboards and the buzz of knowing that something that couldn't be taken back had just happened.

~~

Tess woke up the sound of the sliding door downstairs opening.

The breeze pushed through the cracked window, cool against her bare shoulder. Outside, waves lapped against the dock, but inside everything felt still.

Except for her heartbeat.

It thudded low and fast as she adjusted to unfamiliar surroundings, blinking against the bright slice of light cutting through the curtains. Her head was killing her. Her body ached. Not in a bad way, not like a hangover, but in a way that felt far too intimate to describe.

It took her a good five seconds to register where she was.

Two more to register why.

The freckled back facing her was the final confirmation

Luke was still asleep, turned away from her, one arm tucked under the pillow, his shoulder rising and falling with each slow breath he took. His hair was a mess. The blanket was only half covering him, slipping low across his waist.

Tess sat up slowly, holding the edge of the sheet to her chest like it would protect her from the fact that her world had just changed.

Shit.

Her clothes were on the floor. Her bra draped over a chair. Her phone was face-down by the nightstand like it had been dropped mid-mistake.

She moved as quietly as she could, heart in her throat as she slipped her shirt back on and stepped into her shorts. Every movement felt too loud. Every second felt like it was going to wake him up.

And of course -- of fucking course-- it did.

Luke stirred, groaning into the pillow, voice rough with sleep.

"Noooo, T," he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Stay... s'early..."

It didn't sound like a request. It sounded like something his half-asleep brain said on instinct, something that didn't register as real.

Tess froze for half a beat. Long enough to feel it hit. Then she grabbed her phone and slipped out the door.

The kitchen was empty when she went down. Someone had started a pot of coffee but abandoned it halfway through. The air still smelled like the night before, beer, smoke, lake water, something sweet and stale. The fridge hummed like it was trying it's hardest to stay cool.

Tess poured herself a glass of water, even though her stomach was too twisted to drink it. She kept her eyes down, focused on the sink, on the tile, on anything except the fact that she had just slept with Luke Hughes.

She didn't know what that made them. What did it make her?

~~

The rest of the house trickled awake slowly, staggered showers, groans, and sunglasses indoors. The usual post-party mess. Jack found his speaker still playing some song on loop and muttered something about brain damage. Trevor walked through the kitchen shirtless and stole a piece of toast from someone else's plate. Cole handed Tess a Tylenol and a banana like it was some sort of peace offering.

Ben looked suspiciously well-rested.

And Luke...

Luke was just quiet.

He came down last, hoodie pulled over his head, hair wet like he'd already showered. He didn't look at her. Not right away. He said hi to Jack. He fist-bumped Cole. He grabbed a coffee and leaned against the counter like it was any other day.

But it wasn't.

And Tess could feel it.

They were both playing it too cool. Both avoiding eye contact. Both pretending the air wasn't charged with something new.

And maybe no one had said anything yet. But that didn't mean they weren't noticing.

They went out on the boat around noon.

Classic lake day, load up the cooler, pile on some sunscreen, and fight over who had to sit in the middle. It was sunny, hot, and the water looked perfect. The guys were loud again, back to normal... at least on the surface.

But not for Tess.

She didn't sit near Luke. She didn't even glance at him when they boarded.

Instead, she wedged herself between Jack and Ben near the front, laughing at something Jack said, playing with the frayed edge of her towel. She wasn't trying to prove anything, But she couldn't help the way she leaned in when Jack cracked another joke. Or how she smiled too hard at her brother, like she wasn't spiralling out of control in her mind.

Luke sat near the back.

Didn't talk much.

He laughed when someone sprayed him with lake water, flipped Trevor off when he made a comment about the way he was holding his beer, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He watched Tess when she wasn't looking, or maybe she was but pretended not to be.

And when she threw her head back and laughed at something Jack said, something stupid and not even that funny, Luke looked away.

Just for a second.

But it was enough.

Enough that Jack and Ben noticed.

They didn't say anything. Not yet.

But Tess caught the way Ben looked between her and Luke when they were climbing off the boat. The way Jack raise an eyebrow when she said she was tired and disappeared inside early.

The energy was off.

Everyone could feel it. But no one had figured out why.

~~

The grill hissed with the sound of burgers cooking on the hot coals. There was a half-eaten watermelon on the table, slices of tomato on paper plates, and a long string of plastic cups with some sort of concoction in them.

The music was chiller now, giving way to lazy conversation and the sound of the bottle opener clinking against the side of the cooler. It felt like tradition. Like what evenings at the lake house were supposed to feel like.

Tess sat on the edge of the picnic table, drinking a seltzer she hadn't even asked for. Luke was close by--too close and somehow not closer enough-- leaning back a deck chair, ankles crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

They hadn't said more than ten words to each other all day. And yet, they kept finding themselves in the same orbit.

She fucking hated it.

She hated that she couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his mouth, the way he'd whispered her name. She hated that she was analyzing nothing-- a quick glance, a sip of his beer, the way he adjusted his sweatshirt.

She hated that he wasn't really looking at her.

"Hey," Quinn called out, lifting the lid on the grill. "Tess, Luke-- can you guys grab the blue cooler from the basement? The heavy one. It's full of drinks, I don't think it should be carried alone."

That would've been fine.

Normally.

Except...

"I got it," Tess stood up quickly.

"No, I'll--" Luke started at the same time.

"I mean, I can just--"

"It's fine, I've got it--"

They froze, mid-step, mid-sentence.

The group went weirdly still. Like the conversation had justed sucked the oxygen out of the air.

Even the grill sizzle felt louder than it should've.

Trevor was halfway through eating a chip and stopped mid-chew.

Cole looked up from his phone.

And Jack just squinted, a slow grin on his face.

"What was that?" he asked, pointing between the two of them.

Tess let out a breath and turned toward the house. "Nothing. I'll go."

"I can help--" Luke offered, still trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked slightly on the word help, and Tess felt it in her spine.

"Seriously, I've got it," she said.

Jack was still watching. "Why're you guys being so weird?"

Tess didn't answer. Neither did Luke.

"Okay, no, what is this?" Jack said, standing up like he needed a better angle. "That was weird, right? That wasn't just me?"

Trevor nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. "It was weird."

"Uncomfortable weird."

"Like sexual tension weird," Trevor added.

Tess stopped walking.

Luke cleared his throat. "That's not--"

"Oh my God," Jack said, eyes wide. "Did you guys fuck or something?"

Tess blinked. "What? No."

Luke shook his head. "Jesus, Jack."

"I'm justy saying!" He held up both hands, backing away like he'd just launched a grenade. "It would explain, like, everything. The boat. The kitchen this morning. The... cooler thing."

"No," Tess said, sharper this time. "We didn't."

Luke echoed a beat later. "Yeah. No."

They didn't look at each other. They didn't need to.

Jack laughed again. "Relax. I was joking. Holy shit. You two are acting like I accused you of a fucking crime."

"Coulda fooled me," Cole muttered, not even trying to be subtle.

Jack kept going, because that's what Jack does. "Can you guys even imagine if Luke and Tess fucked?"

"Jack," Ben warned lowly.

"I'm serious!" he laughed harder. "Like, picture it. Luke and Tess. That'd be wild, right?"

Trevor nodded. "We'd never recover as a group."

"There'd be rules. An NDA. Emergency separation protocols."

Tess clenched her jaw, but didn't say anything. She just turned, walked toward the house, and let the screen door slam behind her without a word.

The floor creaked under her feet as she moved down the hallway, breath caught in her throat. She didn't even care about the cooler. She just didn't want to be out there anymore.

No Jack laughing.

No NDA jokes.

No Luke being awkward.

She sighed, leaning against the bathroom counter, fingers gripping the side so tightly, her knuckles were white.

Outside, the laughter had thinned.

Ben shot Jack a look that could've melted skin.

"Nice going, dipshit."

Jack frowned. "What? It was a joke."

"You're not funny."

"She said they didn't--"

"Yeah, and you don't know how to shut the fuck up."

Jack looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't.

Luke was still standing there, hands in his pockets, silent.

Trevor cleared his throat. "So... when's the food gonna be ready?"

~~

She couldn't sleep.

Her sheets were twisted around her legs, the pillow was too hard, and her tank top was clinging to her back like it was glued there. The room was too hot. Unbearably hot. The kind of heat that made your skin itch, made all your thoughts louder, made everything feel ten times worse.

The small fan in the corner of the room buzzed but was failing miserably. She'd cracked the window open, hoping from some breeze from the lake, but all it brought was humidty and the sound of crickets. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"You're fine," she mumbled.

That was the lie she kept trying to tell herself.

She was fine. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Except it was far from it.

Her skin felt too tight. Her thoughts were looping, Jack's voice from earlier playing on repeat: "Can you imagine if Luke and Tess fucked?"

And worse: the way everyone laughed. The way Luke wouldn't look at her. The way no one really thought it was true.

Her phone screen lit up when she tapped it. 1:04 AM.

She sighed, tossed it back onto the nightstand, and ran her fingers through her braid that was frizzy and half undone from moving around.

Then she sat up.

She didn't think, just moved.

The hallway was dark and every floorboard that squeaked felt ten times louder than it did during the day. Tess walked slowly, barely breathing. Just past Jack's room, then Ben's, then Quinn's.

She stopped outside Luke's door and knocked twice, softly.

She didn't even know what she was doing. Didn't have a plan, didn't want one either.

And when the door didn't open right away, she told herself it was a sign. A warning that said Go back to bed. Sleep it off. You'll be fine.

She turned slightly, ready to head back to her room. Then it opened.

Luke stood in the doorway. Shirtless, hair pushed back like he'd just rolled over. Eyes sleepy, but alert.

They didn't speak, they didn't have to. He stepped back and she stepped in, the door shutting behind her.

She kissed him like she was angry. Like her mind was spinning and kissing him was the only thing she could do to make it stop.

He kissed her back immediately, not caring why she was there, just happy she was.

Hands found skin. Clothes hit the floor. Tess didn't care that she looked like a mess or that her hair was sticking up in all directions. Luke didn't ask nor did he pause.

This was faster than the first time. Desperate in a way that was scarily close to being emotional, but only if you looked at it for too long. So neither of them did.

His mouth was on her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone. Her fingers scraped down his back, over the ridges of his spine. She pulled him closer, as close as humanly possible.

And when it was over, when their breathing finally slowed, when her body stopped trembling, when his hand fell limp beside her on the bed, Tess didn't let herself stay.

She sat up and found her clothes. Her hair was damp with sweat, her skin too, but she didn't look at him. Just slipped everything back on and stood quietly, her back to him the entire time.

Luke was watching her, she could feel it.

But still neither of them spoke.

She opened the door and stepped into the dark of the hallway like nothing had happened.

Behind her, Luke exhaled a long, slow breath through his nose.

He ran a hand over his face, shifted onto his back, and stared at the ceiling like it held all the answers. Then he rolled over, pulled the sheet over his hip, and let the weight of his exhaustion pull him under.

~~

It was supposed to just be another day on the water.

At least that was the plan: warm sun, cold drinks, bodies stretched out on towels, lake water that cooled you off in a perfect way. One of those golden afternoons that made summer feel endless.

But everything was off.

Tess felt it in her chest the moment she stepped foot on the boat. The sky was clear, the music was low, the beer was cold... but the space between her and luke was still thick with this tension neither of them wanted to discuss.

They stil weren't talking.

She had said "morning" when they crossed paths in the hallway and he'd nodded, but that was it. They hadn't looked at each other since.

Now, out on the water, Tess sat between Jack and Ben at the bow, sunglasses on, jaw tight, pretend the sun was the reason she wasn't talking. Luke was at the other end of the boat, legs stretched out, talking to Trevor about something Tess couldn't hear and probably didn't want to.

He looked completely fine. Relaxed.

Like he hadn't pulled her shirt over her head last night, pressed his mouth to her throat, whispered her name a thousand times over.

She tried not to look at him. She tried really, really hard.

"Alright, let's go," Trevor said, standing up and clapping his hands. "Time to take a swim. It's too fucking hot."

Cole nodded, kicking off his sandals. "Last one in has to take out the trash tonight!"

Jack was already pulling his shirt over his head. "You're the one who left like four empty White Claws in the bottom of the cooler. You're already on trash duty, bro."

Tess didn't move. She wasn't ready to swim, especially with that many eyes on her.

Trevor turned to Luke. "You in or what?"

Luke shrugged, set his drink down, and reached for the hem of his shirt like it was nothing.

And then... chaos.

The moment his shirt came off, the energy shifted.

The guys didn't even attempt to play it cool.

"OH MY GOD," Jack shouted first, loud and dramatic, pointing like he'd just spotted the Loch Ness monster.

Trevor's eyes were wide. "No fucking way."

"Yo--Luke," Cole barked. "What the hell happened to your back?"

Tess froze.

Luke stood there, shirt in his hand, calm as ever, but the red marks were impossible to miss.

Three long, arching scratches carved into the skin between his shoulder blades. One trailing toward his ribs and one that was faintly bruiesd.

They weren't from a fall or a tree branch. They were from her. And everyone knew it. Everyone saw it.

Jack covered his mouth like he was trying not to laugh. "We fucking knew it."

Trevor pointed at Tess. "Knew it! I said it yesterday!"

Cole looked stunned. "Dude. Dude. Luke."

Luke didn't say anything, just smirked.

A slow, cocky half-smile that said "yeah, you're right" without needing a word.

Tess felt the heat crawl up the back of her neck before she could even react.

Her skin was on fire. Her brain short-circuited. Her stomach turned as every guy on the boat looked at her with the same expression--disbelief, amusement, and the worst of all... curiosity.

Jack was grinning like a fucking maniac. "So you're not denying it now?"

Luke just cocked an eyebrow.

"I KNEW IT," Trevor yelled. "That's why they were acting all weird yesterday! And why she wouldn't even look at you at the bbq!"

Cole leaned back against his seat like he was watching a movie. "I feel like we've uncovered something we weren't supposed to see. Like Area 51."

Tess didn't say a word. She couldn't. She stared straight ahead, face bright red, lips pressed together so tightly it hurt. She didn't look at Luke, didn't look at anyone.

If she pretended hard enough, maybe it wasn't happening.

Jack leaned toward Luke like a kid asking about his older brother's crush. "Okay but how did it happen? Was it the pong game? Was it--"

"Jack." Ben's voice cut through, sharp.

Everyone paused.

Ben was staring at the water, jaw tight. Not saying anything else. Just shaking his head slightly like he was trying to physically rattle the thoughts from his skull.

Then finally...

"Ew. That's my fucking sister."

Jack blinked. "Oh. Shit. Right."

Trevor held up his hands. "Yeah. My bad. Respectfully."

Cole nodded. "Respectfully."

Luke scratched the back of his neck, still smirking, still very much not sorry.

Jack elbowed Ben gently. "Hey, at least it's Luke. Coulda been worse."

Ben shot him a look that said say one more word and I'll throw you off this boat.

Jack nodded. "Right, shutting up."

The boat rocked gently in the silence that followed. Luke sat back down. Tess still hadn't moved. The scratches were still there. Undeniable. And so was everything else they weren't talking about.

~~

Trevor and Jack were still out on the dock laughing about god-knows-what and there was music playing in the living room. Tess was standing in the hallway upstairs, a half-finished glass of water in hand, wearing one of Ben's old t-shirts and trying not to replay the events of the day over and over again in her mind.

The scratche. The boat. The guys losing it. Luke's stupid smug face. Her silence.

She'd avoided everyone the second they got back to the shore. Took a long shower and didn't come down for dinner. She let the weight of the last two days press heavy against her chest and she didn't know if it was embarrassment making her sweat or the heat.

She was just about to head to bed when she heard it.

"T."

Ben's voice. She turned and he was cleaning against the wall near her room, arms crossed, hair wet from a shower, socks mismatched like always.

Tess cocked a brow. "What."

He didn't answer right away, just looked at her like he was trying to figure out how to even begin.

"Okay," she said slowly. "You're being weird. Stop."

Ben pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "I'm not mad."

Tess blinked. "Okay... cool?"

"I just need to know," he said lowly. "Is he messing with you?"

That stopped her.

She stared at him, completely stunned.

Then let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Seriously?"

"I mean it, Tess."

"You think someone would only hook up with me if it was a joke?" Her voice cracked slightly, hurt underneath. "God. Your ego is fucking insane."

Ben flinched. Just barely, but it was there.

Tess shook her head. "You really think I'm that easy to mess with? That I don't know what I'm doing?"

"That's not what I said."

"Yeah, but it's what you meant."

Silence. The hallway felt colder or maybe just heavier.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling.

"Look," he said. "It's not that I don't think you can handle yourself. I know you can. I do. But I've known Luke since he was like fourteen. And guys, especially hockey guys, don't always think before they do shit. I just..."

He trailed off.

Tess leaned against the wall, the glass in her hand sweating. She hadn't even taken a sip.

"I just don't want you to get your feelings hurt."

Her chest felt tight, because that part was real. That was her brother. Too many pucks to the head, their mom always said. All heart, no filter.

Tess sighed. "I'm not an idiot, Ben."

"I didn't say you were."

"And I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're worried about."

Ben made a face. "Jesus, don't say it like that."

"I'm just saying--"

"Don't say anything," he cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying really hard not to picture any of it and you're making it worse."

She cracked a smile, despite herself.

Ben groaned. "I'm literally going to drown myself in the lake."

"Tell Trevor to hold your ankles. He'll do it."

Ben snorted. "He'd charge money for that."

They were quiet for a second. Then softer...

"Are you okay?"

Tess looked at him. Not like the guy who used to throw her in the pool fully clothed or steal her fries or make fun of her for crying during The Notebook.

Just... Ben.

And in spite of everything, the embarrassment, the mess, the aching confusion in her chest, she nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay."

Ben looked at her for another beat, like he was checking. Then he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, tight and fast, like he was trying not to make it a thing.

"You better be," he mumbled.

Tess rolled her eyes. "Okay, you can let go now. You're sweating on me."

"Don't act like you're not loving this moment."

"I'll throw you off the boat tomorrow."

"Respectfully?"

"Respectfully."

~~

Tess stood in the hallway, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, staring at the door in front of her. Luke's door. It wasn't the first time she'd stood there, not even the second. But this time felt different.

He still hadn't said anything to her, even after the boat. He hadn't spared her a look at dinner either.

And still, she was standing there.

Not because she wanted sex. Not even because she really wanted him. She just wanted to know. She was so fucking tired of not knowing.

She knocked once and then opened the door.

Luke was sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, hoodie on with the hood up, phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly, but he stopped halfway when the door opened.

He looked up as she entered, no reaction.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey."

She stood there, looking at him for a few seconds before deciding to speak her mind.

"I need to ask you something."

Luke shifted, lowering his phone. "Okay."

Tess walked closer, sat on the edge of the bed, far enough to breathe, but close enough to feel a little uneasy.

She looked down at her hands. "Is this just... being horny?"

He blinked. "What?"

"This," she gestured vaguely between them. "Is it just... being horny? The summer? Being stuck in the same house for too long?"

Luke didn't answer right away.

She went on. "Are we bored? Or lonely? Or is this--"

"Something?" he offered quietly.

Tess nodded. "Yeah. Something."

Luke leaned forward, eyes on the floor.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "Maybe it's all of that."

Tess exhaled slowly. "Feels like I should know, but I don't."

"Me neither."

"When did it get weird?"

Luke gave her a small smile. "You mean when it did it just stop being a normal summer?"

"Yeah."

He thought for a second. "I think I always kind of noticed you. But not like... that. Not until last year. Maybe the year before."

"Seriously?"

"You were always just Ben's little sister," he said, almost apologetically. "Then you weren't."

Tess leaned back on her hands. "Jack was my first crush, you know."

Luke snorted. "No shit. You followed him around like a lost dog."

"I was thirteen."

"You were obsessed."

She shoved his knee gently. "Shut up."

Luke's smiled lingered.

"I used to think you were annoying," she said. "Like, irritating little-brother energy."

"Thanks."

"But now..." Tess trailed off. "Now I think I'm screwed."

Luke looked at her. Really looked at her.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

She laughed once, quietly, surprised by how tired she felt all of a sudden. Like the weight of pretending had finally taken it's toll on her body.

Luke reached out and gently touched her knee.

It wasn't a move. He wasn't trying to start anything. It was just comforting. And maybe that's what made it different.

She lay back on the bed eventually, not in a rush.

He shifted beside her, pulled off his hoodie, and turned down the lamp until the room went dim and soft. Tess curled into his side, one arm tucked under her head.

"Is this a mistake?" she asked, barely a whisper.

"Probably."

She turned her head, meeting his eyes.

"But you don't want me to leave, do you?"

He didn't answer.

She moved closer and his arm slid under her neck. Her hand settled on his chest and slowly, her breathing evened out.

Sleep came easier than she expected.

Luke stayed awake a little longer. He looked down at her--her face calm, lips parted, lashes dark against her cheeks--and sighed.

Because he was so fucked.

~~

Newark was colder than Tess had expected. It wasn't even winter yet, just late November, but the air bit through her coat as she walked out of the arena. She pulled her scarf tighter, phone buzzing in hand as she walked past waves of Devils fans in black and red merch, all filing out of the building.

The game had been good, fast, full of chirps and shoulder checks. Ben's team had lost by one, but it was close, and no one had dropped the gloves, so it didn't qualify as a complete disaster.

Tess had spent most of the night in the family section, hood up, hat down, trying not to think too hard about who was on the ice. Ben, obiously. But also Luke.

Luke, 43. Luke, who had two assists and chewed so much on his mouth guard Tess thought it was going to fall out onto the ice.

Now, the crowd was thinning. And her phone buzzed again.

Lukey: Meet me by the players' lot. Black BMW SUV. Five minutes

Tess smiled to herself and headed back toward the arena.'

The car door opened as soon as she reached it. Luke was in the driver's seat, damp hair curling at the ends, post-game flush still on his face.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You looked good tonight," she said casually, buckling in.

Luke smirked. "You stalking me now?"

"You sent me your location."

He shrugged. "You found the car. Still counts."

Tess smiled. "Thought you were gone lose your mouth guard tonight. You chew on it like a fucking dog."

"You noticed?"

"Yeah."

Luke laughed, low and tired. "Stalker."

"Whatever."

They didn't go anywhere fancy. Just circled once, went through a drive-thru, and headed to her hotel without really discussing it. By the time they reached the room, Tess had kicked off her boots, dropped her bag, and was already tugging off her scarf while Luke stood in the doorway like he wasn't sure if he could let himself in.

She turned to him.

"You gonna stand there all night or...?"

That was all it took.

Her lips were on his, her hands under his Devils hoodie, his fingers brushing her jaw. Making up for months of not seeing each other in meer seconds.

They made it to the bed eventually, Tess settling into the fluffy hotel pillows. She laughed into his mouth as he tried to say something cocky, but she cut him off with a kiss before he could finish.

"Still think this is just a summer thing?" she whispered, biting gently at his bottom lip.

"Shut up," he mumbled.

After, they didn't rush to get dressed. Didn't rush to separate.

Tess lay on her stomach, the sheet half-draped over her hips, cheek pressed into the pillow. Luke was beside her, tracing slow, lazy shapes on her bare back with his fingertips--circles, lines, a crooked heart.

Her eyes were closed. Not asleep, just still.

"Hey," he murmured.

"Mm?"

"You gonna be here tomorrow?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then, "No, I'm flying home in the morning."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it.

"Come to bed," she said softly.

He shifted under the covers, pulling her close, one arm slung over her waist. Their legs tangled, her hand finding his out of instinct.

~~

Luke rolled carefully, one arm bracing himself as he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shirt on the floor.

Tess blinked awake behind him, hair mussed, eyes still heavy.

She watched him in the morning light, broad back, sleep-creased skin, fading marks from her nails still visible if you knew where to look.

He moved to stand--

"Noooo," she mumbled, voice sleepy. "Lu... stay."

He froze. Turned.

She pulled the blanket higher, one eye barely open. "S'early..."

Luke stared at her, lips parted, heartbeat in his throat.

Because he knew what that was.

His line. From the first morning. The one he hadn't really meant to say.

Tess buried her face in the pillow. "Don't look at me like that."

He smiled, shaking his head.

And laid back down beside her.

[incorrectcalex]

i'm really bored rn, so i'm gonna answer those questions based on what i think abt how was their wedding. (don't mind my english, not my 1st language 😭)

Alex was the one that first brought it up while they were watching Wedding Factory, suddenly asking Casey, 'If we ever get married, would you choose a classical wedding cake or something like, I don't know, a HotWheels Speedway themed cake?' and Casey, being Casey, just stared at Alex with the biggest puppy eyes she'd ever seen, simply saying 'You'd like to marry me somewhere in the future?'.

And what it was just a silly doubt in between a show, became a heartwarming conversation about their expectations for their future.

After three years, when Casey cleared a space of her closet for Alex to move in, she decided it was time. They had been living together for a couple of months when she decided to celebrate Valentine's day differently. She planned a whole trip for them, so Alex, being the smartass she is, wouldn't guess what Casey was doing.

First, they shared breakfast in bed, eating fruits and pancakes before they started packing to spend the night out. Their first parade was in a flower shop, where Casey had bought her a pink dahlia and lily bouquet, Alex's favorites with a mug trinket for her bracelet, simbolizing their first date in a coffee shop.

They had two other parades after that. One so they could have lunch at a random restaurant so that Alex wouldn't suspect and the other at a grocery store, so Casey could buy marshmellows. Alex tried to take any information off of Casey so she could know where they were heading to, but she always avoided the question with another one, and honestly, Alex was getting anxious just like a little kid asking their parents if they arrived at their destiny.

Finally, when the sun was starting to set, they got to a camping area, where, without explaining much, Casey asked Alex for help to tidy up the tent and light the fire and a very confused, but excited Alex tried her best to fill up the air mattress while Casey finished the tent.

Casey gave Alex a match box for her to light the fire while she gathered their stuff to put inside the tent, taking advantage of Alex's distraction it as an excuse to get the ring box, stuffing it into her jacket pocket. When she went outside, She saw the fire lit and Alex had her back turned for her while and smiled, trying to focus about the repellent she was talking about.

'Yeah, of course I brought it. I couldn't have us going back to work tomorrow like we were rolling in a pool of stingers.', the redhead said jokingly, looking at the sun, that it was almost setting. Taking a deep breath, she knelt, taking the ring box out of the pocket, 'Good, because I really don't want us to be itching the whole wee-' Alex finally turned to face Casey, looking down to see her there, with a black velvet ring box opened there looking like she had just ate a whole bag of black pepper 'What are you doing?', the blonde asked silently, her face blank with shock.

'Lex, we have been together for almost five years and... God I'm terrible at this, but, do you remember when we had finally admitted that we actually liked each other and you said something like, "we're gays, Casey, if there's something that we can't do is pretend that being public about it isn't dangerous. But I'm willing to try if you also want to laugh in the face of danger with me", and I can't see a better way of doing it than marrying with you, so... Alexandra Cabot, would you like to marry me?', she finally proposed, seeing the blonde chuckle, crying a bit as she stared at Casey's gleamy eyes 'Have I ever said how much I love the Disney freak you are? Of course I do!'

And they hugged after Casey puts the engagement ring on her finger. It was a private and simple moment, but it was just perfect for them.

Their rings were just perfect for them. Nothing too flashy, but nothing too simple, either. 👇 ( pinterest pic ofc )

The wedding was planned by them. They wanted it to be perfect and to have a little touch of both. Like, the classic tradition of something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue and a sixpence in your shoe was Alex's idea, but having a picture wall was totally Casey's ( they literally decided those things the morning after the proposal ).

They didn't tell a soul about it until they were back in town. They came at the precint with smiles bigger than the room, Olivia was surely the first to tease about it, 'It seems like someone had a good weekend', she said, looking at both of them and they giggled as they looked at each other just like high school sweethearts.

'Well, yeah, I guess it was good, what do you think, Lexie?', she stared at her now fiancée, that just smiled back, looking at Liv 'I think so, but now my hand kinda hurts, do yours too?'.

Fin and Munch had came near them, looking at them weirdly, 'What are these two up to?', the older man asked and Liv just shook her head. 'Mine does too, it must be the weight of being engaged, don't you think, love?', 'It surely is, what do you think, guys?"

And both showed their hands at them, their smiles were huge and the detectives just stared at them surprised, their smiles growing. 'Oh, my God, finally!, Liv was the first to say, hugging both of them individually, 'I'm so happy that you two weren't talking about your sex life' Munch said, listening to their laugh as he also hugged them, 'You two owe me 50 bucks, I told you it wouldn't pass this year.', Fin was the one who said it as John growled as he handed his partner the money, just like Olivia.

'Wait, you made a bet about it?', Alex was the one who asked, laughing. 'Of course, four years of taking you two being gays 24/7 and nothing about wedding?!', Liv said, 'Besides, who proposed?'

'I did. In a camping trip'. Casey smiled at the blonde, who just smiled back, looking at her soon-to-be-wife. 'Damn it, Alex! I bet on you!' Liv complained, giving twenty to Munch and Fin. 'What can I say? Casey was faster than me!'.

The planning endured for two very stressful years where they gathered money enough for the ceremony, reception and their honeymoon. It was hard, but they finally had, not only the money, but everything planned and set for their wedding to happen. And with the planning, they chose their bestmen and maids of honor.

Alex chose Huang and Olivia, her best friends since forever. Huang was the first gay man that was actually open about his sexuality and that made her have the courage to actually accept herself, meanwhile Olivia was the one that encouraged her to talk to Casey about her feelings and actually admit them to her. Without them, Alex probably would never give herself an opportunity to this relationship.

Meanwhile Casey chose Munch to be her bestman and Mary to be her maid of honor. They were the ones that made her realize that she was in love with Alex and that, even though Casey's religion said otherwise, she could love other woman romantically and that that wasn't a bad thing.

Munch trusted her and treated her nicely since day one and not only that, but they actually trusted her work and her intuition and that was something that she really valued on their friendship.

And Mary, the woman who guided her when she first started working as a prosecutor... she was the one that made all of that happen, even if they didn't knew that at the time they met. She was the one that didn't let her give up on being a prosecutor and that was what led Casey to be where she was today.

They didn't really know what to do, but they preferred to make a simple invitation in their own handwriting in a box with a bottle of wine to each one of them and invite them to a small dinner at their house. In the middle of the conversation, the couple gave the box with each one of their names to them, smiling when they accepted with a very pleasant smile on their faces.

It was simple, but seeing their reactions, it definetly couldn't have been better.

Both of them knew that it wouldn't be easy to make the guest list. Not because they were unsure of who they should invite, but because they knew exactly who they couldn't have there. Alex was her parent's only kid, so when they died, she didn't had anyone of her family to invite besides her uncle Bill, his wife and their kid. She surely wanted her parents to be there and the worst part is that this was something that she couldn't even change.

It was hard, of course, but she knew, or at least tried to believe, that they would be there somewhere, cheering for her.

Casey also was okay with every friend they invited to, the problem was that she also didn't had anyone of her family to be there for her. Her entire family is catholic, the kind of catholic that would scream at you if they saw a rainbow drawing on your notebook.

Both of them knew it would be difficult do handle their absense, but they were glad to have their chosen family by their side.

manip out of my manip acc on insta!! @/caseycabvt_

When the day finally arrived, they were surely a pile of nerves and happiness. It was like half of them were about to faint while the other was running around the house screaming "I'M GETTING MARRIED! I'M GETTING MARRIED", while their maids of honor tried to calm them down.

Alex's uncle decided to give his backyard so they could get married. It was a large place, and, as there weren't many guests, there was still plenty of space for them to dance and enjoy the ceremony and the after party.

The ceremony happened as the sun started to set. Fin was the one who held the ceremony, having obtained his license online the day before, pretending the whole time he didn't want to cry for being the chosen one to marry his best friends.

Huang was the one that got in charge to take care of their rings while Mary would hold their bouquets when they exchanged their vowels.

Liv and Munch were the ones who carried them to the aisle, where both of them met with huge smiles in their faces, wattery eyes and shaky hands. They couldn't stop looking at each other, both clearly too stunned to say something more than "I love you" before they walked together through the aisle.

'We're reunited this evening to not just celebrate love and the union of the brides, but also courage. We know how hard it is to actually have the strenght to admit and show everyone that you love someone who has the same gender as you. It was hard, all of us know how much you two tried to hide your feelings, not that they were successful, you were terrible, actually', he said, hearing both giggle, 'but the day finally came and we couldn't even say it wasn't true love. You two had a long history and we're here today to witness you guys take this very important step for your relationship. So, without further ado; Do you, Alexandra Cabot, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?', he read what he wrote from the site script, looking at her, who couldn't stop smiling at her soon-to-be-wife, 'Yes, I do', she said with a tender voice, 'Do you, Casey Novak, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?'.

'Yes, I do.', the redhead replied, her lower lip shaking as she held her tears back. Fin stared at them with a smile in the face, trying not to cry as much as them. 'Before you exchange the rings, did you guys have anything you might want to read?', both of them nodded and Alex was the first one to take out her paper.

'God, this is unlike me, but I might sob in between the words so I hope you can understand me', she joked nervously, seeing Casey chuckle 'Well, it has been a very long decade. I got shot, went to WitSec and when I came back because my shooter was about to be prosecuted, it wasn't me the one who was about to put him behind the bars and that's what pissed me off more about it. I mean, who was that nosy redhead who had took my job so easily? And not only that, but was also very good at it. I could say I wasn't very pleased with a younger A.D.A being so good at her job that she put the man that hurted me in jail having only a ballistics results as evidence. I was intrigued by her. So when I came back permanently from WitSec, we saw each other a few times in the DA's office when she needed something from the Homicides Department. And we started chatting, the chat became an implicit flirt here and there, but we always said it was nothing when some of our friends asked. But there was something in there. At the time I wanted to pretend it wasn't what everyone was talking about. There was no love, nor attraction or tension. It was just friendship. So what that I would always smile when she laughed? Or that I would always reach out to her hand when I was distracted or that i would be the first one to smudge the sause off of her mouth corner when she was eating... and getting really close to her face while doing it? I mean, that's what friends are for. Besides that, how could I fall in love with someone that rolls a baseball bat for fun? But I mean, when she does it... thank god I'm able to watch it. Well, it took me a lot of "or what?"s for me to realize that I had fall in love with her and this got me so freaked out that I had to take a moment to calm myself down and figure it out what to do with that information. And then, one day we went out to grab a few drinks with the squad, we drank a lot of cheap beer and when we realized, we were kissing in the back of my car after telling our friends we were heading home, even though in opposite ways from each other. No wonder nobody believed us. Well, the morning after we talked so much about our feelings that I think we learned more about each other in a day than we had in like, two years. That day was the day we swore to laugh in the face of danger together and I guess this day finally came. I love you, Casey. And I can't wait to spend the rest of our lives calling you my wife."

The redhead laughed and cried during the whole speech, trying her best to not smudge her makeup. 'God, can't I kiss this woman already?', she asked as she chuckled, 'Not until I say so. I'm your highness until the party begins', Fin said while puffing out his chest, as a sign of false superiority, 'I'm regretting the traditionalism now' she mumbled, trying to shake her anxiousness off.

'I suck when it comes to sharing my feelings, but I swear I really tried my best. Alexandra Cabot was like a myth when I first started at the DA's office, they talked about her appearance, her mannerisms and her talent to win a case with little to no evidence but at the same tome they admired her, it also came with the "beware of the Ice Queen" warning and, to be honest, the 25 year old me got scared like a puppy to even bump into her at the courthouse or even the DA's office and it never happened. But it happened a few years later and, to be fair, I never knew if it was the WitSec that changed it or the people who talked about her that exaggerated, but I could never see Alex as an Ice Queen. She was the most kind, loving and caring person I could ever met and, even when she had all her deffenses up, she had the most warming gleam in her eyes, like the ones we see in literature but I could never understand quite exactly what the authors meant until I looked into those blue eyes. And, being honest, you know when you promise yourself that you would never fall for that especific person and you're already there? Well, that's what happened. I swore to my life that I would never let myself fool for those perfect blue eyes, neither for that beautiful smile, but guys, I wasn't fooled by them, I drowned in those eyes and found safety in that smile but I still couldn't let myself admit it. I mean, come on, how could I ever admit that when I wasn't even sure about myself? I did tried my best to hide it and to shove it deep down my guts and it kinda helped, for like, five minutes and I was already drooling over how I loved to watch her talk about anything she was interested in, because, if you see Alex talking about Star Wars, you'll surely see how her eyes gleam and how her voice goes up and she starts to make those crazy teen fan faces that makes you giggle and just see how much of a child she can be behind those walls. And, I guess that wasn't only her looks and how smart and confident she is that made me fall in love with her, but also watching her eating her food after days of poorly feeding herself because of a case, or how caring she is with the victims she helps... and how she smiles with her eyes when she snuggles up with a kitten and also starts to sneeze and gets her nose all red because of the kitten's fur, the way she crying laughs at dad jokes and how she decides to paint her toe nails right before she fells asleep and wakes up with her nails smudgy and with the sheets marked all over the polish', Alex laughs, mumbling something confirming what Casey says 'I knew that way before we get involved because I actually saw her doing it, and she just brushed it off by saying it that nobody would actually look at her toes, so it was fine. Besides everything I struggled with while trying to accept I was in love with this amazing woman, I also fought with my faith. I cried everyday since I was a kid asking for God to take these feeling away from me, to make me happy with a man, not a woman. To make me feel the things for guys and not girls and for years I pretended it worked and I was fine just stealing looks and pretending it was just an admiration, until I had Alex sleeping in my shoulder, her breath hot against my cheek and I had to fight the urge to not just kiss her goodnight. It was the hardest moment for me and I kinda went on meltdown. And how was the odds of having a jewish old man helping me out in that moment,' she looked straight towards Munch, who had her eyes wattering, 'making me realize that God still loved me the same no matter who I'd chose to spend my life with... I know everything is kinda messy with this whole speech, but I think there's no way better to finish it then saying: "Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.", and I love you with all my heart, Alex. And I'm just glad I let it be rainbow with you.'

They shared a emotive smile across their faces as they held their hands, still looking at each other's eyes. Fin cleared his throat and stared at them, 'I've never seen them being this gay in my whole life.' he tried to pretend he was about to cry too, smiling clearly happy, 'Well, if anybody has anything to say against this communion, I hope you stay shut and complain at home, by yourselves. Someone? No one? Good.' they chuckled as he proceeded to read through his speech, 'Well, so you guys can know exchange your rings.

Huang came near with the small red velvet pillow in hands, which had both of their wedding rings, and as Alexandra got Casey's ring, she smiled at her soon-to-be wife, sliding it across her left ring finger, kissing on top of it, whispering 'I love you' to the redhead, who already had tear marks over her makeup. Now, Casey grabbed Alex's ring and did the exact same thing. They both stared at each other as Huang stepped aside, both of them smiling so much it almost hurted their cheeks.

'And now I pronounce you bride and bride, and you may... well, kiss!', he smiled, all of their guests standing up to applaud them as Alex held Casey's waist while the redhead cupped her wife's face and kissed her, hugging her tightly right after.

The party went great after that. They laughed, danced and, after a really long time, they remembered to threw Alex's bouquet — which landed on Munch's head and he asked proposed to a really drunk Fin, that fake cried and accepted, saying that Munch's third time getting married would be the lucky one.

They took their time after and finally flew together to their honeymoon, which they passed in Romania, learning their culture, language, and even risked to learn to dance like a professional belly dancer – no need to say they mostly had fun then actually learned anything.

Alex also recall once in a while to have someone reading what was called the gypsy oracle deck that was paint in hand by the reader's family, which talked about a very happy and long marriage and succesful carreers.

Fifteen years had passed, but Alex still hasn't forgotten about that, because that's what exactly happened. They're exactly where they wanted to be. Alex found herself helping victims of abuse and domestic violence to get through everything and even hide from their aggressors, everything backed up by law and Casey became a law teacher in HLS.

In their Fifteenth anniversary, they renewed their vows, having only the few people that lasted in their lives all those years at the ceremony and during the after party at their house.

When Alex was asked to describe their marriage in a sentence she'd say "everyday with her is a rainy day under a warm and comfortable blanket. i couldn't ask for anything better".

And when Casey was asked about it, she'd reply "being married with her it's like jogging the whole morning, just to get back at home and feel that delicious fresh coffee smell. a total rush of dopamine and endorphin".

I'd say that they make the whole marriage stuff seem easy. They have a connection that goes beyond the physical and, even with struggles, it's like they understand and can solve any problem by just sitting down and taking a deep breath. It's like a connection made by forces that goes beyond nature itself.

Wedding ask game for your newly (and not so newly) wed OTP

(made mainly with couples in mind, feel free to adapt to as many people as you want)

Who first brought up the option of marriage? Was it an easy topic?

Which one proposed? Was it grand and public? Discreet and private? Was it expected?

Show us their engagement and/or wedding rings!

Did they plan the wedding by themselves, with help, or with a professional planner?

Was the planning and time up til the wedding stressful?

Who were the first people to find out about the engagement? How did they react?

Who are the maids of honor and/or best men? Why and how were they chosen?

Was there any drama whatsoever regarding the guest list?

Show us a mood/stimboard of their wedding's general aesthetic.

Do they get married through court? Church? Third secret option?

When do they get married? Night or day? Any specific reason for either?

Do either of them play music while walking down the aisle (if they do at all)? If yes, show us their song.

Show us their outfits!

Do they follow any familiar, cultural, and/or religious traditions at any point of the wedding?

Who was the ringbearer?

Who married them?

Show us their vows. Did either of them tear up at them?

Did anyone oppose the marriage? Did they speak then, or did they just forever hold their peace?

What was the ceremony like? Any highlights?

Did anyone pass out from a food/alcohol coma?

Do they have a honeymoon? Where to? How soon after?

Do they renew their vows? Remarry, even?

If the couple could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would they?

If you could describe their wedding in a sentence, how would you?

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

So having finally gone through the main story update once, stared at the ceiling, then gone through it immediately again... I am in fucking awe. Speechless. How tf am I supposed to digest this lore drop??? I've been taking notes, gone over screenshots, gotten misty eyed over how much I love SylusMC and just augh... this has rewired the way I view a lot of things in this game.

For example... just how large part Sylus truly plays in the main story. How vital he is. He has been there from the very beginning, pulling strings, moving events along, watching, protecting... he is honestly Everythinglus atp. Universlus. Love and Deepspacelus. I cannot stress how central this man is to MC's story. No wonder he took 5 years to craft. And (loath as I am to say it) ... the gatekeeping of some of his content up 'til now kind of makes sense. His lore is just too closely tied to the main story plot (the lack of communication is still shitty though). I am still kind of shocked by this tbh because it's forced me to do a 180 on my stance re: Paperfold's feelings towards him.

This main story update is just mind blowing in different ways, sort of like Beyond Cloudfall and how that changed everything. I'll be obsessing over it for the rest of the week, at least.

Anyway, idc that it's too early in the morning for this I need to get my initial thoughts out of my system and what better way to do so than a long ass tumblr post. So yeah just gonna go ahead and wordvomit/theorize share some screenshots/details that blew my mind all the way to sunday, and also attempt a timeline b/c my autistic brain demands that of me.

(Be warned, it's long and kind of all over the place. I don't blame anyone that won't bother with it lol).

(Spoilers, obviously)

Can we talk about the SOULMATISM between SylusMC and how that is actually canon to the main story??? They reference the 10.5 grams of soul... Sylus says this

They are pretty much confirmed to still be destined archnemeses in their current timeline – they were meant to kill each other as kids/teens. But like in the myth – and honestly like always – they decided to give fate the middle finger and chose their own path together. Then they got separated but found each other again. Twice. And they always will keep finding each other. No matter which "soil" they find themselves in. They have always been soulmates. But not by fate. But by CHOICE.

I have tried to make a timeline of their relationship from what was revealed here, that I kind of think makes sense?

First, Beyond Cloudfall. Dragon!Sylus and later Dragon!MC dies, and are then reborn on the same planet. Note, that this is not earth but possibly Philos.

They are expected to fight each other to the death in the Arena. But instead they succesfully run off together. And perhaps go on to commit crimes... I am speculating this to maybe be the case because of the "even all the crimes you'll inevitably commit" line but also because of the potential scenario I mention in point 3.

At some point in time, they are separated by the Deepspace Tunnel. Either before or after the separation, Sylus is thrown into Tartarus. If it happened before, then it's possible that MC was somehow responsible for it (remember, as a child she threatens to throw Sylus into Tartarus. Which could be foreshadowing of some kind).

In whichever case, while Sylus is in Tartarus, MC has been taken to Earth – more specifically to the Gaia Research Center in the N109 Zone – where she has either regressed to or been reborn as a tiny child, and is experimented on by EVER who are after eternal life and want to use her powers to achieve it.

Sylus breaks out of jail and goes in search for MC, eventually pinpointing her location using the eye of Aether and landing in the N109 Zone in 2034 (this according to the Timelock Key). At this time, the Chronorift Catastrophe is happening and Dimitri – blaming MC for it and for the Wanderers – tries to kill her by putting her in the Deepspace Collision Chamber. But before she can succumb to it, Sylus arrives and breaks her out. He makes a deal with Dimitri to bring MC back to him in the future.

Sylus leaves MC to be raised by Josephine, and for the next 14 years he keeps watch over her from a distance (remember the giant red eye? And mephie ofc), while founding Onychinus and taking over the N109 Zone, and working on taking down EVER. He creates a special menu just for MC at Elysium, in the hopes that she will one day come there, order it, and find him.

LAR. They reunite again, but MC remembers nothing. Not their Dragon myth, nor their childhood, nor Sylus' rescue of her. Instead, she sees him as a monster and despises him.

Present time.

Now, there are some things I want to point out here re: this.

One – I was wrong about Sylus' being resurrected or reassembled. Clearly, he was reborn... but unlike MC with his past life memories intact. I also still see him as a Dragon for the same reasons I've stated before. And also because I want him to be lol. I definitely don't think he's human. Nor is MC.

Two – I still think that Sylus is older than what his profile states. Why? Because we know now that he came to earth in 2034. Fourteen years prior to LAR. Which would – if his profile age is to be taken as truth – have made him 14 at that time. Now, dgmw Sylus is crazy powerful and honestly probably could have won a gang war and perhaps even conquered a planet etc at that age. However... it does not at all line up with the descriptions nor with the visuals we have of him at that time. In the Tangible Shackles video, he is in no way shape or form a 14 year old boy. Same goes for the Anecdote – he is described there as "a tall man" and having a "deep male voice" and "striking features". That's as far as the physical descriptions go. Nowhere in the text is there a single allusion to his being a kid, but rather the opposite. And I do believe that the text would have drawn attention to him being well below legal drinking age in a story like that.

And then there is ofc the Approaching Dusk image as well as this one of him breaking MC out of the Deepspace Collision Chamber (it destroys me btw).

Just compare MC who is roughly 8-9 here to Sylus. The size difference is massive. So no, that is not a 14 year old. They are not that huge, not even a Burj Khalifa on legs like Sylus.

Anyway, what we learned re: SylusMC's lore for sure puts both of these scenes in a different light

We all thought he was talking about their Beyond Cloudfall past here.

But no.

He is more than likely talking about their childhood etc here... "you were quietly moved to another garden in a foreign land" ie their separation in the Deepspace Tunnel, when they had earlier been two flowers growing up together in the same soil and who were supposed to keep growing together and ＿|￣|●💔 yeah. Thanks for breaking my heart again with the same scenes but with new context, game...

And on this note... fuck, man, do I feel even worse for poor Sylus now. Not only did MC forget him once, but twice. While he remembers everything – Beyond Cloudfall, the Gladiator Arena, being separated from her... and also knows just what she went through with EVER. He knows in what ways the love of his life suffered at the hands of evil people.

How the fuck has this man not crashed out yet. He is as mentally and emotionally strong as he is physically powerful imo.

And then there is just his sheer love for her. All the things he did for her: Running away together. (Possibly) being imprisoned. Searching the galaxy. Rescuing her from Dimitri, and giving her a chance to have autonomy and a normal childhood for the first time in her life. Devoting his own life to taking down the organization that hurt her.

And waiting for her. Always.

But even after everything still being ready to let her go. In spite of everything.

HE LOVES HER SO MUCH SOBSADFHUJHJ

I thought I loved Sylus before this update but I swear it has made me appreciate his character even more. What sorcery is that??? You can really tell how much thought and care his team has put into crafting him and his story.

And the same goes for MC. She got fleshed out here in all the best ways and I admire her immensely. I think that line she has about hoping that she made the Gaia Researchers even for a moment see her as the child she was rather than as an object or experiment says so heartbreakingly much about her and who she is.

The two together have so many fantastic moments in this story that had me giggling and kicking my feet. I honestly think it's more romantic/hot than some of the memory/date cards. But I won't talk about it more here or now because this is already way too long lol. Will probably just make individual posts for them.

Anyway, I do want to share some screenshots I took that made me lose my shit

I noticed the patterns on the bell when I was going to take another screenshot from LAR and omfg do you guys see it too????? Tell me I'm not reaching or deluding myself????? Ouuuu Sylus team you always gag me

STAYRUS MY LOVE YOU'RE BACK

I think it's pretty funny how chill MC is about Sylus having wings like she really don't care she just rolls with it (as she does with a lot of huge revelations tbh). Unbothered Queen.

This is one of my very favorite parts of the Kindled. Look how tenderly Sylus holds her here... shielding and protecting her the way he has all these 14 years, but physically this time. And you can see how MC genuinely feels safe in his arms. Oh, how far they've come since LAR...

Anyway, I'm gonna finally leave off here with a prediction for Sylus' future myth. I have an inkling it will take place before and after they escape from the Arena and up until Sylus gets imprisoned. That makes most sense to me. We need to know what they were up to in between and what led to Sylus' imprisonment. In other words I feel like I can taste the Gladiator & the space pirate lore. If I am wrong though, I'm betting it will be a Hades & Persephone inspired one. There have been quite a few references to greek mythology after all. Gaia. Charon. The River Styx. Tartarus. Not to mention the Pomegranate imagery and references. And probably more I can't think of rn.

Oh and I'd love to hear if any of you guys have any theories or things you noticed in this update! I would not be surprised if I've missed important details.

[lustlvii]

May I request a San and Mingi x reader fic? Maybe as a Mafia AU where the reader (fem) is from the enemy family and she’s there to discuss business with them. Something ensues, tension builds.

A smutty one if possible lol. Go wild. Love ur fics and would love to be mutuals!

got some nerve. San , Mingi x Female!reader [MAFIA AU]

Including: Choi San and song mingi

Warnings: Mafia AU, threesome, double penetration, oral (m receiving), like one ass slap, name calling (slut, angel), floor sex basically, spit (MINGI DOES IT LIKE ONCE), This is long and dirty so 😍

Authors note: sorry Anon this took awhile to write!! And yes ofc let's be moots 😽😽🤭 guys I think I enjoy this 🫨 but it's also very long :(

The room smelled like burnt cigars and sandalwood cologne, thick with a silence neither of you cared to break.

You sat, legs crossed at the knee, eyes flickering between the two men at the other end of the table. Mingi leaned back, shoulder brushing San’s as he toyed with a toothpick between his lips, expression unreadable behind the dim glow of low light. San, on the other hand, was all sharp lines and smirking eyes, elbows on the table like he owned the space. Like you were already his, in some twisted way.

"You’ve got some nerve showing up alone," San said first, voice smooth but edged like a blade. "Pretty little thing from that family thinking she can waltz into our territory with demands."

You smiled. Not sweetly. Not apologetically.

"Correction," you said, fingers tapping slowly against your glass of untouched whiskey. "I came with an offer. You want to talk nerves, let’s talk about how you two didn't bring backup either."

Mingi chuckled, low and lazy. "Didn’t think we’d need any. Not for you."

"That confidence is going to get someone killed one day," you murmured.

San tilted his head. "Is that a threat?"

"Not yet."

The silence crackled between the three of you like thunder waiting to break.

San leaned forward now, gaze fixed on yours like he was trying to peel layers back with his stare alone. "You think we’re stupid? Coming in here talking truce like it doesn’t reek of setup?"

You met his gaze evenly. "I think you're smart enough to know that sometimes the enemy of your enemy is worth keeping alive."

Mingi’s eyes narrowed, finally discarding the toothpick. "You mean Jang’s crew. You want us to believe you'd rather help us than see your own family win?"

"Let’s just say…" you said, finally picking up the glass and sipping slow, "I believe in personal survival more than loyalty. And your rivals don’t discriminate when they put a bullet between someone's eyes. Family name or not."

They didn’t say anything. Not for a moment.

Then San’s tongue clicked behind his teeth. "I don’t trust you."

"You shouldn’t."

"But I want to hear more."

Mingi nodded. “You’ve got five minutes, angel.”

You set the glass down with a soft clink, the whiskey untouched again.

"Jang’s expanding. Fast. Too fast," you said, voice even, laced with something just beneath the surface — a dare, maybe. "And he’s not doing it clean. Half of his new muscle is ex-military. The other half? Trigger-happy kids with something to prove. You think this territory of yours is safe?"

San leaned back slowly, tongue pressing into the inside of his cheek. "We can handle Jang."

You nodded once. "Maybe. But how many casualties are you willing to stomach first?"

Mingi crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyes still fixed on you, watching every breath, every flicker of expression. "Why do you care? If he takes us out, that just clears the board for your people."

"My people," you scoffed under your breath, lips twisting. "Would gut me the moment it benefits them. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to survive. That’s the difference between me and them."

San’s eyes didn’t leave yours, but there was a new glint in them now. Curiosity. Maybe even respect. "And what’s your plan, little traitor?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Information. Routes. Names. I give you access to what Jang’s trying to hide. You hit them before they move. In exchange, I walk when this is over. Clean. Untouched. No ghost on my back. No bullet in mine."

Mingi let out a low whistle. "That’s a lot of trust you're asking for. Dangerous thing to gamble in our world."

"And yet," you said, standing slowly, voice lowering just enough to tighten the room’s tension like a noose, "you haven’t told me to leave."

You stepped around the table now — not rushed, not fearful — until you were standing directly across from the two of them. San’s hand twitched once near the pistol at his waist. You smiled, slow and knowing.

"Am I close enough for you to shoot, San?" you asked. "Or is it that you just don’t want me to leave yet?"

His gaze was sharp. But he didn’t answer.

Mingi sat up straighter, jaw ticking. "You’re a pretty girl with blood on your hands. We’ve killed for less than the name you carry. And yet here you are."

"Here I am," you echoed.

For a long beat, no one moved. The city outside the window pulsed like a heartbeat, muffled by the glass and the weight of what hung in the air between you all.

Finally, San stood, slow and deliberate.

"Three days," he said. "If the intel checks out, we talk again. If it doesn’t—"

"I know," you cut in. "I’ll be the one in the body bag."

Mingi chuckled again, but there was no humor in it. "You really do have some nerve."

San’s stare hadn’t moved from you since the word “walk” left your lips.

But when you stepped closer, just within arm’s reach, his fingers curled around your chin without hesitation.

“Untouched, huh?” he murmured, tilting your face up. His thumb swept over your bottom lip like he was checking for a lie. “Bet that mouth’s told more stories than your eyes ever will.”

“Want me to tell you one?” you breathed, lashes low.

San’s smirk was sharp enough to cut. “No,” he said. “I want you to show me.”

Behind you, Mingi stood as well—slower, heavier, the sound of his chair scraping against the concrete floor echoing like a countdown.

Your breath hitched.

Two predators now circled.

San’s grip slid to your throat—not choking, just holding, commanding. “On your knees, angel,” he said, voice so low it barely qualified as sound.

You sank without protest.

“Good girl,” Mingi muttered behind you, dragging his palm across your cheek once, affectionate in a twisted way.

The clink of a belt unbuckling made your stomach flutter. San tugged his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free—hard, flushed, already leaking. He tapped it twice against your lips.

“Open wide. Don’t make me ask again.”

You did.

He slid in slowly at first—almost gentle—but that mercy vanished the moment your tongue flattened against the underside of him.

San groaned, hand threading into your hair. “Fuck… just like that. Traitor’s mouth was made for this.”

Mingi crouched beside you, watching the way your cheeks hollowed as San thrust forward again, testing your limits.

“Sloppy little thing,” he muttered. “Drool’s already running down your chin.”

San chuckled, low and pleased. “You like being used, don’t you?”

You moaned around his cock, eyes fluttering shut.

“Keep them open,” he ordered, jaw tight. “Wanna see that look when you choke on it.”

He shoved deeper this time—faster—fucking your face like you weren’t someone who’d just bargained your way into a war.

You gagged once. Then twice.

And San only groaned louder. “God, that sound... makes me wanna ruin you right here.”

Mingi’s hand gripped your jaw, turning your head slightly even as San’s cock stayed buried in your throat. “Bet your cunt’s soaking, huh? Squeezing nothing but air.”

You couldn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Mingi’s fingers slid down your side, grazing over your ass as he murmured in your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’ll fix that real soon.”

San pulled out with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his tip to your lips. You gasped, swallowing air.

But you weren’t given long.

Mingi had already unzipped, dragging the thick length of his cock along your cheek before slapping it against your tongue.

“Let’s see if you can take both of us, angel,” he growled.

Mingi didn’t ease in the way San had. No warning. No gentle stroke. Just a firm grip on the back of your head and the heavy weight of his cock forcing past your lips, thick and hot and demanding.

“Keep your mouth open, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice gravelly. “Gonna fuck it the way you begged us to.”

San stood behind you now, watching—palms dragging slowly down the curve of your back to the swell of your ass, fingers digging into the flesh like he owned it.

And he did.

They both did.

Your throat protested as Mingi thrust deeper, one hand now fisted in your hair, the other guiding your jaw to take more. Drool spilled freely, strings of it falling to the floor, smearing across your chest as you choked and moaned around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “This mouth’s unreal. Wet little hole just begging to be ruined.”

Behind you, San dropped to one knee, his breath hot against your thighs.

“You hear her?” he said, voice thick with lust. “So wet I can smell it.”

Two fingers slid between your legs without warning, dragging through the mess dripping down your inner thighs.

Then—smack.

His palm landed hard on your ass. Once. Then again.

You whimpered, full of Mingi, unable to do anything but take it.

San laughed darkly. “She liked that.”

“Of course she did,” Mingi groaned. “Slut like this was made for it.”

Another slap.

San’s fingers returned, this time slipping between your folds, gathering the slick coating your cunt before bringing it to your puckered hole. He pressed, slow, teasing.

“You ever had both holes filled, angel?” he asked, dragging his tongue across the back of your thigh.

You gagged around Mingi’s cock as your body jerked, overwhelmed.

Mingi pulled out just long enough for you to breathe—and that’s when San struck.

Two fingers plunged into your pussy, curling immediately.

“Say it,” he growled in your ear. “Say you want both of us.”

“I—ah—fuck, yes—please,” you gasped, lips swollen, spit and cum slick on your chin. “Want both—please, San—please, Mingi—want it so bad—”

Mingi chuckled, mean and low. “Look at you. Begging to be split open. Your family's little traitor, getting face-fucked and dripping all over the floor like a whore.”

He slapped your face lightly, just enough to make you blink and gasp.

“Dirty little thing,” he spat. Literally. Onto your tongue. “Swallow it.”

You did.

And when you looked up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching—Mingi’s grin widened.

San was already unbuckling again, stroking his cock slow as he stood behind you, tip brushing the soaked seam of your cunt.

“This is gonna hurt, angel,” he murmured into your shoulder, aligning with no hesitation. “But you’re gonna take it. Because you said you wanted to walk away clean, right?”

He pushed in.

One thick inch after another, until your thighs trembled and your moans turned into desperate little sobs.

“Fuuuck—tight little pussy gripping me like she’s scared,” San hissed.

Your face fell forward against Mingi’s thigh as you tried to breathe, but the stretch, the pressure, the fullness—San was deep. So deep.

Then Mingi tapped your lips again.

“You’re not done, sweetheart,” he said, cock sliding along your cheek. “You’ve still got a mouth to fill.”

And just like that—you were trapped again.

Face full. Pussy full.

Used like they’d been planning it from the moment you walked in with your offer and your little whiskey glass.

San fucked you hard, steady. Deep strokes that made your legs shake.

Mingi held your face still, grunting as he used your throat like a toy.

You took it.

Like the good little traitor you were.

“You’re shaking,” San muttered against your shoulder, breath hot and full of mock sympathy. “Is it too much, baby?”

He didn’t slow down.

Not when his cock was buried to the hilt inside you, forcing needy cries from your mouth every time his hips slammed forward. Not even when Mingi shoved you down farther on his length, grip bruising at the sides of your face as you sputtered around him.

It was too much.

Your body didn’t know what to do—split open, gagging, crying, coming again and again. You were locked between them, wrecked, used, and still begging for more with every broken gasp.

“She’s squeezing me so fuckin’ tight,” San growled, digging his fingers into your hips to slam himself deeper. “Like her cunt doesn’t wanna let me go.”

Your vision blurred. Your knees nearly gave.

Mingi laughed, low and cruel. “She’s crying. Look.”

He tilted your chin up, angling your face toward the mirror on the wall.

And there she was.

You.

Mascara streaked. Mouth red and puffy. Drool and tears all over your face, tits bouncing from the force of San's thrusts behind you.

Mingi pushed back in, down your throat again without mercy.

“She looks pretty like this,�� he said, voice a rasp. “Mouth wide. Eyes wet. Body full.”

You moaned helplessly. The pain had long since blended with pleasure. It was fire. Electricity. The kind of fucking you didn’t walk away from the same.

San’s hand came around your throat.

“You asked for this, didn’t you?” he murmured. “Came in with your smart little mouth and your cold eyes—thought you could play with fire. Thought you could handle us.”

He squeezed. Just a little. Enough to make your next moan catch in your throat.

“You can handle us though, can’t you?” Mingi muttered as he pulled out with a slick pop, stroking himself in your tears. “Gonna take both now, baby. We’re not done.”

You barely nodded. Couldn’t even speak. Your body already twitched with another orgasm you hadn’t even realized was coming.

Then you felt it—San's cock sliding out of your soaked cunt, slick and hot against your thigh… and then lower.

“No—no wait—” you gasped.

“Shhh, angel,” he whispered, lining up with your ass. “Just breathe.”

Mingi kissed your temple mockingly. “You wanted both holes, didn’t you? Said it so sweet with my cock down your throat. Time to make good on that little promise.”

The stretch was unreal. Burning.

Your whole body seized as San slowly, relentlessly pushed in—while Mingi slid back inside your raw, used pussy like he belonged there.

Full.

Overwhelmed. Impaled.

You moaned.

The mirror blurred again with fresh tears, your body convulsing with overstimulation and pain and white-hot need.

“Oh my god—fuckfuckfuck—”

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” Mingi groaned, bottoming out and grinding his hips forward. “So fucking deep.”

They moved in tandem now. A rhythm so punishing it left your thoughts in ruin.

Mingi fucking up into you while San split you open from behind.

“Can feel him,” Mingi growled, eyes dark and locked on your face. “Feel him inside through your pussy. You’re stuffed so full it’s crazy.”

You couldn’t hold it.

Your body locked up—spasmed—and then broke.

You came again, harder than ever, your whole form wracked with sobs as you squirted all over Mingi’s cock, soaking both of them, the floor, your thighs.

San groaned, filthy and breathless.

“Fuck— she just gushed all over me,” San groaned, hips stuttering. His voice was wrecked now, your walls clenched around them both. “She’s still fucking pulsing—god, I’m gonna—”

His voice broke off.

You felt it.

Hot. Sudden. Thick.

San’s hands dug into your hips as he buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside your ass with a ragged growl, body locked against yours, breath trembling as he painted your insides with thick heat.

“Fuck—fuck,” he breathed.

Mingi wasn’t far behind. He snarled something sharp in Korean you barely caught—tight little slut—before he was slamming in one last time, grinding his hips as his own release flooded you.

Two loads.

Deep inside.

One in your ass, one filling your pussy to the brim, so much it was already leaking out around their cocks, dripping down your thighs in messy streaks.

Your body gave out. Utterly limp. Muscles twitching in the aftermath.

They stayed there for a moment—San pressing his forehead to your back, Mingi brushing damp strands from your ruined face.

Then San pulled out with a low hiss.

“Goddamn,” he muttered.

Mingi followed, watching the mess leak from your pussy with a look of smug satisfaction.

“Full of us,” he murmured. “Just how we like it.”

You whimpered, still trembling as the overstimulation bled into exhaustion.

San stood and grabbed your chin, forcing your dazed gaze up toward him. “You still with us, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly.

He chuckled. “Good. Because we’re not done talking.”

He helped you get up, not gently but not cruelly either. Mingi took the seat again, back to lazy posture and half-lidded eyes like he hadn’t just broken you open minutes ago.

San poured himself another drink. Lit a cigarette.

“Now,” he said, voice calm again, collected. “Jang’s main storage hub. You said you know the new route?”

You swallowed thickly, still panting. “Warehouse 39… by the docks. They rotate every five days. Next shift is tomorrow morning. 4 a.m.”

San nodded slowly. Mingi’s eyes sharpened.

“Names?” Mingi asked.

You gave them—three enforcers, one truck driver, a corrupt customs agent.

San blew out smoke toward the ceiling. “How’d you get this?”

“My brother’s burner phone,” you said, voice raw and barely audible. “He left it unlocked. Got sloppy.”

“And you just happened to be looking?”

“I was looking for anything that would keep me alive.”

Mingi smirked. “Smart girl.”

“Dangerous girl,” San corrected, eyes lingering on your wrecked body. “Traitor. Liar. But fuckable.”

You didn’t flinch.

“Still breathing, aren’t I?”

He laughed low. “Yeah. You are.”

Mingi stood and cracked his neck, eyes flicking toward San. “We move before sunrise. Hit the route before Jang even smells a rat.”

San looked back at you. “You’ll be in our custody ‘til it’s over. Insurance. Can’t have you slipping back to your side with a sweet little smile.”

You didn’t argue.

You couldn’t.

Not with your thighs still slick from cum and your body barely holding together.

You just stood there, eyes half-lidded. Waiting. Wanting.

They would use you again. Soon. You knew it.

But for now… business came first.

Writing by @lustlvii please do not translate or publish anywhere

[0ogiebo0gie]

⟡.·:̩̩̥͙✧ military grade lust ✧:̩̩̥͙·.⟡

('Fun' with Leon through the years)(x gn!Reader headcanons)

Minors DNI !!

WARNINGS: Smut, mention of BDSM, (VERY small) mention of Weapons, Breeding kink, light degradation.

I've kept this pretty GN, there's a small mention of getting you preggers, but take it with a grain of salt, bcs we all been tryna get this man preggers.

Also all art is drawn by moi! 🤪😩

As Leon S. Kennedy aged — in muscle, experience, and just a bit of emotional damage — his tastes evolved right alongside him. By the time he’s made it through the worst the world can throw at him, the usual stuff just doesn’t cut it anymore. He needs something a little… more. And lucky you — you’re exactly his type at every stage.

You can trace it in the way he touches you — how it shifts from hesitant to practiced to downright filthy. Every version of him wants you, but they all want you differently. So here’s a little journey through the years.

Name: Leon .S. Kennedy

Age: 21

Favourite Position: Missionary, standing

Favourite Location to Release: Your stomach

He’s nervous — not because he doesn’t want it, but because he really does. And he wants to do it right. Every kiss feels like a question, every touch followed by a breathless, “Is that okay?” He’s all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, looking up at you like you’re something sacred — like this is the only good thing he's had in days, and he’d rather die than mess it up.

He listens so well, too. One moan, one hitch in your breath, and he’s immediately repeating whatever made it happen. He’s inexperienced, sure, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm — always watching your face for approval, murmuring “you feel so good” like a prayer, hands trembling just a little as they explore. You could ruin him with just a look, and he’d thank you for it.

He kisses like he’s scared you’ll disappear — slow at first, reverent. Like every brush of his mouth is him trying to memorize you. His hands shake when they touch skin, but it’s not fear. It’s adrenaline. Want. Awe.

"Am I doing okay?" he whispers against your throat, voice breathy, lips still grazing your skin. He’s flushed and fidgety, hips rolling against you with the kind of desperation he doesn’t know how to hide. “Tell me if you like it—fuck, please—tell me I'm making you feel good.”

And the second you do — the second you breathe a quiet yes or tug his hair or beg him not to stop — something snaps in him. Not in a scary way. In a hungry way.

He straightens up, eyes darker now, mouth kiss-bruised and slightly parted. The rookie you were guiding seconds ago is suddenly in charge, and you realize he was holding back. All that sweetness? Still there. But now it’s laced with purpose.

He talks you through it the whole time. “You’re doing so good for me. God, you’re perfect.” He’s whiny when he gets close — almost trembling — and he begs to finish, like you could ever deny him. And when you finally give him that last little “yes,” he groans like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear it.

Praise him and he’ll melt, all flushed cheeks and bashful grins, hiding his face in your neck as he keeps going. But what really gets him? When you can’t say anything at all. When your head’s thrown back, fingers tangled in sheets or in his hair, mouth open in a breathless, choked little whimper — that’s when he really starts showing off. He’ll chuckle softly, voice low and hungry. He doesn’t just touch — he listens. Learns every hitch in your breath, every twitch in your hips, until he has you unravelling around him with nothing more than a whisper “Is that good, baby? Am I making you feel good?”

Spoiler: he always is.

You never would’ve guessed the kid fresh off his first shift could fuck like that. But then again, you were his first everything. Of course he wanted to make it unforgettable.

509 words

Name: Leon .S. Kennedy

Age: 27

Favourite Position: 69, Doggy

Favourite Location to Release: Down your throat

By now, he’s tasted blood and gunpowder more times than he can count. The world’s burned around him more than once — and if he’s being honest, the only thing that still feels real is you.

This Leon doesn't ask permission with words. He reads it in your breath, your pupils, the way your thighs shift when he looks at you a certain way. The sweetness is still there, buried under calluses and scars, but it’s different now. Rougher. A little greedy.

He likes control — but not to own you. Just to unravel you. To see what you’ll give him when you stop pretending to be polite.

He always has either cuffs or rope on hand. “Just to keep you still,” he murmurs, voice dark with amusement as he clicks them around your wrists. And he doesn’t even get inside you before he’s between your thighs, groaning like you’re his last meal. He lives for it — the mess, the noise, the way your legs shake against his shoulders. He palms himself through his jeans while he does it, that worked up just from hearing you moan his name.

And when he’s the one in your mouth? Oh, he’s ruined. Hand on your head, hips trembling with restraint, eyes locked on you like you’re holy. “Yeah, just like that,” he pants, voice tight. “God, you’re gonna kill me.” But he’s still a giver — always has been — so the second you shift toward a 69, he dives back down, already drunk on you.

It’s dirtier now, wilder. Sometimes he takes you outside — against a tree, in the backseat of a government-issued car, anywhere you’ll let him. Not for the thrill, but because he can’t wait. He’s too used to running out of time.

His praise is still there — but it’s changed. It comes out rough, filthy, just a few decibels above a growl. “That’s it. Fuck, look at you. Taking it so well. My good little slut.” The kind of praise that makes your cheeks burn, makes your thighs twitch. He doesn't just tell you how good you're doing — he shows it, grabbing your hips like he's afraid you'll slip away, fingers digging into your skin just shy of bruising. Splaying his hand across your stomach, your chest, your throat — anywhere he can touch, claim, hold.

He’s all muscle and motion now, and when he’s inside you, he moves like he’s trying to fuck the bad memories out of himself — or into you. Like maybe this is the only place he still knows what he’s doing.

But even when he's taking what he needs, he still needs you. You hear it in the way he pants your name, the way his voice breaks just a little. He still begs — only now it's deeper, rougher. “Please—please, make me cum. Need it, baby, fuck—” It’s desperate and unfiltered, and it makes your head spin.

And when you do? He loses it. Grunts, gasps, clutches at your waist like you’re keeping him alive. Bites into your shoulder just to muffle the sound he makes when he finishes — a cracked, open thing that sounds like he’s been holding it in for years.

He'll call you his favourite mess when it’s over. Run a hand down your thigh, still panting, and mutter something like, “God, look at you. So fuckin’ good for me. Think I might need another round.”

You always say yes.

Afterward, he’s quiet. Almost soft. Kisses your wrists when he takes off the cuffs. Buries his face in your neck and just breathes for a while. Because if he’s honest, touching you is the only time he doesn’t feel haunted.

618 words

Name: Leon .S. Kennedy

Age: 36

Favourite Position: mating press, horizontal cowgirl

Favourite Location to Release: Inside you

There are two sides to him now — take and give — and there’s no telling which you’ll get until your knees are already hitting the floor.

When he takes, he takes. Permission isn’t part of the equation anymore — it’s a look, a click of his fingers, a soft-spoken order that leaves no room for “no.” And if you hesitate? He’s already got you pressed to the wall, whispering filth in that sugar-slick voice of his — calling you his "dirty little slut" like it’s a compliment, tracing reverent fingers down your spine as if to bless the bruises he’s about to leave.

Blindfolds. Rope. That paddle you thought was a joke the first time he pulled it out. And his hands — God, those hands. He loves using them, whether it’s to spank you until you’re squirming or to keep your hips perfectly still while he ruins you.

He’s a menace with a mission, and when he’s in this mood, nothing — not location, not consequences — is enough to stop him. He’ll spread your thighs open in the backseat of a moving car and say, “You knew what this was when you wore that.” He’ll put his hand between your legs at a restaurant and dare you to stop him. On missions, you’re lucky if he waits until after the danger’s passed — and even then, the adrenaline only makes him rougher.

But when he’s giving? You still don’t get mercy — only more of him. He’s insatiable, a machine wound tight and built to worship, except his version of worship comes with overstimulation and filthy, breathless praise. His focus shifts, but the intensity never drops — he just channels it into you instead of himself.

And you don’t just finish. You shatter. Over and over again. He makes it his goal to watch you fall apart, to feel you shake, cry, beg for him to stop and then beg for more in the same breath. It’s fingers, tongue, toys, that cock he never shuts up about — because yeah, he’s into breeding now. He wants you full, dripping, stretched and shaking while he tells you how good you take him.

“That’s it, baby. Milk me dry. You’re my perfect little cumdump, huh? Gonna fill you up ‘til you can’t think straight. Gonna fuck a baby into you, yeah?”

He says it like it’s the truth. Like you were made for it.

And just when you think he’s had his fill, when your body’s wrung out and your voice is gone — he cracks. Just a little. A sound slips through, high and strained, a ghost of that younger whine you used to know. And somehow that’s what breaks you most of all.

Afterward, he’s rough in a different way — wiping you down with calloused hands and murmuring soft things into your shoulder like he doesn’t mean for you to hear them. He still grips you tight, even then. Still marks you like he’s scared to let go. But he holds you through the ache, through the aftershocks, through the mess he made of you.

And in the morning?

He starts again.

531 words

Leon Kennedy has always been a man of service — it’s in his blood, his bones, his goddamn reflexes. Whether it’s saving the world or making you see stars, he does it with the same kind of burning devotion, the same stubborn tenacity. And maybe he’s changed over the years — hardened in some places, sharpened in others — but that fire? That relentless need to make you feel everything? That’s eternal. From shaky hands and stammered praise to whispered filth and bruising grip, Leon’s always known how to touch — how to worship. And if you’re lucky enough to be the one on the other end of all that focus? Well. Let’s just say, you’ll never forget the way he says your name when he falls apart.

[void-star]

To be honest, it sounds like we are talking about the same things and generally agreeing upon them, but you have personal discomfort with the concept of "Privilege" and maybe a vested interest in claiming that trans masculine people unilaterally do not experience structural or social advantages for their genders.

It's also making you talk to me like I am not, myself, a transmasculine person with my own specific place in the world of passing, stealth, and visibility, which I don't love.

At any rate, very few people have unconditional access to all those things... Like, Black cis men do not have unconditional access to medical research, medical treatment, health care, employment, physical and emotional safety, housing, social acceptance of lived realities, social standing, protection of individual rights, representation in media and government, etc. I would argue they don't have access to almost all of those things, despite being cisgender and men. This is why we talk about intersectionality.

Disability, racialization, wealth class, colorism, lookism, cultural linguistic expression, religious expression, sexuality, gender conformity, and a lot of other intersectional factors including different aspects of transgender experience in general create conditions that change our levels of access to all of these things. It can be very situational, and most of them are enforced based on the external perception of you from a person in a position of authority over you.

Privilege, with a capital P here to emphasize the sociopolitical concept of class Privilege (advantages, immunities, and rights granted to the benefactors of a hierarchical societal system) as opposed to the colloquial insinuation of boon, benefit, or honor, is something that is applied to you externally-- it is not voluntarily. And it is useful when discussing the relationship between different social classes within the greater hierarchical structure. Gender is one of those classes.

These social classes are not weighted evenly, either, where Race is a stronger category of separation than Gender, for example. And it gets complicated by the intrinsic relationship and history between Gender and Race, seen in the way Black women tend to be masculinized categorically, and how conceptions of Gender are informed exclusively by European beauty standards and phenotypes (you can also see this in the difference between what is considered attractive poc in the US vs in home countries, ie. which Asian men are considered attractive in the US vs in China or Japan).

So, a Black trans man would not have unconditional access to medical research, medical treatment, health care, employment, physical and emotional safety, housing, social acceptance of lived realities, social standing, protection of individual rights, representation in media and government, etc., yes, but is this based on his gender? Does being a man prevent him from these things? Or is it because he is specifically a Black man and transgender?

One of the hardest things I have to deal with on a daily basis is that I am nonbinary in a binary world. The fact of the matter is that we are placed into a binary category regardless and it is used by other people to determine who we are and where we should/should not be in this world. So, my tags explained how some of that has been noticeable to me. I don't identify as a man (or a woman), and yet I occupy two spaces in the binary society based on context.

And just from my experience as a first gen kid of a south american immigrant in the US, watching my mother give up her language, culture, and even her name in the pursuit of the conditional benefits of assimilation into anglo and white Privilege (to avoid xenophobia and racism), and how that sets her up mentally to be aligned with people that hate on and diminish parts of who she is and how she grew up at her own detriment, it's wild to consider the stance that class Privileges are All Or Nothing, especially from the list you provided of what Privilege entails.

Very many people do hide aspects of themselves to maintain access to class Privileges if it's something that can be hidden, whether that's hiding your sexuality or transgender status, erasing your accent, disconnecting from your culture, not wearing religious clothing in public, etc. It's not a privilege (colloquial), but it is about access to pieces of class Privilege.

Transmasc transition often involves so much loss of community. Especially if you already were in feminist or queer spaces before your transition. It's not true that we gain relevant social status within patriarchial structures by transitioning (if patriarchy supported the choices of those who they see as women to be anything other than a wife and a mother/to transgress gender-norms we wouldn't have to have most of these conversations) but we do noticeably lose social status within our own community. And along with that access to safe-spaces and ressources that we need for physical and emotional safety and well-being.

[matchpointfaist]

mike x reader costar vibe i’m thinking maybe costar is playing tashi? or are we thinking more she’s playing grazi in west side story???🫣🫣 all i know is i want us to be as talented!!! he can’t be the star of the show… we are 💅 OMGGG maybe sneaking around because apparently he does that a lot? and then secretly dating on press. ideas ideas ideas.

i was enchanted to meet you <3

mike faist x costar! reader

tw not much! no smut just insinuated (this is my first time writing for mike instead of a character and i couldn’t decide how far to go hehe)

the first time you met mike faist, it was after your chemistry read. you had just stepped out of the audition room, flushed and half drenched from the july humidity. he was sitting in the lobby, hunched over his phone like a teenager waiting for a ride home from school. you recognized him immediately. he looked up as you passed, your eyes catching for only a second too long. "hey," he said, standing, "you’re tashi?” “today i am,” you shrugged, grinning. that made him smile—just a flicker, but enough. later, you’d learn that’s how mike is. always giving you just enough to want more.

filming started in the fall. boston was pretending to be new york, and the city felt like it was holding its breath—gray skies, quiet tension, leaves like dying embers scattered across sidewalks. you trained together. ate together. waited through lighting setups lying side by side on the court like kids after gym class, arms barely brushing, pretending not to notice. it was subtle at first, the way he watched you. like a note just off-key, barely audible. you told yourself you imagined it, but you knew the difference between acting and something real.

mike looked at you like he was terrified and fascinated all at once. you shot a scene in the locker room one day—tense, intimate, filled with subtext. between takes, he stayed quiet, hands on his knees, staring at the floor. "you okay?" you asked, approaching carefully. he looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "you're really good at pretending you don't know how magnetic you are," he said quietly. the air thickened, but still, you said nothing.

that night, after drinks with the cast, he found you outside your hotel room, hands buried in his coat pockets. you didn’t say a word. you just stepped back, let him in. he kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, like you might vanish if he was too greedy with you. his hands hovered until you took them and placed them on your hips. “i’ve been thinking about this since the read-through,” he whispered into your skin. “i know,” you said, voice soft, “me too,” it wasn’t wild, it wasn’t frenzied. it was slow, aching, careful—two people starved for something that scared them. after, he stayed, just to hold you, his breath against your neck, heartbeat calm.

neither of you spoke about it in the morning. from then on, everything was a negotiation. there were moments you almost reached for him in public—instincts trained from rehearsal and habit—but had to curl your hands into fists.

on set, you gave nothing away. your co-stars joked about how well you and mike "got each other," but it never went deeper. except with josh. he always saw more than he let on. "you’re different when you look at him,” he said one day during blocking, “like you’re seeing something no one else does," you didn’t reply, just stared at your mark on the floor until the moment passed. it wasn’t always easy.

there were nights he wouldn’t text. nights where you both disappeared into your separate rooms, pretending the space was normal. he had a habit of pulling away when things got too close. "i don’t want to hurt you," he told you one night, back pressed to the wall, eyes full of guilt. "you’re not hurting me," you replied, though your throat felt tight. "you don’t know that," you walked up to him, placed a hand over his heart. “this is already mine. so whatever happens—it’s too late to undo it,” he kissed you like an apology, like a thank you. like surrender.

when the press tour began, everything shifted. photoshoots. interviews. staged candids. every headline speculating who was hooking up with who. and you and mike? perfectly professional. behind closed doors, though, he was quieter. you’d find him curled on hotel couches reading scripts he wouldn’t let you see yet. he’d brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say your name like a prayer, like it wasn’t safe in the air for too long. you once asked him, half-joking, “do you think this ends when the film does?” he looked at you with something breaking in his expression. "i think if it ends, it’ll be because we were too scared to admit it meant something," you didn’t laugh that time.

the premiere was surreal. flashes of cameras, fans screaming. you in a dress that cost more than your apartment, mike in a suit that made your stomach flip. you stood apart on the carpet. close enough for chemistry, far enough for deniability. when the movie played, and the final scene faded out—your face, tashi’s face, on the big screen, triumphant and hollow—you looked over. he was already looking at you. his eyes were glassy. your own stung. you didn’t need to say a thing.

later, back in the hotel, you lay next to him, legs tangled, everything quiet. “i don’t know how to be with you when the world’s watching,” he said, voice barely audible. “then don’t be with me there,” you whispered, “just be with me here,” you placed his hand over your ribs. “can you feel that? that’s real. that’s all I care about,” he closed his eyes, and for a moment, the weight lifted. you never defined it. you didn’t have to.

it lived in glances, in fingertips brushing just once too long, in long voicemails after press days. in the fact that neither of you ever said goodbye, only "talk soon," like it was a promise you could keep if you just whispered it gently enough. maybe it would fade. maybe it wouldn’t. but it was yours, and no one could take that from you.

[teaboot]

in WHAT universe is rising of the shield hero less of a dissapointment than spy x family? ppl glaze sxf a bit too much but theres few anime worse than Incel Isekai 20472.

anyway. if you want something actually good, frieren, odd taxi, and my roommate is a cat. havent watched ascendance of a bookworm yet but i hear incredible things.

Oh yeah no ROTSH felt like ABSOLUTE dogshit episodes 1-5ish, I have no idea why I kept watching cause the MC was so cringe but I’m enjoying it quite a lot now! (I was actually checking my inbox before catching the next ep, lol)

I’m actually really happy with how they showed the MC’s immaturity and flaws and all the stupid and confusing common isekai tropes in a realistic light- And I’m kinda sorry you didn’t keep watching too ‘cause it absolutely lays bare all that stupid “chosen one” crap about halfway through s1. You stop cringing at the awful stupid incel asshole shit E3 or so and start GENUINELY LIKING him, which is wild!

It’s not perfect media obviously- I kinda REALLY don’t like some of it- but it focuses a lot on personal responsibility and thoughtfulness and working within the context of your environment, learning to heal relationships, and the importance of diplomacy and communication.

What I REALLY like is the central theme that being a hero doesn’t mean everything you do is correct- but that people WANT TO BELIEVE everything you do is correct, so being a symbol isn’t so much a ritzy ride as it is a HUGE responsibility that one shouldn’t be eager for.

Also, I don’t want to give any spoilers, but I’m at a point now where they’re starting to touch on the idea that there’s a difference between fighting for an idea and fighting for PEOPLE, and I’ve never really seen that done well before so between that and the twist here that’s being foreshadowed I’m genuinely SUPER EXCITED to see where they’re going with it.

Also- even WITH all the “pretty girls love the hero” trope- if you watch long enough you’ll notice how they PLAY with the trope without investing in it. There’s genuine respect between the characters, and several times the MC makes it clear he sees some of them as family, that he’s not into kids and it’s creepy when others are, and there’s no fanservice panty shots or surprise “oops I’m naked” shit. It really does show by example how a REAL good-hearted protagonist should- or would hopefully- realistically act in the circumstances of an unrealistic isekai type series. There’s been pretty much zero actual romance or any interest in romance shown by the character after episode 1-2. (At least as of s2e1)

And I love that! It’s incredibly character-driven. It feels like the MC genuinely might fuck up, that there are real stakes, that the correct path is unclear, and I want to see if what I’m hoping for will happen. The MC is selfish and closed-off and heartless sometimes and TOTALLY has a cruel and pragmatic streak, and the narrative takes full advantage of that to force him to confront those issues. Some of his vices are even advantageous, as they would be in real life!

Spy X Family didn’t do anything for me. It appeared to be what it said on the tin. I never got any real sense of stakes or depth or personal development, or of reoccurring thematic elements or symbolism or overlying message, or any kind of statement that was poignant or meaningful. It came off as a fun story, but not anything exceptional or different.

I couldn’t bring myself to care much because it was pretty clear that the good guys were right and they were gonna pull something off and have a happy ending and live a cute little family life with a mom and a dad and a daughter and a dog. It was never surprising or curious and I never felt emotionally intrigued or invested or attached.

They’re both enjoyable, but I like Rise of the Shield Hero more because it’s been proving me wrong in exciting ways and making me think about why I feel the way I do, and I like that in a series.

Spy X Family is fine, I don’t think it’s BAD, it just didn’t scratch the itch for me personally.

If you watched like 15 eps and hated it the whole time that’s fair but if you stopped at e2 I’d super recommend giving it another shot!

[munv]

Hii cld i request for diasomnia with a reader like sparkle from hsr?

DIASOMNIA X !SPARKLE READER

I kid you not..I have NOT played honkai star rail ever since the new planet came out..Im behind in terms of memory and in service apologies if this isnt accurate enough I had to run to the wiki for this on a Sunday morning (it was 12 when i started to write this)

discord server

MALLEUS

At first, he would see you roaming around faintly, but he never knew if you were some spirit, a fairy, or a trickster fae. He finds himself interested in the way you are able to change your appearance more than once, sometimes you'll pop up as lilia, maybe even silver. Perhaps another dorm leader if you're up to it !

He finds himself less lonely and letting out light laughs at your antics. He watches as you agitate sebek more times than he could count. You have a very interesting way of describing things as well and sometimes he has you become him just to satisfy his curiosity

LILIA

He's literally you. You're literally him. You are one.

He likes the way you arent interested in anything crazy like wealth or power, but mere amusement. You're dramatic, chaotic, and full of mystery. He's cackling and giggling with you in seconds.

Sometimes the both of you will act out plays with overwhelming flair. He's literally obsessed its crazy. He always like to dance around the mask you've made your own. Slightly pushing to figure out your identity but never quite doing such. He wants to keep it fun, despite being skeptical.

SILVER

You confuse Silver. Now, he's a smart boy but theres a limit to what he can figure out when you're involved (nothing). He dead asked you where Lilia put his blanket and you said "Sleep soundly upon it dear knight, the answer will come in a sound dream"

"...so..the dorm longue or no??"

"yes!"

He let out a sigh as you giggled

As mischievous as you are, he notices that you arent malicious and only want some fun. So he tolerates you and the odd nicknames you give him. You'll sing him lullabies, the rhythm luring him into his dreams. He's come to terms that he has grown comfortable with you. Smiling as he drifts off into wonderland

SEBEK

He REFUSES to even understand the seeming madness that spouts from your mouth whenever he's within your vicinity. You enter the room? "valiant knight! there you are!" He screams in genuine terror.

You wink, disappear, he tries to follow - yet hits a wall.

He loathes every second you appear (according to him, we all know he lies)

Yet, its so different when he's defending your honor. He's furious, unforgiving, brutal, and loud. You swear there were some slurs in there somewhere...

When you arent looking? he smiles at your theatrics

[jeanjauthor]

Some birds are meh about flying (*stares at chickens*), but they absolutely need to scratch the ground & peck the shht outta some bugs, or belly-slide on the ice on their way to swimming & catching some Antarctic herring or whatever.

Some people need to cook, to be mentally healthier. Whether or not they can eat it is irrelevant (bad cooking, appetite-suppressing medication, whatever). Some people need to crochet. Whether or not they wear it is irrelevant (it could be a hat, a blanket, a scarf, or a life-size R2D2 replica, whatever). Some people need to garden. Whether or not that garden thrives is irrelevant (it could be plants being set up in the wrong environment/climate, weather patterns beyond all control, pest issues that cannot be addressed, or neighborhood kids who trample the seedlings just because they can).

Just because you cannot fly very well doesn't mean you cannot scratch the soil and peck at shhht. You can find your create-a-thing.

Just because you're "not very good" at your create-a-thing doesn't mean it isn't important.

Nobody is perfect on their very first try. And very few are perfect on their 100th try, either!

You literally learn more from your mistakes if you pay attention and try to figure out what went wrong, and what went right. You can innovate ideas, you can figure out workarounds, you could invent a yarn-holding ring doohickey that helps keep your fingers from getting yarn burns, or whatever-it-is you need. (Still kicking myself I didn't make clever yarn-ball holding bowls in pottery class, but I only saw wooden versions a week before my pottery class ended, so no time, oh well.)

You can also do more than one create-a-thing! I cook, I crochet, I draw fantasy world maps & draft the layouts for starships and kingdoms and cozy cottages alike (also magical yurt layouts, who wouldn't want instant-setup glamping, amirite??) for stories & TTRPGs.

It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be a masterpiece. Hell, I can barely make a stick figure look like a stick figure, but I've found a way to be creative when drawing nonetheless! I also need to get off my butt and go buy some gardening stuff for patio gardening needs, because I also do gardening.

It doesn't have to be professionally done landscaping or perfectly self-sufficient food forest gardening. It can be one lousy plant on your windowsill that you remember to water because you do it at the same time you take your pills every day. (Talk nicely to that plant while you're watering it. Talk to it like you wish someone would talk to you, and pretend it's agreeing and saying equally nice things back to you. Plants can communicate, btw, just not in ways that we can readily detect.)

Take that plant to different windows if you can. Let it experience different flavors of daylight. Get creative, make little paper doilies for its pot to sit upon, use colored pencils, colored markers, crayons, pencil shadings when making designs. Get out the glue and the glitter and the bits of fabric. Crochet a doily with very ruffly edges so that it looks like a ring of flowers around the base. Crochet Audrey the evil alien space plant from Little Shop Of Horrors and put that in your window.

You don't have to make a patchwork quilt for your entire bed. Just make a poster-sized one and hang it on your wall. You don't have to invest a lot of funds. Get some super-cheap clothes from a thrift store and rework them into something. Find a branch fallen to the forest floor? Watch some tutorials and learn how to whittle. (Be extra careful, safety first!)

Consider playing Minecraft and building some awesome scenery. Don't like Minecraft? Try other sandbox games. I'm currently playing "Sapiens" and restarting my Stone Age civilizations in different climate zones, trying to figure out the perfect layout for my tribe members to build their houses & layout their gardens. (For some reason, in an area with very few trees, I thought it would be appropriate to build wooden structures. Thankfully, I've unlocked agriculture for that tribe and can plant seeds to grow some!)

Play games in The Sims just to create buildings and gardens. Grab some graph paper and draw mazes. You can recycle them, or you can pass them off to friends so they have something fun to do for a few minutes in their otherwise stressful day. Learn how to make the different kinds of frosting & icing, and decorate sugar cookies. Throw a Theme Party and help make the decorations and/or costumes and/or food. (Get creative, throw a Star Trek party, and use a Santa cookie cutter to make & decorate red-shirted ensigns having bad days, lol.)

Individually as humans, we need to drink, eat, sleep, defecate, communicate with others, form pack bonds, and make things. Yes, yes, you'd think that procreate would be on that list, but procreation is the survival of the species, not the survival of the Individual. And individually, we need to eat food, drink water, use the bushes, sleep in a safe spot, communicate with others, form pack bonds (friends, family, pets), and make things.

You can even just create a moodboard post, btw, and share it with the other H.s.sapiens lurking in the tumblr jungle...and you've done 3 of those things, create, communicate, and formed a pack bond. Probably while sipping on a drink, so there's a fourth right there.

Why do I include a pack bond in that list? Because this is Tumblr and we have many many tribes. Someone out here is going to love seeing your moodboard collage of images, and they will reblog it, or at least click Like (though that does nothing for spreading the joy of it). Someone is going to love seeing your crocheted attempt at a Cthulhu scarf. After all, you click Like and Reblog, giving yourself a tiny little pack-bond with the original creator, and the people who added to that thread...and maybe you'll even spend several minutes adding to the comment thread. (Creative writing is create-ive, after all.)

Just don't forget to occasionally create a physical thing, because that's what makes our ook-ook brains the happiest. Start by feeding & watering yourself. Like, go create a sandwich. Put together an artistically assembled veggie plate. Try making coffee-with-cream art.

You inspire me to be less depressed and more diy. I have two pairs of ripped to fuck jeans and because of you I've decided to practice fabric skills on them.

I'm new to this, it's gonna suck but perhaps eventually it won't.

The knee of one I'm going to fix with fancy teacup blue and white fabric. I might embroider skulls or ravens on it too.

Aside from all this I really hope you have a good day. Thank you for you and the pants you made.

I'm like 90% sure that people are supposed to make things, just like, as a natural behaviour that people do. Some animals get depressed when they're not allowed to dig burrows, or not allowed to sing, not allowed to climb things, whatever it is that they naturally do. People craft stuff. Not sewing, sculpting, painting or constructing stuff makes people sad the same way birds are unhappy if their wings are clipped and they can't fly.

[sturnsblogs]

BAIT AND TRUTH

Stern!Chris X Free!Spirited!Reader

Word count- 3482.

Warnings- Just a whole lot of fluff. Talking about ex’s mention of abuse.

The gravel crunched under your tires as you pulled up to the little fishing spot Nick had texted you about. You expected it to be awkward. Or weird. Or maybe full of old men in overalls yelling about bait.

You definitely weren’t expecting that.

There he was. Chris. Standing at the edge of the dock, squinting out at the water like a freaking Bass Pro commercial. But not just any Chris—the man was wearing jorts. Jean shorts. Paired with a loose white t-shirt that was slightly wrinkled and slightly clinging to his back thanks to the humidity. His hair was tucked under a plain navy baseball cap, and the whole thing—against your better judgment—looked kind of devastating.

Okay. Very devastating.

You climbed out of your car in your worn denim shorts and a black tank top, already regretting wearing something that showed this much of your very non-military self. You weren’t exactly the rugged, outdoorsy type, but there was no way you were letting Chris Sturniolo out-fashion you at a lake.

He turned when he heard your door slam, and his expression faltered for just a second before smoothing into that usual unreadable face. “You made it.”

You tossed your keys into your bag and walked toward him, the heat baking into your shoulders. “Yeah, well. I had to see it for myself.”

“See what?”

You gestured at him lazily. “You. In that outfit.”

Chris frowned. “What about it?”

You gave him a slow once-over, head tilted. “Didn’t know you could dress like an off-duty country music video extra. Kinda works for you.”

“I just wore what was clean.”

“Lies,” you grinned, stepping onto the dock beside him. “You totally stood in front of the mirror and debated the hat.”

Chris didn’t answer, which meant yes, and you laughed, already feeling looser than you had on your last five dates combined.

He handed you a fishing rod, wordlessly.

You stared at it like it might explode.

“I don’t fish,” you said. “I paint. I sew. I drive my kids to karate and let them eat cereal for dinner. I’ve never willingly touched a worm.”

“No worms today,” he said, walking toward the tackle box. “Just fake bait.”

You followed him and peered inside. “You label your hooks.”

He didn’t look up. “So?”

“So you’re so that guy.”

“What guy?”

“The guy who carries a mini first aid kit even if no one’s bleeding.”

Chris turned to you, dry. “You’re going to mock me the entire time, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Commander.”

He stopped. “What?”

You gave a smug grin. “That’s your nickname now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not in the military anymore.”

“Don’t care. It fits. Commander Chris. The Jort General.”

Chris looked like he might genuinely walk into the lake. “Please don’t call me that in front of Maverick.”

“Oh I’m definitely calling you that in front of Maverick.”

Chris exhaled hard through his nose, but his mouth twitched—just a little—like he was fighting a smile.

You sat down on the edge of the dock, swinging your legs over the side. “So what’s the real reason for the fishing trip? You don’t seem like the type to date casually.”

Chris was quiet for a second as he baited the hook. “I don’t.”

You waited, eyebrows raised.

“I just thought… you’d enjoy doing something different. Something quiet.”

You softened a little at that. “That’s kind of sweet, Commander.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a new lightness to him. Less stiff. Less on edge.

You watched him for a second, genuinely watching. The sun was catching on the curve of his jaw, and there was something about seeing him like this—jorts, hat, laugh lines barely showing—that made you feel like you were getting a glimpse at the version of him most people didn’t get.

You leaned back on your hands and smiled up at the sky. “Didn’t think you could dress cool.”

He looked over.

You were already looking at him.

And for the first time, he didn’t deflect. He didn’t scold. He just… let the silence stretch.

Let you see him.

You stared at the fishing rod like it was a high-tech weapon you weren’t cleared to use.

Chris was standing beside you, arms crossed, the sunlight catching his forearms in a way that was frankly unfair.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. “This is too many steps. You might as well be teaching me how to fly a helicopter.”

Chris exhaled softly, walked over, and without a word, stood behind you. You stiffened slightly as his hands reached around yours, guiding your fingers into position on the reel.

“Relax,” he murmured.

“That’s like telling a squirrel not to panic.”

You felt him smile more than you saw it.

He adjusted your grip and nudged your shoulder slightly. “When you cast, just flick your wrist. Don’t overthink it.”

“Overthinking is my middle name.”

“I thought it was Glitter Bomb.”

You snorted and turned your head slightly. His face was so close, you could feel the edge of his breath against your temple.

“Okay,” he said, tone low. “On three. One… two…”

You threw the line.

It flew out and landed with a gentle plop, perfectly placed.

“I did it!” you gasped. “Oh my god. Did I just become a lake girl?”

Chris stepped back, arms crossed again, that quiet smirk forming. “You’re not quite there. But I’ll admit, I’m surprised.”

“Commander,” you said, nudging his arm. “That was dangerously close to a compliment.”

“I’ll try not to make it a habit.”

You sat back on the dock, crossing your legs, and motioned for him to sit beside you. He did, his knees pulled up, forearms resting over them, eyes watching the rippling lake.

“You ever bring Maverick here?” you asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “He’s more into reading than fishing lately. But he likes it when it’s just us.”

“Does he ever miss her?”

Chris’s jaw flexed subtly. “Not really. He doesn’t talk about her much.”

You stayed quiet, giving him space.

“She left when he was three,” he said after a minute. “Said she couldn’t do it. Wanted her freedom. I think she expected I’d hand him off and chase her around the country or something.”

You looked over at him. His eyes were still on the water, but his voice had that hard edge again, the one that only cracked when the truth slipped through.

“She came back once, tried to stay for a month. Then she left again. Didn’t even say goodbye. I stopped letting him wait by the window after that.”

You reached out slowly and rested a hand on his arm. “I’m really sorry.”

He nodded once. “He’s better off without her.”

You leaned back on your palms, the breeze tugging lightly at your hair. “I left mine.”

Chris turned his head toward you.

“My ex,” you said. “Theo and Holly’s dad. He was—” You hesitated. “Not a good person. Not a good partner. Not someone I wanted my kids learning how to love from.”

Chris’s brows knit together slightly, but he didn’t speak.

“He was controlling. Violent, sometimes. Not just to me. And I stayed too long, even when I knew I shouldn’t. But one night Holly said something—something too grown up for a nine-year-old to say. And I knew if I didn’t leave then, I’d never forgive myself.”

Chris was quiet, but his hand moved—almost instinctively—and rested over yours.

“I packed up the kids and left everything. I had nothing but a car full of glitter and angry playlists and way too many juice boxes.”

He let out a small breath of a laugh at that, and you smiled, letting the moment breathe.

“I think we both kinda started over,” you said, glancing sideways. “You with your rules and your spreadsheets and your jorts, and me with my chaos and Pinterest boards and broken closet doors.”

Chris finally looked at you—really looked at you—and his voice softened. “You did what you had to do. You protected them.”

You smiled, a little more tender now. “So did you.”

A comfortable quiet settled between you, the lake lapping gently against the dock. It wasn’t awkward or forced. Just there.

After a minute, you nudged him again.

“Commander?”

He groaned. “What now?”

“You’re kind of hot when you teach people things.”

Chris looked skyward like he was praying for patience. “Please stop talking.”

You beamed. “Never.”

You were both sitting on the dock again, shoes off, legs dangling above the water. The sun was starting to lower, casting warm amber light over everything. You hadn’t caught a single fish, but for once, it didn’t matter.

Chris was standing now, rummaging through the tackle box for something. You were mid-story, rambling about how Theo once tried to build a working rollercoaster out of pool noodles and duct tape.

“He seriously thought duct tape was the answer to gravity,” you said, grinning.

“Sounds like something Nick would’ve tried at that age,” Chris muttered, still bent over the box. “I know I packed more hooks—”

Then it happened.

His foot caught on the strap of your bag, slumped against the dock behind him.

And like a slow-motion movie scene, down he went.

“Chris—!”

Splash.

Water sprayed upward in a perfect arc as he plunged into the lake, arms flailing slightly before he popped back up, sputtering and swearing under his breath.

You burst out laughing. Cackling, really. Bent over at the waist, your hands clutching your stomach as tears formed in your eyes.

“I—I’m sorry,” you wheezed. “I just—Commander down! Mayday!”

Chris pushed his soaked hair out of his face, squinting up at you with the driest look imaginable. “Are you done?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can you at least help me out?”

You held out your hand dramatically, still giggling. “Fine. You big baby.”

The second your fingers wrapped around his—

YANK.

You shrieked as the dock disappeared from beneath you. The water hit like a slap and then suddenly you were submerged, bubbles surrounding you as your body adjusted to the shock of it.

You surfaced with a gasp, blinking away the lake water, only to see Chris already laughing—really laughing now, not just smirking. Full-body, deep-chested laughter.

“I hate you,” you said, sputtering.

“No you don’t.”

“Okay, maybe not, but I hate your jorts.”

“I warned you about the bag placement.”

“Commander, you tripped like a cartoon character. There is no coming back from that.”

You were both treading water near the dock, but somehow you’d drifted closer. His hands found your waist without even thinking, steadying you. It was instinctive, firm—but gentle. And warm. Ridiculously warm for someone who acted like he had ice cubes for blood.

You blinked up at him, your hands on his shoulders now, the tension shifting between you in an instant. The laughter faded, but the smile lingered. His eyes dipped to your mouth, and your breath caught, your lips parting just slightly.

Your heart was hammering, not from the cold, but from him.

Chris leaned forward, just enough that your noses nearly touched. The space between you buzzed with anticipation.

And then—

“You’ve got—uh—lake weed in your hair,” he muttered, voice suddenly stiffer, fingers releasing your waist too quickly.

You blinked, then narrowed your eyes. “Seriously?”

He turned, already swimming toward the dock. “Yep. Definitely lake weed. Very distracting.”

You just stared after him in disbelief. “You’re the worst.”

“You say that, but you’re still in the lake.”

You swam after him, still grinning despite the interrupted moment. And though he pretended nothing happened, you caught it—the faintest red creeping up the back of his neck as he hoisted himself onto the dock.

He felt it, too.

Even if he wasn’t ready to say it yet.

You climbed up onto the dock behind Chris, soaked from head to toe, clothes clinging to your body, water dripping from your hair and eyelashes.

Chris ran a hand through his own drenched hair and shook it out like a dog, which sprayed more water in your face.

You glared at him. “Rude.”

He just grunted and grabbed one of the two towels he had brought, tossing the other to you without a word. You caught it and started patting your arms dry, but your eyes couldn’t help wandering.

The white T-shirt Chris had been wearing was now basically see-through, plastered to his chest and arms in the most unfair way imaginable. His jorts were still intact, though deeply uncool in their soggy, denim glory.

And yet somehow… still hot. Like, offensively hot.

You shook your head and muttered, “You know, I didn’t think it was possible, but you look hotter soaking wet.”

Chris paused mid-drying. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” you teased, biting back a smirk. “Your wet T-shirt moment is doing things.”

“Y/N,” he said with that low groan, dragging the towel over his face. “For the love of God, shut up.”

“Make me.”

He shot you a look, somewhere between exhausted and amused. “You are an absolute menace.”

You grinned. “And you love it.”

He didn’t respond, but the twitch in his lips gave him away.

Once both of you were mostly dry—mostly—Chris picked up the tackle box and his keys, and without thinking twice, offered his hand out to help you over a tree root on the way back up the trail.

You took it.

And then… neither of you let go.

Your fingers just stayed there, looped together. Not tight, not dramatic—just natural.

You walked like that, through the dusky evening light, the gravel crunching beneath your feet, the forest around you starting to hum with cicadas. It was quiet, peaceful. The kind of quiet you don’t really need to fill.

Still, you broke the silence eventually. “I think this might’ve been my favorite date ever.”

Chris scoffed gently. “You fell into a lake.”

“You fell into a lake. I got pulled in. There’s a difference.”

“Oh right. Much classier.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I enjoyed you screaming.”

“You would.”

He smirked again, and you felt his thumb graze the back of your hand ever so slightly. It was small—but warm. Comforting. Intentional.

When you reached your car, the parking lot was almost empty. You paused beside the driver’s door, and neither of you moved to let go just yet.

“So,” you said, rocking on your heels, still holding his hand, “same time next weekend?”

Chris raised a brow. “Fishing?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I drag you to an art festival and force you to bedazzle a canvas.”

He made a face like he’d rather drown again. “Tempting.”

You grinned. “You liked today. Admit it.”

His eyes met yours, serious for a moment, but soft.

“I did.”

You smiled, trying not to show too much of what that meant to you.

“I’ll text you,” he added.

“Looking forward to it, Commander.”

He groaned again. “You have to stop calling me that.”

“Never.”

He shook his head, but didn’t let go until the moment you opened your car door. Even then, his hand lingered for a second longer than necessary.

You climbed in, closed the door, and rolled the window down just as he turned to leave.

“Oh—and Chris?”

He looked back.

“I’m bringing glitter next time.”

His eyes narrowed. “If you throw that at me while I’m holding a fishing rod, I swear—”

But you just laughed, winked, and pulled out of the lot, his exasperated expression the last thing you saw in the rearview mirror.

—

The front door creaked open with a squelch as your soggy sneakers hit the hardwood floor. You didn’t even get one full step inside before all hell broke loose.

“MOM!”

“YOU’RE SOAKED—”

“Did he push you into a lake?!”

“Did you fall?!”

“Was it a water park date?!”

Theo and Holly were suddenly at your sides like a detective duo, circling you with wide eyes, their fingers poking at your damp clothes and dripping hair. Holly gasped dramatically.

“Did you guys kiss in the rain?”

“There wasn’t rain, Hol,” Theo muttered, squinting at you. “I think she fell into something.”

You held your hands up. “Okay, okay, let me breathe. One question at a time.”

From the living room, Nick appeared, sipping juice from a kid-sized plastic cup and looking very entertained. “So… should I assume the date ended in natural disaster or spontaneous skinny dipping?”

“Neither,” you deadpanned, peeling off your wet jacket and tossing it toward the laundry room. “We went fishing. Chris fell in the lake. Then he pulled me in.”

“Romantic,” Nick nodded. “Classic.”

You turned to the two kids, who were still watching you like wide-eyed investigators.

“Why don’t you two go play in the backyard for a bit?” you offered. “Get some sun before dinner.”

Theo squinted. “You’re sending us away so you can tell Uncle Nick the juicy stuff.”

“You’re very perceptive. Now go.”

With exaggerated groans, they trudged off toward the back door, Holly yelling, “Next time I’m hiding in the car so I can spy!”

Once they were out of earshot, you turned back to Nick, who was already leaning on the counter like he had all day to hear this story.

“So…” you began, grabbing a towel and drying your hair lazily. “It was actually really fun.”

“Fun fun or like, I didn’t die so I’m calling it a win fun?”

“Fun fun,” you said with a smile that betrayed just how much you’d enjoyed yourself. “He was funny. And he taught me how to fish. And… we talked. Like, really talked.”

Nick’s brows lifted in interest. “And?”

“And we might’ve… held hands all the way back to the car.”

Nick’s jaw dropped dramatically. “Shut up.”

You shrugged, cheeks heating a bit. “I didn’t even realize it was happening at first. It just… kind of felt normal.”

Nick put his cup down with a victorious grin. “He so likes you.”

“I don’t know, he’s still so guarded.”

“He held your hand,” Nick repeated. “Chris hates unnecessary physical contact. That man flinches when I pat him on the back.”

You bit your lip, thinking back to the way his thumb had rubbed the back of your hand so subtly, the way he hadn’t pulled away even after you reached the car.

“Do you think he knows he likes me?” you asked.

Nick laughed. “Oh, absolutely not. He’s probably pacing his living room right now analyzing every second of today.”

You snorted, and Nick winked.

“But he’ll get there. And when he does? That man is yours.”

You sighed, finally letting your body relax as you plopped down on the couch. “This is gonna get complicated, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Nick said. “But it’s gonna be so worth it.”

(a few hours later.)

You were finally curled up in bed, skin warm from the shower, hair still a little damp. The kids were both asleep—well, probably not asleep asleep, but at least pretending well enough to fool you. The house was quiet.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

[Chris 🤨]

Hey.

You blinked at the screen, surprised. He didn’t usually text first.

Smiling to yourself, you rolled over and picked it up, thumbs already flying.

[You]

Wow. Christopher Sturniolo texting first? Do I need to call the Coast Guard again or are you okay?

[Chris 🤨]

Shut up.

I just wanted to say… I had fun today.

You paused. Stared at the message for a second.

Then grinned.

[You]

I had fun too. Even though you yeeted me into a lake.

Real romantic.

[Chris 🤨]

You were already laughing before you hit the water.

So technically, it was a gift.

You laughed quietly, biting your lip as you typed.

[You]

Gift of drowning. How thoughtful.

Anyway. How’s Maverick?

[Chris 🤨]

Exhausted from asking me 500 questions the second we got home.

“Did she fall in or did you push her?” “Was she mad?” “Did you kiss her??”

I had to pretend to be asleep so he’d stop.

You practically wheezed.

[You]

Theo and Holly were the exact same. “Did you guys HOLD HANDS???”

I’m convinced Theo is ready to start a podcast about my love life.

[Chris 🤨]

God help us all.

There was a short pause. Then another buzz.

[Chris 🤨]

But seriously… I liked today. It felt… good.

Normal. For once.

That one made your heart thump just a little.

[You]

It did. It was nice to be around someone who doesn’t mind the chaos I bring.

Even if you pretend to hate it.

[Chris 🤨]

I don’t hate it.

It’s just… new.

[You]

New doesn’t have to be bad.

He didn’t reply right away. But when he did, it was simple.

[Chris 🤨]

No. It doesn’t.

You stared at the screen for a minute, smiling stupidly in the dark, before sending one last message.

[You]

Night, Commander.

Sweet dreams and dry jorts.

[Chris 🤨]

God, stop calling them jorts.

Goodnight.

A/N- Chris and his jorts. ☺️

[lsunstreakerl]

SUNNY. MAX DEVELOPS SOFTWARE FOR F2/F3 SIM. I WILL NEED A CURRENT UNIVERSE FICLET OR SMTH FROM YOU PLEASE. SUNNY R U LISTENING.

okay I know absolutely jack shit about how sim development works and I hate BS'ing in my work, so hopefully this isn't too incorrect! if someone knows better than me, please feel free to infodump about it :)

"Mate, that is way better than when I was in F2."

Kimi squeaks as George's voice startles him, running low over a kerb as his teeth rattle in his head.

"Mate."

"Sorry! I was going to say that Toto wants to do lunch with us— didn't mean to scare you."

He definitely did. Kimi is learning that George is just as prone to jokes and hazing as the other drivers, the only difference being that he's polite about it. Mostly.

Kimi swings out of the sim, stretching his legs with a low groan.

"You can take it for a spin if you are missing it so much."

George snorts, arms folded across his chest. His hair is loose, falling across his forehead, and he's just in a hoodie and shorts— Kimi has seen him more casually in the factory in the past few weeks than he'd seen in the media ever. It makes him feel more human, even if part of him still feels untouchable.

"Yeah, I can't imagine it's improved much."

Kimi shrugs, hugging one knee to his chest to stretch his hips, wobbling slightly on his one leg.

"I liked it— it helps with learning the smaller differences and all that."

George raises an eyebrow, checking his watch before shrugging and stepping into the sim.

"Watch the door and tell me if someone's coming by, so I can blame it on you."

Kimi rolls his eyes, dutifully stepping backwards to be able to view the hallway as he pulls out his phone.

Kimi: george is trying the f2 sim

Ollie: LOL

Ollie: WHY

Kimi: he doesn't believe it's better than when he used it

Kimi: which is stupid

Kimi: of course it's better

Kimi: he's just old

Ollie: don't let him hear you say that

Ollie: the botox mercedes curse is real

Kimi: if he comes in with filler I will tell Toto to set up his retirement account

Ollie: and then put in a good word for me?

Kimi: you are earmarked as a ferrari sacrifice already mate

Kimi: don't even bother

Ollie: I'll fix them

Ollie: just you wait

"Kimi, what the hell are they feeding the dev drivers?"

George sounds incredulous as he takes a corner.

"Why is it so good?"

Kimi laughs, tucking his phone in his pocket.

"I should be asking you, honestly. I am not sure how there is enough time in a formula one schedule to do sim work for us, but it is very nice."

"Huh?"

George takes a corner too sharp in a move that would've sent Kimi into the wall, but he manages to recover it, lips pressed together in concentration for a moment before relaxing again. Kimi feels the envy like a physical beast in his chest, the same way he does every time he's reminded how much further he has to go.

He's always careful to be perfectly ready in the mornings, to have his employee badge clearly visible, but George shows up in casual clothes and an easy confidence, knows all the team members by name, has Susie's coffee order memorized— it all feels unattainable to him. He's not sure how he'll ever match up, and finds himself wondering if it will always be obvious to everyone, if he's always going to look like a kid trying to wear his older brothers shoes.

Still, George had sounded genuinely confused.

"Well... I know Max does a lot of the work, but surely the rest of you do sometimes also? It cannot all be him?"

George goes into the wall, twisting to look at Kimi.

"Verstappen? Wait, no— don't tell me. That's exactly who you mean."

Kimi nods.

"Kimi, I am going to be very serious with you."

George swings out of the sim, stepping forward and putting his hands Kimi's shoulders.

"That man is not normal. Please, please do not use him as your metric for normal people, because he's a freak of nature."

Kimi opens his mouth to try and defend him, but George presses his palm over his face.

"Nope, don't hit me with the hero worship, I don't want to hear it. He's unnatural, okay? Like a freaky racing robot that sometimes glitches and talks about cats instead. He has extra hours in the day and eyes in the back of his head."

Kimi quirks an eyebrow. George sounds fondly exasperated, like Max being inhuman is something he's begrudgingly gotten over. George pauses, and then his eyes look at Kimi, extremely serious.

"And I need you to be a prodigy and come into the team early, because otherwise Toto might actually manage to drag him over here, and I would rather shunt into the barriers full speed then have to be teammates with him, got it? I am counting on you."

Kimi nods, trying not to laugh. Max isn't scary, he's actually very nice— he's always happy to chat on discord and share setup tips, and he'd promised Kimi he was only a garage or phone call away if he needed something. He's much kinder than Kimi had expected the current world champion to be.

George lets his hand fall away, ruffling Kimi's hair.

"Okay, move it, Toto got catering and if we're late all the good sandwiches will be gone."

He steps out of the room, head swiveling both directions to make sure his stint in the sim hadn't been noticed, before walking confidently down the hallway.

Kimi follows dutifully behind.

[magicaloneandmystery]

sins and silk

pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

summary: under the watchful eyes of his criminal entourage and your unapologetic family, you say your vows to the most powerful man in New York City. despite your doubts, your wedding night surprises you in more ways than one. AKA, Bucky knows how to fuck the reader right.

warnings: mdni. 18+, forced/arrange marriage, fingering, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving), unprotected piv, praise, mentions of anal

a/n: I have never written so much filth in one go.

this is another submission for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor's Mini Bingo Mafia AU event. the square is "arranged marriage"

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest sealed your fate with a simple sentence. "you may now kiss the bride."

Bucky pulled your tense body to him, one of his arms wrapping around you, the other lifting the veil from your face. you could see him more clearly now, his features taut with what you can only assume was hatred, his eyes slipping down to your lips.

the kiss you both shared lasted longer than you might've guessed, but there were no cheers from the attendees. in fact, the hall felt eerie with silence. nobody spoke a word. it was a small group and you suspected everyone in the hall - including your now husband - knew how profusely and passionately you had refused to this match. how you wanted to marry for love, and how you refused to take part in your family's deeds.

but Bucky Barnes always got what he wanted.

and he wanted you.

so when you pulled away, you realised it wasn't hatred, but desire swirling behind his eyes and in the way he gripped your waist tightly.

there was no reception afterwards - no need for that, today.

your husband had planned to host a huge ball later that month to announce his nuptials, when you were more acquainted with his business partners and lifestyle.

for tonight, and for the honeymoon week to come, you were only his.

another wave of nausea swirled around you at the thought.

"you look ravishing," he murmured next to you in the hotel elevator, taking you up to the penthouse suite prepared specially by the staff for your wedding night.

you pursed your lips, not ready to acknowledge his words.

"I can't wait to claim you as mine," his nose brushed your cheek, inhaling you and kissing the corner of your mouth.

"is that how it goes in your world? I'm an object for your amusement?" your voice was laced with bitterness.

he chuckled warmly. "our world, baby. and no, we're equals. you're mine as I'm yours."

you raised your eyebrows, staring into his eyes, wondering if you should believe him.

perhaps, in a different place at a different time, you might have. but you decided to wait for at least 12 hours before making this judgement. you had only just met the man, after all.

"I don't know a single thing about you," was the first thing out of your mouth the moment your husband locked the door behind you. you decided to wait till later to admire the warm and sensual setting of the penthouse with its candle lit hallway and rose petals scattered everywhere.

"what do you want to know?" he said, loosening his tie, immediately going to the bar to pour himself some whiskey.

"are you an alcoholic?" you wondered.

"no," his lips twitched upwards. "just taking the edge off. it's been a long day."

"you don't say."

"I know everything about you," he said, that intense stare back. he looked at you over the rim of his glass, making you feel bare under his scrutiny.

"of course you do," you rolled your eyes in hopes he wouldn't see the cracks in your composure. "some equals we are."

"I was not kidding about that, y/n," he kept looking at you, settling down the glass on the bartop. "you can ask me whatever you want. I'll answer honestly."

"will you share details of your business with me?" that was something you had been curious about since your mother told you you'll be marrying James Barnes. you wondered if you'll be another pawn in a man's life, like you were for your father, or if you'll have any real power.

"I plan on making you a co-partner," he nodded.

"so you trust me?"

"of course."

"what should I call you?"

"what do you mean?"

"James or Bucky?"

"whatever you prefer, baby."

"will you always call me by those names?"

"would you prefer I didn't?"

that made you pause. you bit your bottom lip in thought, his attention shifting to your lips. he gulped, trying to control himself from crowding you and kissing you again.

"no, they're okay," you conceded. even if the pet names had annoyed you at first, the realisation that he was willing to hear you out made you more comfortable in his presence. "what's your favourite dessert?"

he blinked at that. "uh... pie, I suppose. chocolate."

"good choice," your mind tried to come up with more questions but your feet ached from standing up the entire day, rushing from one place to another. "I want to lie down."

"let me," he did not give you a choice this time, arms around your frame as he picked you up, a reminder that you're his bride and tonight is your wedding night. you gulped.

his left hand gleamed in the soft light, returning back distorted reflections. "what happened to your arm?"

his jaw clenched, making you regret the question. you were about to apologise for stepping out of line when he spoke up. "injury from when I was back in the service."

you didn't push him further, nodding and circling your hands around his neck. "I'm sorry."

"it's alright," he pushed the master bedroom door. if you thought roses were in abundance earlier, your marital bed was entirely covered in the petals. you let out a chuckle. "little cheesy, don't you think?"

he shrugged, setting you down at the edge of the bed. he went down on his knees in front of you, hands finding your heels from under the dress.

"what are you doing?" you exclaimed.

"this must be uncomfortable to stand in for so long." he stated, removing your heels. he continued to stay in that position, massaging your feet and toes.

an involuntary moan escaped your lips at the contact before you snapped your mouth shut. the smirk spreading on his lips was infuriating but oh, you wanted to see him smirk like that at you all of the time. what's wrong with me?

"another trivia about me," he started, looking back up at you. one of his hands slid up further your calf. up, up, up, until his fingers settled at the inside of your thigh. "I would love to hear all of the sounds you make when I'm touching you."

your hands immediately flew to his hair, holding for support when his fingers trekked higher, finding your clothed core. "I..." you forced your mouth to inhale and exhale air. "what are you..."

"relax, doll," he stood up, pulling you up with him. "let's take this off, shall we?"

perhaps it was the way his eyes raked over your figure, or the loss you felt when his fingers stopped their dance on your skin, or the heat pooling in your core at his low voice.

you nodded in agreement, hands trying to find the zipper of your dress.

"allow me," he said, turning you around to do the task for you. your hands went limp at your side, his fingers opening the chain, your dress slowly pooling down at your feet. his fingers gently traced figures on your back as the two of you leaned into each other for a moment, taking in the peace before it would be consumed by what you can only assume is passion.

you turned towards him, letting him see your white lingerie-clad body. you heard a growl before his lips crashed into yours, this one feeling a lot deeper and harder than the last one. your moans mixed in each other's mouths, his hands pushing you back to the bed, yours finding the nape of his neck.

when he climbed over you on the bed, your fingers went to completely take off his tie and loose his jacket, his hands working in sync with you.

you separated in need of oxygen, but Bucky couldn't keep his lips off you any longer, it seemed, as he immediately started to nip and suck on your jaw and neck, fingers brushing over your nipples. you moaned, finding his other hand to push it between your bodies, and he instantly rubbed your pussy through your lacy underwear.

"fuck, sweetheart, all of this for me?" he growled, looking up to you before his lips licked at your clothed boob, the act making you even more desperate for his kiss, his touch on your skin.

"James!" you moaned. hisstilled for a second before groping your other boob and groaning deeply.

"my name has never sounded sweeter." he mumbled, more to himself.

"James," you said again, his body reacting under your hands roaming on his shoulder and arms. "please, fuck me."

"not yet, baby. gotta make sure you're all stretched out for me."

you pushed him down at his words. "fingers, then."

"my wife's a desperate, needy girl, is she? could've sworn you hated me by the way you were glaring at me on the altar, doll." he teased but complied to your wishes. slowly removing your panties, he kissed your inner thighs as he settled between them, one of your legs thrown up on his shoulder.

"I did hate you back then," you said. the sight of Bucky between your legs, looking at your pussy like a starved man, his pupils blown with lust, was now amongst the best sights you have laid eyes on in your life.

"is that so?" he continued splattering kisses on your thighs and just near your folds, where you wanted him the most.

"stop teasing," you whined.

"do you hate me now?" he looked up, hands circling around your thighs.

"if you don't stop teasing, maybe I will," you sassed back.

"can't have that." it seems that was all the motivation he needed as he started licking and sucking your clit.

your head fell back on the mattress, hands tugging at his hair as you let out a loud moan.

James Bucky Barnes was a master at eating pussy.

you felt the evidence of it coursing through your nerves, pleasure overtaking your mind. he licked, sucked, and kissed your folds as if he had known them for years, kmown your body like the back of his mind. he paid extra attention on the spots that made your back arch underneath his body, that caused your legs to jerk around him.

before long - far earlier than you'd like to admit - you felt a coil clench in your belly, the tell tale sign of your release. with your hands in his hair, you pushed him closer to your core, if that was even possible.

"I am so close," you moaned and continued to chant his name, fuelling his actions further.

"come on my face, baby," the vibrations from his words spread through you like a wildfire and pushed you over the edge, a scream that sounded too pornographic than you were used to escaped your mouth. "that's a good girl."

his tongue was in your entrance when it started pulsating and you rode out your first orgasm as a married woman with your husband's tongue buried in you.

when it was over, Bucky's fingers rubbed your soaked pussy, another jerk of your body as your legs started shaking again.

"Ja- ames," you moaned again.

"give me one more, baby, just to make sure you don't hate me," he grinned, looking up at you with dazed eyes. "your moans are the prettiest music I have ever heard."

you did not have it in you to register his compliment before he started to insert his middle finger inside your core.

"fuck," you dragged out, your hands returning to his face and hair. he continued to stare at your hole, taking in the tightness and the way you gripped his finger.

"you are so beautiful, baby."

"James," you whined, pulling on his hair, bringing him up to your level. you kissed your husband, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. you moaned in his mouth.

"gone too dumb with pleasure, baby?"

you nodded, whimpering and riding his fingers, your hips bucking and jerking to chase the release that was quickly building inside you again.

he chuckled, adoration behind his eyes. "that's my girl. take your pleasure, doll. atta girl."

he continued to murmur sweet nothings, peppering kisses and sucking on your jaws, behind your ears, your neck, and collarbone. his praise stroked the heat inside of you, urging you to buck your hips faster.

soon, another orgasm washed over you, making you whine and whimper around his mouth, moaning oh god, oh my god and James, James, James!

your head floated in pleasure, never been satisfied like this before in all your sexual escapades.

when you came back to real world, it was to Bucky massaging and soothing your thighs and hips, still kissing you all over your face.

"come back to me, doll," his voice crooned, and though you did not know him that well, you could see concern fill the edges of his eyes.

"hi," you smiled up at him, sated and possibly a little lovedrunk.

"hey, baby," he grinned. "how ya feeling?"

"so, so good." you answered truthfully. "should I return the favour?" you asked, eyes shifting down to the clear outline in his slacks, his cock straining to break free. "I want to make you feel good."

his gaze darkened but he shook his head. "maybe another time, baby. I think I am too eager to be inside you for that tonight."

a fresh pool of arousal coated your walls, and you were sure you have already made enough mess out of this bed but something about the way your husband looked at you made you forget any frivolous care.

"then what are you waiting for?"

you pushed up, helping him unbutton his shirt and pants, your hands roaming over his broad chest and shoulders, firm and soft at the same time - how was that even possible? - and he wiggled out of his underwear.

his cock was already hard and you wondered if just eating and fingering you turned him on that much. you took it in your hands, impressed by the girth and length.

"Mr. Barnes, I did not know you were packing this underneath those silky, overpriced clothes."

he smirked. "impressed, Mrs. Barnes?"

"maybe."

you stroked his shaft a couple of times, before pushing him down on the mattress and straddling his hips, your knees on either side of his thighs.

"let me take care of you, now." your voice dropped an octave lower, your eyes still lidded with lust. "it's only fair."

"mm," he looked up at you, helping you out of your bra and groping your boobs. he pinched your nipples between his metal fingers, the cold and pain mixing together perfectly with the pleasure. "I love being fair."

you smirked down at him, dragging your wet entrance over his cock, soaking it in your juices. he grunted at the feel of your pussy against his member. you continued humping his cock for a few minutes, your wetness dripping down his cock and balls.

"you're killing me, sweetheart," he groaned, grabbing your hips to still your movements. "c'mon baby, ride me like a good girl."

"since you asked so nicely, husband," your hands found his cock, guiding it inside you.

both of you let out a long moan as you buried yourself completely down his length, inch by inch. when you were fully seated, you let yourself adjust to the fullness inside you, his bare length grazing your walls and filling you up perfectly.

once you were ready to move, you started bouncing up and down.

Bucky, who had closed his eyes at the feel of your pussy gripping him so tightly, half opened his eyes, drawn to your bouncing boobs and fucked out expression. your hands moved up his shoulders, grabbing as you increased your pace.

"James, you fill me up so nicely," you did not mean to say that out loud.

"you're made for me, doll," he panted.

your tight walls were pushing him closer to release, and he tried to delay it as much as he could. his fingers went from your tits down to your clit, rubbing it furiously. your walls fluttered at the contact, making him moan again.

before today, not a lot of girls could say they had heard him moan. grunt, sure. groan, maybe. but nobody ever gave him as much pleasure to warrant him moaning out loud.

until he felt you underneath him. and on top of him. and around him.

"are you close?" he panted.

"yeah," you said.

your thighs burned from exhaustion. you fell forward on him, hips continuing to move around his cock, up and down, side to side.

you kissed him, your tongues dancing for dominance.

his other hand went to your ass, giving it a smack. you moaned around his mouth, which prompted him to repeat the action.

your third orgasm of the night washed over you suddenly, your pussy contracted around him, milking his cock for his release. Bucky couldn't resist, and his seed coated your walls, emptying your balls inside you.

your forehead rested against his, both of you coming down from your highs.

Bucky's eyes opened first, gazing up at you with love.

"you did so well for me, baby," he muttered.

"thank you, James," you whispered.

when he untangled from you, he lied you down softly. he helped you clean up and drink some water. he also ordered some food, calling on the concierge to bring you whatever your heart desired.

after a hearty meal filled with random questions that helped you know your husband more, you and Bucky slid under the covers of the bed.

he slid closer to you, asking you if it was okay to cuddle with you to sleep. your heart swooned at his care and answered with "yes, of course."

when you had woken up that morning, after a restless sleep, your heart was heavy and your mind was filled with negative thoughts about your future, which seemed bleak. now, as you drift off, you have a smile on your face, your mind telling you that perhaps, you can grow to love your husband if he truly was as caring as he was tonight. your future looked bright and full of love.

a girl could do a lot worse.

I wrote this in one sitting, which is the most writing I've got done in a LONG time. hope you enjoy it! let me know what you thought! likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[al-1-na]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐔

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: racer!Rafe Cameron x childhood!bsf!Reader

𝐂𝐖: some smut

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭; 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

I Missed You

You hadn’t seen Rafe Cameron in years. Not since that summer your whole world split like a cracked windshield — the day your parents packed up your house, shoved everything into boxes, and told you to say goodbye to the Outer Banks. No time to argue. No time to explain anything to him.

And he didn’t chase you.

But you always wondered if he would’ve, if he’d even known.

Now you were back. Not for long — just a few weeks, long enough to help your cousin run her tattoo shop, long enough to breathe in the salt-worn air of the place that never really left your chest.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

Not like this.

The crowd thickened around the parking lot turned race pit — neon lights bouncing off chrome, music pumping like a pulse. You didn’t belong here, not really, but your cousin’s boyfriend had dragged you along to some late-night underground race out on the edge of Kildare. You half-expected kids with rusted Hondas and egos bigger than their engines.

But then the black Camaro pulled up.

And you saw him step out.

Rafe Cameron.

Same arrogant tilt to his mouth, same too-blue eyes under the curl of his hair. But he wasn’t the boy you remembered — not exactly. He moved differently now. Like he owned this place. Like he had something to prove and already knew he’d win. The street swallowed him like it bowed to him.

You watched from the shadows, heart in your throat. He didn’t see you. Not yet.

Someone clapped him on the back, handed him a cigarette, and he just grinned, taking a drag, flicking it away before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“He doesn’t lose,” your cousin’s boyfriend whispered in awe. “That’s Cameron. No one even bets against him anymore.”

You said nothing, your hands were trembling.

❦❦❦❦

The race was fast and brutal — two cars weaving through the industrial sprawl with nothing but instinct and hunger to guide them. You didn’t even realize you’d started breathing again until Rafe skidded across the finish line, smoke curling from his tires, crowd screaming his name like a war chant.

He stepped out, triumphant, sweat slicking his throat, adrenaline crackling off him like static.

And then—

His eyes caught yours.

It was like slamming into a memory. Like heat and headlights and heartbreak all at once.

He froze.

You wanted to run, but your feet refused to move. Maybe you were just as stubborn as you used to be.

Rafe didn’t look away. He passed his winnings to some lackey, muttered something, and stalked toward you. The crowd blurred around him.

“No fucking way,” he said, voice low and rough. “Is it really you?”

You swallowed. “Hey, Rafe.”

He stared like you were a ghost. Then he laughed — short, disbelieving. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. After all this time, you just show up at my race?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything.

He stepped closer. “You left. No warning. No goodbye. Just— gone.”

“That wasn’t my choice,” you said quietly. “I was sixteen. They didn’t give me a vote.”

Rafe’s jaw flexed. His gaze dropped for a second, to your lips, then to the cute, pink highheels on your feet like he was trying to decide if this was real. Then back to your eyes.

“You still look like trouble” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes. “And you still talk like a movie character.”

That grin. Dangerous. Sharp. Familiar.

“You coming to the party?”

You hesitated. “I don’t think—”

“You came here,” he cut in. “You watched me race. Don’t just disappear again like this.”

God help you.

❦❦❦❦

The house was chaos. Someone’s mansion-turned-madhouse lit up with LED strips and fire pits and music so loud the floors vibrated. Rafe’s crew took over the living room, laughing, drinking, retelling every second of the race.

You stayed close to the wall, watching him.

He was magnetic. He always had been. But now it was louder. Rawer. He had that kind of pull that made people lean in, made girls laugh too hard and guys nod like they owed him something. He was king here.

But he kept looking at you.

Every few minutes, those eyes found yours through the smoke and bodies. You’d look away, heart hammering, and he’d smirk like he knew something you didn’t.

When he finally crossed the room to you, it was with that same determined swagger. Like he was chasing something again.

“Still quiet,” he murmured, brushing a solo cup into your hand. “Never liked parties, did you?”

You shrugged. “Only ever went to the ones you dragged me to.”

“I remember,” he said. “You wore that ugly green hoodie and glared at everyone.”

“It wasn’t ugly,” you shot back.

“Yeah, it was,” he said, smiling. “But it smelled like you. I liked it.”

Your chest ached.

He leaned against the wall beside you, close enough to smell the smoke on his shirt, the mint on his breath. “You know,” he added, voice low, “I hated you for a long time.”

“I know.”

“I kept thinking — she could’ve called. Texted. Anything.”

You looked up at him. “I wanted to. I tried. My parents blocked everything. New number. New school. It was like… like they wanted me to forget the OBX ever happened.”

He tilted his head. “Did you?”

“No.”

Silence.

“I used to think about you every time I raced,” he said.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because it reminded me of us. Of sneaking out at night. Of that feeling — like the world didn’t matter if we were just going fast enough.”

You breathed, “We were just kids.”

He looked at you like that was the cruelest part. “Yeah. We were.”

For a second, it felt like he might kiss you.

Instead, he drained the rest of his drink and said, “C’mon. There’s something I want to show you.”

❦❦❦❦

The garage was quieter. Just the two of you, the Camaro parked under flickering light.

Rafe walked to it and dragged his hand across the hood. “Built it myself. Piece by piece.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said honestly.

“She runs like hell,” he said. “Fastest thing in the OBX.”

You looked at him. “Why do you do it? The racing. The danger.”

He met your eyes. “Because it’s the only time I feel like I’m in control.”

You stepped closer. “You always wanted to win. Even when we were kids.”

He laughed. “I wanted you.”

Your breath hitched.

He looked down, voice hoarse. “You were the only thing that made sense. Even when everything else was burning down around me. And when I lost you… I was looking for something else that made sense. But still it wasn’t the same.”

You closed the space between you, the air thick with memories, heat, longing.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

Rafe’s hand came up to your cheek, rough and warm. “You ruined me, you know that?”

“You let me.”

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was everything unsaid — years of anger and ache and want. He tasted like smoke and sweetness, like bad decisions and coming home. You kissed him back like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

His hands found your waist, yours tangled in his shirt. He backed you up against the car, lips trailing to your jaw, your throat, breath ragged.

“I used to dream about this,” he murmured. “About you.”

You pulled back, breathless. “Dreams come true you know.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, and it broke something in you.

❦❦❦❦

His kiss deepened, rougher now — all teeth and tongue and want. You gasped against his mouth as he lifted you slightly, setting you down on the hood of the Camaro like you weighed nothing. The metal was still warm from the race, searing through the thin fabric of your clothes, but all you felt was him.

Rafe’s hands slid under your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge until your hips met. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck again, hot and hungry, nipping at the spot below your ear that made your whole body jolt.

“Still so damn sweet,” he growled against your skin, fingers digging into your waist like he needed to anchor himself. “You know how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”

You couldn’t speak — you could barely breathe. Your fingers clawed at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up, exposing hard lines and ridges that hadn’t been there when you were kids. He was solid, inked and battle-worn, but the way he looked at you — it was the same boy who used to sneak through your window at 1 a.m.

His hand slid under your shirt, rough palm dragging up your ribs, over your bra. He smirked when he felt how fast your heart was racing. “You gonna stop me?”

You shook your head, breathless. “Don’t you dare.”

Rafe grinned and kissed you again, deeper this time, opening your bra and flicked his thumb across your nipple. You moaned into his mouth, hips arching against his. He groaned in response, grinding against you with a hiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Your hands were already on his belt, yanking it loose. You didn’t care where you were — garage, hood of his car, middle of a damn war zone. You just needed him.

“Condom?” you gasped.

Rafe cursed, pulled away just long enough to rip open the glove box, toss a gold packet at you. “Always come prepared.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For who?”

He gave you a look. “Only for you, baby.”

Then he was back between your legs, tugging your underwear aside, lining up. The look on his face was pure reverence and raw heat all at once. “Tell me you want this.”

“I need this,” you whispered.

He pushed in slow — stretching, filling, burning in the best possible way. You clung to him, breath stuttering, moan caught in your throat.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

He started moving — deep, slow strokes at first, then faster, rougher, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking everything he gave, the hood rocking beneath you, the car squeaking faintly with each thrust.

It was desperate. It was messy. But it felt so, so good.

His forehead pressed to yours, sweat slick between you. “You’re mine,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Always were.”

You came with a cry, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later, biting down on your shoulder as he emptied into the condom.

For a moment, all you could do was breathe and whimper when he slowly pulled out.

Without a word, he helped you down gently, kissed your forehead, and guided you to the passenger seat.

Wrapped in his jacket, your head on his shoulder, you felt more whole than you had in years.

❦❦❦❦

Later, you lay in the passenger seat, curled up in his jacket, while he lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling of the garage like it held all the answers.

“You leaving again?” he asked finally.

You sighed. “I don’t know. I wasn’t supposed to stay long.”

He didn’t speak for a while. But when he did, it was like a desperate whisper. “Stay a little longer.”

You turned your head. “Rafe…”

“I know I’m not good for you,” he said. “I know I’m messed up. But when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I’m going to explode.”

Your throat tightened.

He looked at you. “Stay. Or just think about it. Please...”

You nodded once. “Okay.”

And just like that —

The fire that had smoldered for years finally caught.

@favzcarpentr @k4yr14 @cokewithcameron @psychocitylights @iheartnut @happy-mushrooms @thelongingsofelle @rafeysvenicebitch @suhnnybunny

[eldritch-spouse]

hey Pinniee.......so i recently stumbled across a new..........certain interest of mine.... and that may ormay not be gettting exteremely turned on when i drink and am encouraged to drink.....I feel like Gallon would like this for obvious reasons but....are there any others that mayhaps....indulge this certain interest of mine? the remasters are brilliant!!!! by the way! you're truly an amazing artist and i find myself thinking of your characters and world semi frequently (especially in unrelated situations and im just like????okay but theyd match my freak<3)

TW: Noncon on most of these

Who likes getting you stupid drunk?

Fank-e is an unlikely candidate, you'd think. But this robot has a particular obsession with seeing squishies out of their mind. That's why he always has stashes of psychostimulants and boosts- Generally many mind-altering substances. Logically, the machine doesn't do drugs, it can't. But it likes seeing you tripping the fuck out of orbit, and stuffing his hands everywhere while you're at it. Alcohol is really no different. Even when you get sick form it, Fank-e's still hovering over you in excitement.

In the same way Jayde doesn't mind buying affection, he also doesn't mind buying you a few drinks for it. Are you sure you can handle Hell's alcohol? Are you? Then show him. Take a few shots with the imp. He's got less body mass than you, so surely... Jayde loves the way you get sloppier with each sip, when you can barely hold yourself together and giggle at all his lame jokes. He likes how he can slide a hand into your shirt and you barely care. You're so pretty like this, letting him take you anywhere, touch you anywhere.

Lacai can and will use pheromones often, but sometimes, it's a bit of a challenge to use other means of getting someone into his hands. Drinks? Oh, he can afford some of the best, he knows places where the ambiance is just right and every glass is served to aesthetic perfection. Oh, just another one, Lacai promises that next one looks even more gorgeous. Take a photo of it, post it somewhere. Not many people get the privilege. One moment you're looking at your drink, the next the world is spinning and his tongue is inside your mouth.

Fasma is a bum. Misery loooves company. He's such a piece of shit for dragging a pretty thing like you down with him. Really, you've got a lot to look forward to, kid. You're not like him. But if there's anyone he'd love to have some drinks with, it'd be you. You're just too gorgeous, let him treat you to the finer stuff, make this old man some company. He's totally not grinning watching you get wasted, totally not going to slip his fingers into your skirt and watch you slump all open. Yer such a lightweight, he'd feel bad stealing from you even if he didn't like you.

Liter is heavy into alcohol. You're talking about the slime that got Gallon into his craft. Liter plies anyone he likes with drink and good vibes, he's a great talker too, so you're bound to stick around. While he's careful not to give you something crazy, what he does offer is sure to have you blackout hammered. It burns your throat but it burns so good, doesn't it? Yeah that one gets him in a mood too. You poor thing, come closer, he'll hold you so you don't fall, inside him...

Shags isn't a drinker. Buuuut, he shares a similar fascination to Fank-e, in a less intense manner. There's something about seeing the way you transform before his very own eyes, Shags always stocks up on the drinks you like, excitedly following your drunken rambling and engaging in your shenanigans. Please, have all you like, he can afford it, and it makes him so happy to see you so satisfied. Even the way you hold the glass is beautiful... He waits until you pass out somewhere, and promptly lets all his built up arousal seep off him like waves. You're in good hands, rest well...

Caius does enjoy getting blood drunk. And here's a funny thing- You don't even need alcohol to get drunk with him. Just let him feed a little too long and you'll see, that funny little lightheaded feeling that takes you over. He does so love caressing you in that state, singing your praises. Caius does, however, like joining festivities with his own drink, though always encourages you to have more with a blood-soaked grin. Oh what a joy you are like this! He loves jolly people- You're a magnet. And may the heavens damn him if the Magister isn't making the most out of it. Dance, dance with him...

Vorticia is a refined woman -When she's not pigging out at the table- She's incredibly fond of Gluttony's wines and whiskeys and all that good stuff. Flavored alcohol is especially to her tastes, and she knows you'll enjoy it too, you have an eye for this after all. There's nothing like long conversations across the halls, watching you stumble on shaky legs like a doe, until the Queen is carrying you to your chambers, still holding a glass to your lips. Doesn't she spoil you? Don't you like this?

Dishonorable mentions

Mooncalf. Everyone knows fae are indulgent, trapping you with food is common, but so is offering good alcohol. While Mooncalf is not typically the fae type you'd associate with liquor and such, he still delights in occasionally getting you drunk. You already belong to him, so why not celebrate, always?! Be jolly, be wild, be crazy with him, dance like a butterfly under the moonlight with him!

Rinx. He loves to watch you eat, he also loves to watch you drink, no wonder he likes watching you get drunk too. He's more excited and curious than aroused, but it's only a matter of time until he starts pawing at you, particularly if you're the type of drunk that gets a little frisky.

Patches and Stitches. One is a desperate opportunist, the other just likes to embarrass you, a match made in anything but heaven. Patches will subtly keep edging you new drinks, Stitches sloshes shots in his head and dunks them into your mouth like a horror show. You're wobbling your way into their hands regardless of who's piloting....

Cero doesn't so much enjoy the drunk part as he does the wardrobe malfunction that follows. Your helpless state as you slump there barely capable of making a phrase, dress askew, bra peeking, hair unkempt. You're hopeless. And he's steaming alive.