#like i’d let this man ✨rail✨ me

[cameronsprincess]

i mean… can it ruin mine next??🥺🥺

[siancore]

Okay, fun SamBucky ask game!! Send this to five other people to keep it going ✨ Say one of your favorite things about SamBucky, your favorite SamBucky headcanon, or write a tiny microfic. Have a wonderful day!! 💕

I love them because of their chemistry. There’s just something really palpable between them when they’re on the screen together. I also love them because of the way they end up in one another’s orbits. I love the banter, but also the genuine care and respect Sam and Bucky have for one another. Anyhoo, I wrote this. I’ll definitely look at expanding on it if my Dear Readers are interested.  Divorce Era SamBucky because we are in it right now. Enjoy!

The throbbing in Sam’s head had grown stronger with each passing moment. He was over their conversation. Bucky was leaving and there was nothing left to say. Sam just wanted to take the Paul & Darlene out on the waters and feel sorry for himself in peace.  

“Why’re you still here?” 

“Sam, please don’t be like that.” 

“Like what? Upset?” asked Sam, noticing that Bucky had the decency to look sheepish. “I don’t have time for this.” 

He went below deck, and Bucky followed him, reaching out to take hold of Sam’s upper arm. Sam pulled away. 

“Please, Sam,” said Bucky, causing the other man to turn and face him. “Don’t I get to explain myself?” 

“Oh, I think you’ve made yourself pretty clear here.” 

“Sam.” 

“And don’t I get to be upset, uh? Don’t I get to be pissed off at you?” 

“Sam.” 

“I stuck my neck out for you, time and time again, and you’re still gonna bail on me?” 

“I don’t want – I don’t want to leave. I have to.” 

“Right.” 

“You think I want this? You think I want to be away from you? Like I have a choice.” 

Sam sighed and composed himself for how he would respond.  

“You of all people know what it means to not have a choice, Bucky. I know that. But this? This is different and you damn well know it. You’re a free agent. No one can dictate what you do. Not anymore. Working with them. Going with them. It’s your choice. You’re choosing to leave.” 

Bucky let his head fall before looking up at Sam through his lashes. Silence washed over him. The words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat.  

“So, now you get quiet on me? You follow me down here and now you’ve got nothing to say?” Sam scoffed as he turned his back. “Just go.” 

“No.” 

Sam turned back to look at him and repeated, “No?” 

“Not until you actually speak to me,” said Bucky, as he inched closer. “Not just scream at me or be pissed off at me. What about me going to work with another team really bothers you?” 

He could see the anger and frustration in Sam’s eyes; in the way he squared his shoulders; the way he stared Bucky down.  

“Is it a them problem,” Bucky pushed. “Or is it all on you?” 

“So, it’s my fault that you wanna run off with a bunch of assholes that you don’t know, to do only God knows what?” Sam retorted, as he lifted his chin defiantly.  

“It’s your fault if you don’t say what’s really got your shorts in a twist,” Bucky shot back. “Don’t you trust me to be out there without you or Ayo keepin’ an eye on me?” 

Sam narrowed his gaze as an incredulous look spread over his face. 

“You know that’s not what I think,” Sam spat back. “How could you even say that?” 

Bucky moved closer to Sam, and Sam backed away slightly.  

“You think I’m gonna hurt people? Is that it?” asked Bucky. 

“I never said that.” 

“Think I’m gonna go right off the rails without you reining me back in? Is that it?” asked Bucky, his eyes red-rimmed but so impossibly blue.  

“Please. I’m not your fucking keeper,” Sam shot back, pressing a finger to Bucky’s chest. “You make your own decisions. You do what you want. If I really had any say in anything to do with your life, I’d tell you to tell those people to fuck off.” 

Bucky snorted out a laugh and it annoyed Sam to his core.  

“You sure do got a lotta words for them, uh?” he asked, almost derisively. “But can’t be truthful with me about what you really want from me.” 

“I don’t want anything from you, Barnes.” 

Bucky narrowed his gaze and inched closer, almost pressing Sam against the wall. He stared into Sam’s eyes, his beautiful eyes, and said, “You’re lying.” 

Sam scoffed and said nothing in response. 

“Tell me what you want from me,” said Bucky firmly, his breath hot on Sam’s lips. 

Sam’s gaze darted from Bucky’s steely eyes to his smart mouth.  

“I want things that I can’t have. Things I got no right asking for,” said Sam, his voice shaky. “I want too much from you and that ain’t on you. It’s my problem.”

Bucky moved closer so that they were chest-to-chest, both breathing rapidly, hearts smashing against their ribcages. Bucky’s eyes fell from Sam’s and rested on his perfect lips a beat too long.  

He brought his gaze back to Sam’s, stared into his soul, and said, “You want me? Is that it?” 

The emotion that swam behind Sam’s eyes was almost too much as he stared silently at Bucky. 

“Say it, Sam,” he said, too loud for a whisper, but soft enough that only Sam heard. “If you want me, then tell me you want me.” 

Sam bit his bottom lip and tried to steady his breathing. He was almost vibrating out of his skin. He had not wanted it to come to that. To the moment where he would have to crack his soul open and admit to Bucky that he wanted him. To lay it all bare and tell Bucky that he wanted more than just friendship with the other man. To admit that he did not want Bucky to leave because he wanted him to stay there with him; to stay in his family home; to lay with him in his bed; to be his and his only.  

He was drawn from his thoughts by the breath that escaped Bucky’s lips as Bucky closed his eyes a moment. 

“If you want me like I want you, Sam, you gotta say it,” Bucky said, as he leaned in and rested his brow against Sam’s. “You gotta tell me. I need to hear it. I need –” 

“I want you,” said Sam, as he brought his trembling hand up to the back of Bucky’s neck. “I want you.” 

Bucky let out this half-relieved, half-disbelieving laugh as he drew back from Sam, cupped his face and stared into his eyes.  

“God, I want you, too,” said Bucky. “I want you so much it fucking hurts.” 

“Then have me,” said a breathless Sam. “I’m yours, Buck, if you’ll have me.”

The wonderment and hope that Bucky’s eyes radiated seeped into Sam soul. He closed his own eyes and let that hopefulness wash over him before whispering, “If you want me, then stay with me. Please stay with me.” 

[matwith1t]

A/N: I’ve been constantly surrounded by wedding talk so here’s me venting via fic!! A good vent!! It successfully brought me out of my writing slump!! Very happy for people celebrating marriage!! ‘Tis also been a while since I’ve written, so I’d love any & all feedback! Work is kinda slowing down, so I’m hoping to have more writing time / being more active on here ✨ Thank you all for your kind messages!!

Summary: Snippets from your relationship with Mat that lead up, and all come together, to one of the most important days of your life. 

MASTERLIST | Mat Barzal x Reader | LET’S CHAT 🥂 |

Warnings: None!! // WC: 7.2K // Fluff

Brittle leaves crunched under your boots: burnt orange, smokey red, and canary yellow. The earth created its own mosaic amongst leaves as you breathed in the thin, crisp chill autumn air.

A biker passed on your right and the hand in yours––gloved fingers entangled together––pulled you closer into his side.

Tilting your head back, slightly constricted by the borrowed scarf wrapped multiple times around your neck, you smiled softly, “How much longer?”

You could see his laugh, swept away by the wind in an instant, “We’re almost there.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I mean it this time.”

A snort sounded from you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t ease my doubts.”

Mat squeezed your hand firmly through his glove, “We just have to walk over this bridge,” he nodded his head toward the creek, a wooden bridge built for traveling across, laid just ahead. “And after that, it’s a five minute walk.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyes gazing at his side-profile. Despite growing up in Canada, Mat did not fare well in cold weather. And New York held no care for his low weather tolerance. While the complaints came endlessly from him, you could only admire the way the tip of his nose flushed in a rose color from the wind. His cheeks also shared the same  tinted blush. Or, you found yourself admiring the flecks of hair that stuck out from his beanie.

The bridge creaked under your footsteps, along with more crunching leaves. The reflection of golden and red hues painted the stream of water that flowed steadily beneath the bridge. And then you looked up at the sky. Cream colored clouds swirled into the powder blue sky. Two magpies flew through the air together.

Stillness.

Everything you felt in this moment came from the pure feeling of contentment. Content with the brisk weather. Content with the relaxation this Sunday morning walk brought you. Content with the man walking next to you.

Content in love.

Exiting from the thoughts in your mind and returning to reality, your vision shifted from the sky to an even more beautiful sight of Mat with a small, affectionate smile that made his eyes shine bright.

You offered him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, the trees looked nice.”

You didn’t say anything about how the distinct feeling in the air reminded you of the love you felt for him.

Mat shook his head, disregarding your apology, “If you want, we can stop and look at the trees.”

“We’ll be late.”

Again, Mat shook his head and tugged your hand over to the wooden rail of the bridge. He dropped your hand and raised his arm to pull you into his side. On instinct, your head rested on his chest and you breathed in a scent more enrapturing than the outdoors on an autumn day; him.

The two of you stood in silence admiring the natural colors of nature. And while you wanted nothing more than to encapsulate the colors of the leaves, the sound of water trickling over rocks, and the scent of autumn mingled with Mat, all you could focus on was the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Once you acquired enough sights and senses of the setting to keep locked up in your memory forever, you told Mat that you thought it would be best to keep walking to the coffee shop. When you received no response from him, you shifted under him and looked up at him through your eyelashes. And like how he stared at you when you appreciated the colors on the trees, he was already looking down at you with that same affectionate smile.

But there was something different about this smile. Maybe because you stood closer to him, and could carve out a detailed print of the small dimple in his left cheek. Or maybe, you felt the way his heart rate increased under the palm of your hand. Perhaps it came down to the gentleness his eyes radiated.

“We should probably get going,” you said.

“We should.” He responded, but made no movement.

Neither of you wanted to leave, but you knew he didn’t want to arrive late.

You curled into his chest, burying your head into his jacket as his arm wound tightly around you. The gentle kiss he pressed to your forehead caused a swarm of happiness to swirl around your entire body.

Mat pressed one more kiss on your forehead, and whispered, “Let’s go.”

He picked up your hand, led you over the bridge, as you tried your hardest to retain everything about the moment you shared on the bridge.

True to his word, it only took five minutes to walk to the coffee shop from the bridge. Mat raised his eyebrows in an I-told-you-so brag, as he held the door open for you to walk through. With a roll of your eyes, you softly punched his shoulder in jest, but plucked your glove off the second you entered the store to slide your fingers between his.

You spotted your mother immediately, dragging Mat between tables until she looked up from her phone with a smile. Dropping his hand, you pulled her  into a hug the moment she stood up.

Breathing in the scent of your childhood, you apologized, “Sorry we’re late.”

Your mother squeezed you tight before letting go, resting her hands on your shoulder, “Barely. Only by five minutes.” She smiled at you before turning to face Mat, her smile never faltering, “It’s so good to see you, Mat.”

Mat wiggled his nose, sniffling away the dryness, as he smiled at your mom, “Not as good as it is to see you.”

“Always the charmer,” your mother rolled her eyes with a laugh and stepped forward to embrace him.

Once pleasantries were out of the way, Mat offered to get everyone’s drink. After a failed protest from your mother, you knew better than to argue with Mat. But he already knew your order and would have bought your drink no matter what.

And with a smile, he took off his beanie as he walked to the counter.

You sat in silence with your mother for a few moments as she stared at you with a knowing smirk. You tried your hardest to keep a blank expression, but then memories of standing on the bridge flooded your mind. You broke eye contact with her, head turned down to face the table, as you felt your body heat up and a smile break through on your face.

“I––“

“Not a word.” You snapped your head up to see your mother with an even larger smile than yours.

You could see how difficult it was for her as she tried to keep her thoughts to herself. Accepting your request, she nodded her head. But you could see the thoughts in her mind swirling about in the eyes you inherited from her.

Your mother glanced quickly to the right––you followed her eyes––and saw Mat tapping his card on the contactless device. She leaned forward, “Can I say one thing?” She sounded like a child on the school yard with a secret that everyone already was privy to, except yourself. Again, she glanced over and saw Mat trying to pick up all three drinks from the counter, “Please?”

Timing it so that she wouldn’t have much time, you waited until Mat had the drinks securely in his hands. And that’s when you nodded to your mom, releasing her from her own torment.

“You look really happy,” she whispered, “And so does he.”

No words articulated how stunned you felt at her astute observation. And your mind wandered to the bridge; and you smiled again, confirming your mother’s words.

“Here we are…” Mat said as he passed everyone’s warm drinks around the table. He took a seat at the head of the table, sitting between you and your mother.

Conversation started with your mother asking Mat about hockey. Even though you had dated Mat for a little over five months, it was the most natural ice-breaker. Mat then proceeded to ask your mother how things were at home. And from there, conversation flowed naturally with jokes sprinkled around.

“I came across this at your grandmother’s house,” your mother dug around her purse as she explained the reasoning for meeting up, “And I thought you’d like to have it.”

She pulled out a white box, corners tattered, but the lid slid easily off the box and revealed an oval necklace. Eyes wide, you looked up at your mother who gestured you to pick it up. You set the box aside on the table, slowly cupping your hand underneath the gold plate, and lifted it up to examine.

No more than half an inch in width, encrusted around the edge was a Celtic knot. But the necklace felt a smidge heavier than anything you had worn around your neck. You looked up at your mother again, but this time out of curiosity.

She smiled and nodded down to the necklace, “It’s a locket.”

Vision darting back down to the necklace, you saw a hinge slightly protruding from the left side. Hastily, you wedged the nail of your thumb between the two connecting locket pieces. And with a faint snap, the locket opened.

On the left, a black and white photo of your grandfather cut to size. And on the right, a black and white wedding photograph of your grandparents.

“It’s an old antique locket,” your mother said, “Your grandmother said you could have it.”

Unsure of what to say, you carefully shut the locket. Staring up at your mother, she looked happier than ever. You tore your vision away from her to look at Mat. He shared the same expression as your mother.

“You should wear it,” your mother laughed softly.

You nodded, “That would be––Yeah––A good idea––“ You unclasped the chain, but struggled to find it behind your neck, “––Mat? Can you help me?”

As if he wanted you to ask him for help, he stood up from his chair so fast he nearly tumbled out of it.

His cool fingers brushed away the small hairs at the nape of your neck, not wanting to catch them in the chain. His knuckles brushed ever so slightly behind your neck. And when the clasp connected in the back––the cold locket landing right below your collarbone––he softly stroked his thumbs down your neck once…twice…three times, before removing his touch all together and returning to his seat.

His hands caused shivers to run through your entire body.

“Be careful with it,” your mother warned, “It’s something old, so be mindful where you wear it.”

You picked up the locket, rubbing it between your thumb and index finger as you looked up at Mat.

He had that same smile on his face. The one when you looked at the trees. The one you saw up close and could make out the richness of his dark eyes filled with happiness; adoration.

Circling your hands around the warm coffee cup that didn’t hold a flame to how Mat made you feel, you took a sip of the drink and shyly returned his smile.

Something old.

––

Jiggling your hand on the door handle of Mat’s apartment from the outside, it came to no surprise that the handle easily moved downward. Breathing out an irritated, heavy sigh, you pushed through his front door, ready to chastise him about how he should take more safety precautions and lock his door.

As you opened your mouth to call out to him, a blaring beep beep beep of the fire alarm ceased your moment.

Setting your tote bag on the ground, you shut the door––locked it––and walked further into his place. The haziness clouded your vision as you waved your hand to clear away the smoke. The further you walked, the worse the smoke became. And like his unlocked door, it came to no surprise that the culprit who set the fire alarm off currently sprinted across his apartment––opening up every window––as he left the burning frying pan, that continued to unleash heavy black smoke, on top of the stove.

Standing frozen in bewilderment, you felt a rush of air as Mat whizzed past you to get to the living room.

A moment later, you felt another rush of air, and Mat stood in front of you, “Hi.” He grimaced, but quickly bent down and pecked your lips, “Give me one second.”

He sprinted off again.

You stayed still in the hallway, barely processing Mat’s greeting amid the commotion.

Blinking, your mind finally registered that the fire alarm continued its harsh sound, and headed straight for his kitchen. As quickly as Mat ran around his place opening windows, you dashed for the kitchen, turning the stove burner off. Without thinking, you knelt down to take a dish towel out from beneath the sink, and wrapped it around the handle of the frying pan.

The black, char-like burning remnants of food smelled repulsive. Extending your arms to their full-length, you leaned back as you carried the still smoking pan out to Mat’s balcony. With the pan set on the ground for the outside to handle, you ran back inside to the fire alarm.

Mat looked hazy through the smoke, but you could make out the scrunch of his worried brows and wild eyes, “What’d you do?!”

“I took the pan outside,” you waved the dish towel in front of the fire alarm, praying it would clear up the air.

“It was still burning!” Mat joined you at the fire alarm, with his own dish towel, and began to rapidly wave it.

“Exactly!” You raised your voice over the alarm, “The first thing you should’ve done was turn it off––“

“You carrying it was dangerous,” he matched the volume of your voice, “You shouldn’t have–––“ the fire alarm stopped, and like his shoulders, Mat’s voice dropped, “I should’ve done it.”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Can’t do anything about it now.”

He wanted to say more, you could see it in his eyes, but he closed them. Inhaling a deep breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled the same time he opened his eyes.

A soft gaze with a familiar smile; like the one he gave you at the bridge half a year ago.

“How was work?”

Your shoulders sagged as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, “Not the best, actually.”

Knowing you never liked to talk about work after you had a rough day, he stretched out his arms and you took it as an invitation to walk forward. The dish towel dropped from your grasp as your arms wrapped around his waist. He held you tight, head buried into the crook of your neck, as he placed gentle kisses at the base of your throat.

The stress of work would stay with you, but standing in Mat’s arms as he comforted you, made all of the outside forces of your relationship less daunting.

“Let’s order takeout,” Mat mumbled and you felt his words reverberate against your skin, “I tried baking that dish you like. Got the recipe from your mom, but as you can see…”

His voice trailed off at the end and you stifled out a small chuckle.

“Takeout sounds perfect.”

After a few more moments of silence standing in each other’s arms, Mat called your favorite restaurant in his neighborhood and ordered dinner. And within the hour, you sat on the couch with Mat––your calves stretched out on top of his thighs––with takeout containers on your laps, as ESPN plays softly on the television.

Conversation ebbed and flowed as the two of you ate dinner, and when Mat leaned over your legs to place his empty container of the coffee table, he drummed his fingers on your kneecap; lost in thought.

“Be right back,” he lifted your legs up easily, placing them where he sat seconds before, and walked into his bedroom.

Before you had any time to think why he disappeared, he returned empty-handed. Lifting your legs up, he sat back down in the place he was before, and rubbed the fabric of your jeans that covered your shins. Remaining silent, you wanted to ask about the contemplative look on his face, but like how quickly he re-appeared from his room, he beat you to speaking before a thought formed in your mind.

“You know that place I was looking at in Dumbo?”

You nodded. You had visited the loft with him a few months back.

A renovated two-bedroom artist loft with exposed brick, and a few walls painted an off-white. Oak hardwood floor covered the entire place; you envisioned a light colored, blue and cream, handwoven rug placed in the center where Mat wanted the living area. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, with a steel-framed skylight to bring in natural light.

The place was perfect.

And with Mat’s anxious eyes and lip biting, your mind thought the worst. You removed your legs from his lap and leaned up, and placed a hand on his thigh, “Did you not get it?”

Bewildered at the conclusion you jumped to, Mat blinked a few times, lowering his head before looking up at you; a hopeful smile.

“I got it.”

Your eyes widened and you threw your arms around his shoulders, “Oh, Mat! That’s amazing.” You felt his arms wrap around you, and you lifted your head to look into his eyes, “When do you move?”

Instead of the excited spark that lit up his eyes, they reverted back to the anxious look. He rubbed small, comforting circles along your back as he swallowed, “That’s what I want to talk about.”

Your heart stopped. Why would moving be something he wanted to ‘talk about’ with you. The loft was a bit further away from where you lived now, but you didn’t mind extra travel time to his place if you meant you got to see him. It was still Brooklyn.

Trying to conceal your nervousness about where the conversation could lead to, you reached up and brushed his fallen hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear, “What do––I mean––Yeah?”

He smiled softly again and grabbed your fidgeting hand, sliding his fingers between yours, “You like the place, right?”

“It’s nice,” you said. Voice tight.

As someone who tended to retreat into their mind at any given time, you truly wished your thoughts fared better than worse case scenarios. Mat was going to move; and he was moving further away. For certain, you could pinpoint the moment you materialized a future with him. Unfortunately, you weren’t a mind reader, or else you would have spared yourself the hurt that would’ve mangled your soul and not progressed a relationship with Mat.

Distance was somewhat common in your relationship. The distance between your current apartment now, and his. Distance whenever he left for a long road trip for away games. Physical distance was ever present since the beginning of your relationship, but never have you felt any emotional distance. Yet again, you were only knowledgeable about how you felt.

Mat never liked to admit defeat, but maybe he was giving up on his stubbornness; and him creating more physical distance was an easy excuse.

A tug on your sleeve released your mind from tortuous thoughts, “Move with me.” He said in one breath, hand tightening around yours, “That place––We can live together.”

Your head snapped up, staring into hopeful eyes, your guilty mind retracting all previous doubts your friends planted in your head whenever they asked why you two didn’t live together yet. Pleasantly, it wasn’t what you expected to hear from him, “What?”

Mat winced. “If you want?”

His voice raised an octave, cringing at himself for sounding so unsure of his request.

He wanted to live with you. He wanted you to move into a new place with him; not move into a place that he already claimed as his. He wanted to create a shared space, one where you had just as much input as to what cabinet pots and pans laid in. A decision on what bed sheets to purchase together. A place where you come home to him, and he to you.

“You want a home with me?” You said. Voice tight; this time, not out of fear, but from trying to hold back the scratchiness at the back of your throat, caused by your teary eyes.

Mat rolled his eyes at you like it was the most obvious observation in the world. He shifted on the couch, hand reaching into the back of his jeans, pulling out a silver key.

“I want so much more with you, but we’ll start with a home.”

Something new.

––

More often than not, Mat’s family traveled down to New York to watch him play hockey. And in the year and a half you had dated him, the Islanders only played a handful of games against the Vancouver Canucks. Playing against the Canucks in Vancouver always elated him, since it was an easy way to travel home to see family and friends.

The last time he played up in Vancouver, the Islanders lost, but he came back radiating pure joy.

I might’ve been on the other team, Mat mumbled into your hair, your head buried into the crook of his neck as he trapped you in a one-arm side hug, but I definitely got the loudest cheers. And on the car ride back to your shared apartment––home––Mat promised to bring you up to Vancouver for a game.

And now, standing a bit misplaced at baggage claim in the Vancouver International Airport, you checked your phone once more at Mat’s last message: Be there in 15 minutes. Saw some friends at the bar and lost track of time.

He said that twenty minutes ago.

Before you took off from J.F.K. Mat told you he and some old friends were going to a bar in downtown Vancouver before your flight landed. You said that it would be no problem to figure out the public transportation system, but Mat promptly responded with––What kind of boyfriend would that make me if I didn’t pick you up. He constantly reassured you that picking you up would be no problem.

But now, you couldn’t help but dissect every anxious thought running wild inside your mind about how you took him away from friends he didn’t see as often as you.

You fiddled with the bag hanging off your shoulder, fake checking to make sure all of your possessions were inside the bag; as if strangers in an airport cared about anything but their own belongings. In the middle of one of your fake checks, your phone buzzed.

Traffic was worse than I thought, but I’m right outside now.

A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, shoulders dropping with ease, at the thought of reuniting with the person you loved most surpassed your previously anxious notions.

One hand gripping the handle of the suitcase, you followed the signs that directed you outside. After a few moments of looking for Mat’s car, you saw him. Leaning up against the passenger door of the car, arms crossed over his chest as he scrolled on his phone.

As if he sensed another presence, he lifted his head, and his eyes immediately landed on you.

A near identical smile mirrored his face; full of affection, a satisfied look in both of your eyes now that you only stood feet away from each other. And when you reached him––luggage forgotten––the smiles exploded off each other’s faces as your arms circled around his waist.

A deep breath in––you couldn’t tell if it was yours or Mat’s breath––filled your body with comfort. A sense of belonging, a connection that unequivocally felt like your home; fulfillment.

Mat kissed the top of your head, “Missed you.”

“I missed you more.” You said, taking another deep breath of him in.

“Impossible.” Mat laughed as he tightened his arms around you before letting go.

He took your roller bag bag by its handle and picked up your carry-on bag, slinging it over his shoulders, as he brought them to the trunk. You followed him. After not seeing him for nearly two weeks, standing in his presence felt rejuvenating, and you couldn’t think of an excuse to not be with him.

Once he closed the trunk, he spun around. His eyes, still full of fondness, but now shared the company with a look of desire. Absent-mindedly, you followed the invisible pull you felt towards him and stepped forward.

Mat gently placed his right hand on the side of your neck, fingers positioning themselves at the base of your neck, cradling your head. Your eyes closed. Foreheads pressed together. You barely felt his breath fan your face before his mouth found yours. Your hands rested on his chest, one of your hands finding a home right above his heart. His left hand gripped your waist, tender and assertive; a paradox. Your flat palms slowly curled around his shirt, gripping the fabric tighter every time Mat deepened the kiss; more of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

Nearly two weeks apart shouldn’t have felt like an eternity. You had been separated from him before––had been separated for a longer stretch of time––but something about this felt different. You couldn’t place a why or a how of the peculiar feeling, but it didn’t matter in this moment. Mat’s kisses impeded your ability to form a coherent thought, except for one word; more.

His right hand barely slipped underneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your skin.

More.

His lips continued moving over yours, poignant and demanding kisses.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip before pulling away, his mouth wandering to your jaw. Then to your neck, causing your toes to curl. And now, delicate lips repeatedly pressing against your clavicle as if muttering a sacred prayer, while your thoughts were anything but scared; another paradox.

Your fists unclenched his shirt the moment he removed his lips from your skin, lifting his head up to stare at you. Skin prickling, body flushing, you did your best to smooth the wrinkled spots on his shirt. Everytime your hand brushed a spot near his heart, its beating quickened.

“I think I definitely missed you more,” Mat smirked.

With a roll of your eyes, you fell into him again; a barely there press of your lips against his before rounding the car and slipping in the passenger seat.

The drive to Coquitlam was longer than you expected, but Mat filled the car ride with stories about his childhood. And soon enough, he was making familiar turns through his neighborhood and the car was parked in front of his childhood house.

His mom hugged you first when you walked through the door.

“It’s so good to see you again,” she wrapped her arms tight around you, swaying side-to-side a few times. “Mat, take her things up to your room,” she looked at her son over your shoulder.

Without any complaint, he easily carried your bags up.

His mother led you into the kitchen, asking questions about your life in New York. You helped her take out some snacks from the fridge, setting it up on the granite countertop of the island, as the two of you caught up since the last time you’d seen each other. Mat came down shortly, grabbing a glass of water and sat on a stool next to you, listening as you spoke with his mother.

You glanced at him a few times––eyes dancing between his mother and you––as he kept silent, enjoying witnessing you and his mother build upon the pre-existing relationship. Every once in a while, he spoke up, but he mainly observed.

When Mat’s mother excused herself to retrieve something she found in the attic, Mat snuck a few more kisses with you. It felt very juvenile; fast and head spinning kisses that lingered on your lips as he periodically broke away, head turning towards the hallway  to make sure his mother wasn’t anywhere near. And then he would go in for more kisses.

You heard his mother walking down the stairs before him and pulled away. But his lips traveled a path up your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You had no desire to stop him, but when you knew the footsteps were just about to round into the kitchen, you pressed your palms against his chest and pushed him back.

Mat sat up straight, away from you, but your hands were still pressed against his chest when his mother nonchalantly walked in with a box.

She either didn’t see anything or didn’t want to say anything, so she kept quiet as she placed the box on the counter and opened the lid.

A musty stench emitted from the box that contained blue ribbons, gold and silver trophies that gleamed beneath the bright kitchen lights, old hockey team photographs with worn down edges, and a few mis-matched skate laces.

“I thought you got rid of all of these,” Mat spoke in awe, rifling through the contaminants of the box.

“A few people in the family wanted to sell them on EBay.” His mother’s tone was comical, but softened when Mat whipped his head up with horrified eyes. “That was a joke.” Then added, “I would never give these away, they’re your memories.”

He nodded, like a small child listening to a lecture by a parent, and then went back to rummaging.

He’d pick up a photograph, a red ribbon––or anything else he found worthy of a story––and give you an entire lesson on it. His mother spoke up occasionally, keeping Mat in check with some of his overly embellished stories. But mostly she kept silent, observing with prideful eyes; shining between her son and you as she witnessed the love you both had for each other.

“Don’t forget about this,” his mother dug around the box and pulled out a single, slightly dirty hockey skate lace. She dangled it in the air and handed it to Mat, “Your grandfather’s.”

Mat chuckled as he held the lace on both ends, extending it to its full length. He turned to you, “I brought this everywhere––”

“Religiously,” his mother piped up.

Mat nodded in agreement, “It was my good luck charm. I don’t know why, but whenever I had it, something good always happened so I brought it everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Your eyebrows raised.

“First hockey tryouts, spelling-bee’s, championship games,” his tone serious. He dropped his gaze back down to the lace and twirled it around, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I thought it was lost.”

“It’s been in this box the whole time,” his mother said with a comforting smile. “You should lace one of your skates with it for the game.”

Mat shook his head ferociously, “Can’t risk it.” He had recently bought new laces and the Islanders haven’t lost a game in the two weeks he’s had the laces. But the more he looked down at the lone lace, the more he yearned. He picked his head up, eyes boring into yours, “You bring it to the game.”

“What?”

“It’ll be good luck,” he handed the lace over, and you had no choice but to take it, “Obviously you’ll just borrow it for the game, but I want it to be there. And I want you to hold onto it.”

You twirled the old lace that held so many memories for Mat––that most likely shaped him into the man he was today––and it felt like a weight of responsibility. You gulped, “I’m sure your mom would want to hold onto it.”

Mat’s mother curled her hand on top of yours, encasing the string in your grasp, “You should hold onto it.” She patted your hand and picked up her glass of water for a sip, “It’s just for the game.”

Eyes wide in worried, you looked over at Mat who only seemed to marvel in the aspect of you holding onto his old lucky charm. You looked over at his mother again, who eloquently smiled at you and Mat.

“If you need to borrow it for anything else,” she took another sip of water, “Let me know.”

Something borrowed.

–––

As skilled as he skated on the ice, Mat had an awful sense of rhythm when dancing.

You sucked in another deep breath, eyes screwed shut, as his black dress shoes stomped on your blue heels.

“Sorry.”

Opening your eyes, you noted genuine regret on his face, but that didn’t discredit the pain that zipped through your toes, “That’s the sixth time you’ve stepped on me.”

Sheepishly he ducked his head, pressing it against your forehead. With a hand on your hip, he pulled you closer to his chest; and with his other hand holding yours slightly in the air, he squeezed it, “I’m really sorry.”

You breathed out a small laugh, not caring about how many times he stepped on your feet. Even if he continued to step on your toes thirteen more times, you would choose everyday for the rest of your life to relive this day––with him––again.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, releasing the hand on your hip for a moment to twirl you around the center of the room. The song you both chose together continued to play, although you couldn’t hear it with how loud you could hear the beat of your heart through your ears.

Camera clicks.

Family, friends, and loved ones crooned with affection.

Another pain shooting through your foot where Mat stepped on your toes.

“Don’t you dare say sorry,” you pinched his shoulders.

Mat rolled his eyes, “Do we count this as our first fight as a married couple?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I was just asking a question,” Mat spoke with love interlaced through every consonant and syllable, “Mrs. Barzal.”

You only held the last name for a few hours, but your body reacted with chills of giddiness. Because that name was yours now, and so was he.

You felt your body heat up and buried your head into his sofly rumbling chest.

“So tell me…” Mat whispered as his fingertips trailed up and down your back, on top of the dress fabric you dreamed of since you first imagined your wedding, “I noticed my grandfather’s hockey lace tied around your flowers, but what are the other things that go along with that rhyme?”

More camera clicks.

More affectionate crooning from family, friends, and loved ones.

But this time, you purposely stepped on Mat’s toes as he referred to your very carefully, thought out plan as a rhyme.

“My something old,” you tilted your chin down to neck, “The locket my mom gave me––”

“The day with the trees,” a noise of acknowledgement came from the back of Mat’s throat, “I decided I was going to marry you that day.”

You remembered that day there was something different about his smile. Even though you stood so close to him on the bridge that day, so close––that even now––you could sketch him perfectly, but you didn’t know what the smile meant. And since then, it’s the only smile he’s given you. But you recognized the smile now; one of being wholeheartedly, unequivocally devoted to the person who stood in front of him for the rest of his life.

Hot tears pricked behind your eyes because deep down, the more you reflected on that autumn day with the trees and falling leaves, you wanted to have forever with him too that day.

“You better put a photo of us from today in the locket,” Mat said with fictitious authority.

You nodded, “Was planning on replacing the photo of us I already have of us in there with one from the wedding.”

This time, it seemed as though Mat was rendered speechless. He never asked what you had in the locket. You could tell he wanted to ask, or that he wanted to be in there himself, but he refrained from speaking up because he thought maybe you kept your grandparents’ photo in there. But you never told him that the day after your mother gifted you the locket, you scaled down the size of a photo from your first New Year’s together, and placed it in the locket.

You cleared your throat, “Something new,” You slightly shook your head side-to-side, the small silver hoops you wore for earrings moved slightly. “It’s––Technically, this is the first time I’m wearing them and I got them made specifically for the wedding…” you suddenly felt embarrassed, but Mat pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

He chuckled, “Go on.”

“They’re the keys from our first apartment together.”

Perplexed, he scrunched his eyebrows together as he raised a hand to reach for one of the earrings. Gently, placed the palm of his hand behind the earring, having it on his hand before feeling the smooth material between his thumb and index finger.

“That’s––Wow, I can’t––I mean, how?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, embarrassment fully setting in now, “I took my key, your key, and the spares to someone who did custom jewelry and asked if they could make them into earrings.”

“When?”

“After you proposed,” you shrugged your shoulders, but that didn’t do away with the growing feeling of stinging behind your eyes as that day came back in flashbacks, “You told me you wanted so much more with me that day and I––” chin trembling, you sniffled, “I couldn’t get rid of those keys.”

His thumb swiped under your eye, not even realizing that a tear slipped from your eye. But when you blinked away your watery eyes, you could see Mat’s eyes almost as misty as yours.

“I made good on that promise.”

You nodded, afraid that too many words would be the catalyst for the tears that collected in your eyes.

“Your lucky hockey lace was my something borrowed,” you inhaled a shaky breath, “Felt like I needed extra luck today.”

The corner of Mat’s eyes crinkled as he laughed, “Thought I was going to get cold feet?”

He was joking. He laughed. It was all in good nature. You had his last name. You had the engagement ring he bought you. And you both wore wedding rings. Everything was finalized––legally and ceremonially––for your marriage, but even him mentioning not showing up to the wedding after it already happened, caused your heart to drop.

Your hand went stiff in his, and Mat immediately noticed. His face slightly dropped in panic, and he pressed a chaste, but lingering kiss to your lips.

Another camera click.

Another croon of endearment from family, friends, and loved ones.

Another soft kiss pressed to your lips.

“I love you,” Mat said earnestly. “Nothing would ever make me change my mind about marrying you.”

You knew that to be true. There were no qualms, no anxiety, and absolutely no second thoughts when Mat bent down on one knee and you said yes. And you knew the same to be true for him.

“And is your blue the shoes?” Mat looked down, opened his mouth to say something, but promptly shut it when he looked back at you.

When Mat derailed his thought, it only made you more curious. With your voice barely above a whisper, you questioned him, “What?”

He shook his head and continued to dance with you, visibly relaxed from the previous conversation.

For the second time during your first dance as husband and wife, you pinched his shoulders, “Tell me.”

“You won’t get mad?” He nervously asked. When you shook your head, he prepared himself for the worse, already wincing, “Everything else seems…sentimental, like it has a real meaning. But the blue shoes…” his tone sounded weary, “Seems like a cop out.”

Amused with his guess at your something blue, you threw your head back in laughter before resting your head on his chest, trying to calm down. And like that autumn day you stood on the bridge and gazed at the trees with your head on his chest, you felt his heart beat intensify.

“The blue shoes are a cop out.”

“What…” Mat thought carefully on how to phrase his question. He didn’t consider the outcome of you confirming his theory about the blue shoes. “What do you mean?”

Feeling audacious, you smirked, “My blue is only for you.” He still looked clueless. “The blue shoes are visible and people automatically think that it’s part of the rhyme,” you rolled your eyes, “It’s a simple way to avoid telling people the true blue.”

“As your husband,” He pretended to puff out his chest, clearing his throat, “Care to let him in on the blue that’s only for him?”

Leaning up, you made sure that your chests were pressed together, your cheek resting on his as you whispered, “The garter.”

He tensed, “Won’t people see it with the garter toss?”

You hummed, “That’s why there’s another one under there, a decoy.”

His breathing pattern altered, and from how well you knew him, you knew he was trying to control himself, “How will I know the difference?”

“Easy, the decoy is a regular white one. But yours,” you let your fingers trail along his tailored jacket, “It’s a royal blue garter, like the color of the Islanders.” His shoulders tensed with every word you spoke, “There’s some white lace on the trim––”

“Lucky me.”

“That’s not all, I worked very hard with a designer to customize it.” You glared at him for interrupting. He bowed his head, eyes darker than usual, intrigued by what else there was to a piece made specifically for him. “Along with the royal blue and white, you’re forgetting another color––”

“Orange.”

His voice darkened, lowering in pitch. You could tell he wanted nothing more than to know how you incorporated that color into the piece of lingerie.

“In the middle, stitched in orange, is the number thirteen.”

Mat stopped dancing, his entire body frozen in the middle of the wedding reception; everyone’s attention on the two of you.

The music ended.

More camera clicks.

More applause and whistles from family, friends, and loved ones as the first dance between husband and wife came to an end.

“Thirteen,” he said slowly, calculating his words, “My number…You’re wearing my number––thirteen––right now. Under your dress. On the garter.”

“Yes.”

“So while I’m under your dress, in front of everyone,” The fierceness in his eyes fought with the look of absolute fascination, imagining what laid beneath, “I’ll see thirteen on the garter.”

Watching his face morph from awe to greediness in the span of seconds, you nodded your head, “Yes.”

“You’re wearing my number…” His voice faded, as if midway through he couldn’t believe he was vocalizing a thought he had fantasized about countless times; his number on you in the most amorous of places. “On lingerie.”

“I believe I’ve said it already,” you continued suggestively, trailing your fingertips slowly up the sleeves of his suit jacket, placing both of your hands on the sides of his neck, your pinky reaching down to barely graze the chain he still wore under his shirt. “But, yes.”

Mat exhaled slowly, “Fuck.”

Something blue.

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Mkay so we know you love wearing hands on your neck. But do you like to do the choking?

Also who do you think in skz and atz would most likely be into doing the choking vs being choked 👀

✨

i’m very sub leaning, i literally only discovered the desire to dom after jisung put me in a damn chokehold lmao so like…maybe? but only with a select few pretty boys.

skz and choking:

chan- giving. like come on now. we been knew.

minho- giving. does this man look subby to you? lmao

changbin- giving. and bestie i’d fucking let him. look at those ARMS.

hyunjin- receiving. just look at red lights. i will not elaborate further.

jisung- both, it depends on the day. pushing the bottom ji agenda again but what are you gonna do about it?

felix- both but i feel like he prefers to receive. like he just seems subby.

seungmin- giving. and i’d let him too. his hands are fucking gorgeous, why wouldn’t i want a necklace like that?

jeongin- giving. he does not scream sub at all. hell, he doesn’t even whisper it 💀

ateez and choking:

seonghwa- both tbh like yes i’d love for him to choke me but also he’d just look so pretty with hands around his neck.

hongjoong- giving. it’s a rare occurrence for him though, he prefers lovemaking over fucking.

yunho- giving. 100%. and he’s just so LARGE. a comprehensive list of things that would fit in yunho’s 21cm hands: my throat.

yeosang- both actually. he gives more often than not but he’s not opposed to being choked himself.

san- both. hands down. he just looks like one kinky motherfucker.

mingi- receiving. am i pushing my bottom mingi agenda again? yes. do i stand by it? also yes. he’s not really big on choking when he’s taking the lead but god he loves when he’s choked.

wooyoung- both. he’s such a horny bastard and i could see him going off the rails a little. he’s wild in bed, regardless of whether he’s domming or subbing, so almost nothing is off limits. almost.

jongho- giving. if you did manage to get him to submit, he’d want it soft and slow. but good luck getting him in that position, he’d be manhandling you the second things started to get hot. mans is a whole ass dom, even if i do see him as a shy baby at the same time.

[i-am-the-balancing-point]

It’s WIP Wednesday, my dudes!

thanky to a ~carefully planned~ queue I am finally participating in one of those on an actual Wednesday. I have been tagged by @adelaidedrubman, @scungilliwoman and @clicheantagonist, each TWICE already (I’m sorry, I am trying my best! thank you for still thinking of me).

alas everything I have on the burner has not progressed past what I have shown you yet so I‘m just gonna churn some ideas out I wanna brain-birth in the future:

ART

@josephslittledeputy‘s Deputy OC Willa teaching my Dep to use the rocket launcher. Willa is standing behind Gigi and uses the opportunity for some neck kisses 🌝✨

Jacob carrying a sleeping Faith in his arms (I need all of the soft sibling interactions between her and her brothers!)

Faith cuddling a little bunny while sitting in the middle of a field

a spicy bondage and knifeplay scene between John and my dep

Joseph holding my dep to his chest while they’re in the tub

so much Willa and Gigi smut. I made promises!

Gigi comforting a very tired Alex (@clicheantagonist’s deputy OC, based on this)

Imogene, Eli and their little fawn, (something from an AU @nonfunctioning-queer came up with for their deputy OC but I‘m not sure how much I am allowed to share so keeping it vague 🌝)

Joseph kissing Faith‘s forehead

@faithchel’s OC Lyra in a Seed family portrait (I have already done family portrait research for this ndishwvgwaown)

Dani on a horse!!!!!

speaking of horses: Deputies Alex, Willa and Gigi going for a ride together

Mary May getting railed by Skylar ✨

very wife-y portrait of my dep handing Joey a cup of coffee and smooching her on the cheek

I am deeply handshake emoji in love with @raccoondog3’s cult OC Hoot and just wanna draw my dep being nice to him 🤷🏽‍♀️

I also kinda wanna draw Citra but she is so perfect and I feel like I would eternally hate myself if I didn’t do her justice or if it at least would not turn out the way I wanted it to

WRITING

I still have this bit I started to write about how John gave my deputy the pride scar on her inner thigh (no idea if I posted it in the past but I‘d be too shy to to post it here rn) and would love to expand on that but I am just so awkward at writing anything sexual. 🥲 (cue me bringing a notepad to my next dique appointment and stopping in the middle of steamy stuff to jot some things down) The rough outline is that John kidnaps the deputy while she’s out hunting with Jess. She wakes up in his bunker tied to a chair and still pretty mushy from the bliss bullet. Johnny is angy™ at her for not even caring the littlest bit to even make a tiny move towards atonement. This is after she had her magical girl transformation moment and switched to the clothes that actually reveal her scars which he thinks is her way of taunting him (frankly, Gigi does not care about that. she is pissed about the scars but this is about her own comfort and letting lose a bit and definitely not about John). He has not only set his mind to marking her with another sin but wants to take more. It all goes into pretty uh dubcon territory from there and I get that’s really not everyone’s cup of tea. Also I am absolutely shitty at writing dialogue for John. He’s just giving me a hard time. I cannot really empathise with his arrogant bitch mind and I am not witty myself so it takes fucking ages to find something appropriate for him to say. (If anybody would like to help I’d greatly appreciate it!)

in addition to that I wanna write something about my dep being put on a leash by Jacob 😏 that man is into puppy play and just being a mean mean dom and I need this fic spiked with lots of praise and degradation to idk heal my heart or something!

I still have the idea for the fic of Vaas taking a special liking to one of his prisoners ghosting around in the back of my head but currently all it screams is CITRA so that will probably take a while too

tagging everyone who’d like to post some wip atm. I’m curious to see what you’re cooking up! :)

[sweeterthanthis]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a thirsty thot about one of your favorite fictional babes. Go on and spread those shameless hoe vibes and your legs 😘❤️

Siriiii ✨ Why do you have to make me choose one?

Well, fuck I just can’t choose. So here’s a couple:

*A little smut under the cut 18+*

Listen, there is no other Chris Evans character that I want to fuck more than this guy ☝🏻

He could rail me until I stop breathing, I’d make peace with my demise in a puddle of my own lust.

I just know he’s a generous lover.

All lips, teeth, and tongue. He’d spend hours between your thighs, devouring every last bit of your pussy, stretch you out with those thick fingers.

He’d have you begging to be fucked, and then begging to stop because he’s done such a number on you, you can no longer feel your damn legs.

Gah. Jesus Christ. 

This should come as absolutely no surprise to anyone, but the things I would do to 1940’s Bucky are obscene.

If my man’s about to head off to war, you’d better believe that I’m giving him something to remember me by.

I’d happily spend his last night in Brooklyn on my knees with a mouth full of his cock. Like, seriously.

He strikes me as the kinda guy that wouldn’t let you go without either, whispering his praise against your chest, lips dragging up over the hollow of your throat, teeth nibbling playfully at your jawline as he drove his cock into you, over and over.

And oh when he comes, cheeks all flushed, teeth gritted together and forehead resting against yours...

He’d be a sight to behold.

And then he’d fuck you again, harder, on your knees, bewildered at the sight of your cunt pulling him in so perfectly.

Fucking hell, I need some cock water.

[deepspacedukat]

I do really want to know your reasoning on the Cardassians because sometimes I just go ✨PRETTY✨ and have absolutely no other thoughts. It’s a little embarrassing.

But also, if you were stuck somewhere for like a year who would you pick to live with from Trek and why? I’m picking Jadzia, Kira, Dr. Bashir, and Rom. Also Garak because then I could learn how to sew better.

-Horta-in-Charge

Look, honestly, sometimes the ✨pretty✨ reaction is all I have too lol. Okay, so for the placement reasoning:

Fuck: Garak - The man would absolutely know what he was doing, but I feel like because of his Obsidian Order past he wouldn’t necessarily feel comfortable with something as traceable as a marriage record revealing that he had a weakness (aka his s/o). The sex though...the sex. Not giving that up! Dukat - I mean, the man would know his way around, if you know what I mean. The guy has multiple children so obviously he knows what he’s doing. Might not be smart to marry a villain, but to be his good little slut...? *nods head sagely* Madred - Look, he’s evil. He tortured Picard. But...also...I would let him rail me till I couldn’t stand. No logic on this one. Just ✨dirty thoughts.✨

Marry: Macet - He doesn’t seem as bad as his cousin, and he’s still got the sexy voice, so um...Yeah. Not really any logic with this one either. Just would absolutely take pretty lizard’s last name. Daro - I mean, this one to me is obvious. He seems like he’d be sweet and protective and just perfect husband material, so...yep. We don’t even have an official first name for him, but I’d take his last name. Damar - Ok, so...no logic for this one either...He’s a big, pretty, square lizard. And I’d go there. Tekeny Ghemor - He’s a widower and he’s a very sweet man. 10/10 would call him daddy in bed and take his last name. He also feels like the type of person who would be v protective of the person he loved and since he’s obviously had a kid, he knows what he’s doing in bed...

Kiss: Telle - Tbh, he wasn’t my favorite Cardassian, but he was still cute and rather square. 100% would give this lizard a smooch. Boheeka - Look. LOOK. This man deserved better than the Order making him disappear for Quark’s requisition code. Add that to his slutty little comment about a Dabo girl almost bankrupting him, and I’d definitely kiss him. Also, he’s pretty, so... Ari - This good boy just wanted to protect Iliana!Kira and for Cardassia to have a better future. HE DESERVED BETTER. 10000/10 would smooch. Entek - Bad Lizard™ but would I let him pin me up against a wall and kiss me like a back alley whore? Yes. No logic. Only ✨pretty✨

Hug: Mavek - He was on Terok Nor during the Dominion’s occupation of said station, and he was sweet enough to bring Major Kira her coffee every morning. Look. Any guy who remembers AWAKE JUICE for somebody EVERY DAY has EARNED a hug. At minimum.

Kill: Evek - Look. I have strong feelings about Cardassians. For some reason, he evokes a very visceral reaction. Also I’m convinced he’s one of the ones who suggested the Central Command try to blame Dukat for the weapon smuggling in “The Maquis” Parts 1&2. R.I.P. Danar - Idk why I have this reaction with him?? So many of Vaughn Armstrong’s characters are calming or just give me a different reaction, but with Danar, I...I don’t know. Confusion lizard. R.I.P.

As for your second question, oooooh, I love that idea! I’ll do 5 people since you chose 5.

If it can be anyone from any Trek series, I’d say... Shran, Julian Bashir, Spock, Malcolm Reed, and Dukat (for chaos and laughs). Would we survive? Probably not. Would it be fun? Yes (for me; I guarantee nobody else’s enjoyment but my own).

If it can only be DS9 characters...Bashir, O’Brien, Martok, Garak, and Dukat (again, for chaos and laughs). 

Are both those sets reverse harem situations in my brain? ...Perhaps...

[crossbackpoke-check]

Drop the fiiiiiiiiiiiiiics 🤤🤤🤤🤤

of course :))) this is by no means comprehensive but

fics mentioned in the post:

everybody wants you, you can have them all by arzoensis

the jack/team usa fic that is a) fantastic on its own merits and b) incredibly beloved to me because there are red wings in it. yes i am that easily pleased

5 times Cole Caufield got railed by his opponents (and one time he didn't have to) by cokehead_zeroed

the cole “bunny” caufield fic that is a 5 + 1 of exactly what the title says. to quote leo: #destroythattwink

flirting with the girls like, you’re so pretty by robokittens

the aforementioned jack/cole fic 🤧 sorry i lied it was actually lesbians (i’m not sorry i love lesbians but i know rule 63 is not some people’s jam so figured i’d give a heads-up) but also i do stg there was an omega/omega jack/cole fic so if you find it let me know

just a simple meeting of the minds by crawsley

the trevor/jamie/cole abo fic which, while part of the she lives in my lap series, can probably be read as a stand-alone but also i think you should read the whole series so

hughes lake house shenanigans, or: we do not speak about the usntdp & this is why

always tearin’ what i’m wearin’ by ferryboatpeak

per the author: Cam York Tops Everyone. per my tags: team usa fuck or DIE baybe. anyway sometimes you realize how midwestern you are when you find out people DON’T know that The Comfy and cookie bars are a real thing and not everyone owns a billion different variations of a blanket, five star review on The Comfy fic from me

ain’t like anywhere else by ferryboatpeak (la is a wealth of hughes house lore)

trevor/cole with eventual trevor/jamie/cole, it is a wip but the first chapter is mostly cole/trevor and👌🧑‍🍳💋✨ in terms of characterization, dedication to a canon timeline & one of those lines that Gets You (“Maybe it's impossible to kiss Cole without being at least a little sweet about it.”) (yes i think about that wrt cole always)

devils roll the dice by countthestars

cam york/j’accuse, i don’t want to spoil anything in this fic but it’s cam pov incredibly bros being bros calling each other bro while they wrestle, y’know, like normal bros, except there’s one time when cam calls jack something else and i feel sooooo normal about it

on my tbr list but i trust the authors with my life so i’m recc’ing them anyway

later’s better than never by canary

for someone who only knows cam york as that ginger flyers prospect who Is Not Cole Caufield and IS victoria’s worst enemy this man pops up a lot on this list. anyway! alex turcotte/cam york with sides of various usntdp pairings and it is a Fundamental Pairing Text (christened the tag)

half your love by dilangley

trevor, jamie & jack soulbond fic, this has come very highly recommended to me & also: dilangley fic ✔️ enough said

I’ll try and stop her stride by crawsley

trevor/jamie abo but also jamie/the usntdp fuck or die,,, sometimes it’s a team bonding experience to fuck the canadian boy y’know? it’s like a rite of passage for all the draft picks to be assigned their rival enemies to teammates team canada player but if you don’t have your own then your buddy’s eventual boyfriend will do just fine

[onsunnyside]

hi sonny!!! ❤️❤️ for the ask game: 👀, 🖊, 🌝, 🧠, and ✨!

First of all, thank you for sending me this !!! ☺️ take this kith😚 — questions post !!

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

These will probably not see the light of day bc I’ve been so busy lately and have zero clue when I’ll pick up the inspiration to continue them.

I’ve been trying to work on a fake relationship au with Chris Evans x ex-(high school)girlfriend-turned-best-adult-friend!reader. Set during the days leading up to Christmas in Boston, lots of flashbacks and two people realizing maybe they found the one years ago. There’s also this soft!dark!Ransom Drysdale x innocent!reader one I’ve been writing, involves cheating and a careful plot by mister Ransom because he always gets what he wants.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

This is from my Indie/Rockband au with bassist!Steve x lead singer!reader (stage-name: Doll/Dolly). It’s called Erotica, currently sitting at 2K and I’m no where near halfway:

“If you’re done with your striptease, Cap, we still have plenty of songs to perform.” Wanda tsks, flipping her curly hair. 

“Oh, don’t blame me. It’s this one’s fault.” He takes your mic, eyeing you intently. “I thought you were going to be on your best behaviour tonight?”

You snatch it back, “Hey—” you poke his chest, “Why’d you put your shirt back on?”

He was wearing his shirt again, this time unbuttoned and only adding to his delicious on-stage persona. The big, rugged yet soft bassist, blond and blue-eyed with a smile that could outshine the sun. The perfect man to take home to your parents and then rail you in your old bedroom. You knew your fans were eating it all up.

Steve leans down so you only hear him, his lips brushing your earpiece. “If I don’t get to see yours, then they only get a glimpse of mine. Now, get on with the show, sugar.” He pecks your cheek and pats your bum. 

Before you could retaliate, your stage manager speaks into your in-ear monitor. “All right, Dolly, that’s enough. Next song, Fire of Love. Bucky, countdown in 4, 3, 2—”

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

MY BABY JAKE JENSEN !! Even though he’s going to be in my Holy Grail series, my fella deserves his own story. He’s the perfect man for any college au. The nerd who helps with your laptop, any tech things, and can’t flirt to save his life. But he’d be the best boyfriend ever, sweet, kind, caring, CUTE, FUNNY, fuck you like a whore if he feels like it ❤️ you can tell how much I love him.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

Ahh, probably my Johnny Storm x anti-hero!reader au. I don’t know what powers I’d give the reader if she had them 👁👁 I just know I want to write something with this pair, but it’s just an idea.

✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.

Illustrative, melodic, and yellow

[thirstyandbeautiful]

I’m being clever and turning my anger into horniness over mick f*cking Schumacher because man what I’d do to have one night with that man because I’d just spend the rest of my life getting off to the memories

yes queen, turn that anger into something hot 😈

I wrote this for the hoe council in a rush but I've tidied it up for you guys. A night with Mick I would kill for. Halloween themed of course (based on the outfit in this response) ✨

Mick had finished his duties at the track after a tough day, the plan originally was for you to head out to a halloween party all dressed up but Mick’s demeanour hinted otherwise. Personally, because you loved halloween, you wanted to go out for a drink but he fancied staying in not wanting to dress up so you agreed understanding after the day he’d had. You were however still going to dress up, but this time it was just for Mick. You had secretly packed a second, sluttier outfit, letting him know you still wanted to dress up you headed to the bathroom of your hotel room to put the outfit on. The sheer black tights, tight silk corset and thigh high socks pulled you in accentuating your best assets.

You shout out the door for Mick to turn the lights down, pour himself a drink and sit on the end of the bed, excited as ever he does and waits for you to appear. Heels on you walk out and stand in front of him, his eyes wondering your body, his jaw to the ground.  Dipping your finger into his drink, you suck the liquid from it, looking into his eyes. teasing him. His eyes continue to rake your body making you feel so hot, his hands come up trailing your thigh to reach your waist, pulling you towards him you place your knees on each side of his lap. The position has you right above him, feeling his growing hardness under you. 

Leaning forward your lips meet, tongues clashing as you grind hard against him. Moans flood the room as it heats up. pulling from him you take his drink from him, throwing the harsh liquor down your throat. Mick’s hands still stuck to your waist and thighs, putting the glass down you get off him and pull him from the bed to stand up, your eyes flicker down noticing the now fully hard bulge in his pants. His hand in yours you walk towards the balcony, the dark night and city lights from the distance making your skin glow, leaning against the railing, the tens of floors below you oblivious to the teasing and sexual tension you had between you. Your figure with the city lights behind you, clear and prominent, you looked like a goddess. In charge, or so you thought. Your left hand pulling Mick towards you, your right hand meets his hard cock between you, breath caught in his throat. Unbuckling his pants, he was expecting you to drop to your knees, instead you turn around. His boxer clad cock in contact with your plump ass, pushing yourself against him, you ask Mick to fuck you right here.

His face hardened as he asked you to repeat yourself, correcting your words you ask your daddy to treat you like the naughty little girl you are. His fingers latching under the crotch of the thin panties you had on, ripping the tights getting in his way. Dragging his long digits across your opening he moves your panties out of the way. The cool air of the nights against your wet pussy had you gasping, desperate for his warmth. The image of you bent over the balcony rail in your slutty outfit, pussy wet and exposed had Mick growling. His pants already around his thighs he pulled his boxers down just enough to free his hard cock, lining up with you he gave you no chance to take a breathe before he sunk himself deep into you. “Now baby, tell daddy just what you want” he whispered in your ear, as if he was scared about the people on the street below hearing. As if your moans as he bottomed out in you weren’t already loud. “Daddy please, fuck me good, make me cum” you begged in response. Mick proceeded to set a hard fast pace, your moans breathless as he knocked them from you. Fucking you into the night, you might not have gone out partying as you wished for but your lover fucking you good was everything you ever wanted.