#I’m flying by the seat of my pants but I’m getting a story

[o-wise-corvid]

Chapter 3

He’d never been held like this. Carried. Moved. Yes. But this is different. The man’s hands were strong, gentle and make Maul feel safe. Nothing could touch him here. He hoped.

The man’s name. Mace. Mace and Maul. The same sounds. Maul liked that. He didn’t know why. Tired, physically and emotionally, the little boy leaned his head over onto Mace’s shoulder.

The Jedi let him.

A skinny, but strong, arm looped around Mace’s neck. The Jedi let him.

And when Maul fell asleep before ever seeing food, the Jedi let him do that too. All day.

Waking up on the Jedi’s chest was strange. Maul had never been close to another person before. Not this way. He liked it, how gently the world around seemed to have made up its mind to treat him. But it was strange.

Sitting up in the dark, Maul watched the Jedi sleep. He didn’t look anything like The Man. That was good. Then Maul’s stomach cramped and he pressed a hand over it. He was hungry. Which was hard to believe with how much food he’d been fed since coming to this place. Every day. Several times. Did everyone here eat this way? So much.

Slowly, he slipped off the sleeping man and crept toward the door, peering out curiously. Maul felt he should stay with the Jedi; Mace would keep him safe. He wasn’t sure why he felt so sure of that, but he was.

But… he was so hungry.

“Hey… you okay?”

Maul jumped, almost crying out in fright. Another person peered out at him from another room down the hall. This one had hair. Dark. And dark eyes. They smiled. “I’m Depa. Mace is my Master. I’m his Padawan… you’re Maul. He let me see you but you were asleep.”

The… person stepped into Maul’s full view and he tilted his head. This one was even more different than Mace. Younger. Smaller. But… built differently. “You… are different,” was all he could whisper. Depa grinned, her nose wrinkling. Maul liked that. He smiled a little, too, bashfully.

“I’m a girl. Have… have you ever seen a girl before?” Maul shook his head. “What is a girl?”

The girl paused, seeming to not know how to answer. Then she shrugged. “Well, many people use the word to indicate females. You’re a male. So you’d be called a boy. I’m a female. So, I am called girl.”

She walked over and crouched down; she was a good bit taller than him. “I sense you’re hungry… You want a snack?”

“Snack?”

“It means “a little something to eat”. But not enough for a full meal.” The girl held out her hand, giving a little “come here” waggle.

Maul hesitated. The thing in Mace that connected with and instantly comforted… it wasn’t here. But… she was with Mace. So. Maybe that meant she would also keep Maul safe?

She seemed nice.

Not like The Man.

And she had snacks.

So Maul took her hand.

Depa beamed when she saw him. Maul wasn’t an exceptionally tall man. But neither was he short. She could remember the teasing she’d gotten the day he’d surpassed her by an inch. Oh, the boy had been so proud.

The two Jedi eyed one another mutely for a moment, ignoring the bustle of the spaceport around them. And then Depa launched herself into Maul’s arms.

He caught her, chuckling. That was a relief. After he’d taken the path of a Shadow, she’d feared their relationship would wither. Most Shadows cut their ties with Temple life; even their Masters seldom heard from them. But Maul kept in touch with her. And with Mace. And his criticism of the Order was never aimed at them. No. No, Maul loved them. She knew that, deep inside herself.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” Depa confessed, reaching up to touch Maul’s face. As always, gestures of affection gave him pause but he softened almost immediately. “You’re not eating enough. Are you sleeping well?”

“Depa, if you inquire about my bowel movements I will simply have to leave.” But he was grinning at her, having delivered his greeting in that ridiculously polished voice of his. “You have become a ditherer. They should find you a Padawan soon to relieve that.”

“Oh shut up, old man.” The two laughed and embraced again, not caring at the stares and whispers their interactions were arousing. Depa had learned long ago that Maul needed things that the usual practices of the Order would not provide. Master Windu had explained as much. And to be honest, she preferred this. There should be no reason that she couldn’t love Maul as a little brother. Greet him as family.

They were family.

“Come. You’ll stay with me and Master? He would’ve met you himself but he’s very busy.”

Maul wrapped Depa’s arm about his, patting her hand securely. “Of course. I… I have missed you, sister.”

Depa blushed at the title. Maul didn’t often use the word. That made it all the more precious. “Are you well? You know we both worry when the comms are so hard to send.”

“I am well.” The words were assuring. And while Maul did look tired, Depa knew that was frequent. She also knew he’d probably been restless with anxiety about returning to Coruscant. “The gang activity on Savareen wasn’t difficult to quell. Simple and swift. When you contacted me, I was about to visit Tatooine. The Hutts can always use a little meddling with.”

“You, Maul? A meddler?”

“Shocking, I am sure.” Upon arriving to the Temple, Depa kept her firm grip on Maul’s arm.

The Jedi were not a monolith. There were conservative and liberal movements within their ranks, as well as those like Maul. Those outside. Their unlucky lot was that both sides looked down upon them. They walked their own path, not that of reform or tradition.

Yan Dooku, on his way elsewhere in the Temple, paused and eyed the pair. Maul’s jaw tightened, the muscle jumping out under his skin like a rope being snapped taught.

“Ignore him,” Depa cautioned.

“Tell the old fart to stop eyeing me like I’m some kind of well-bred livestock.”

Master Dooku didn’t break his elegant, noble’s stride. But his meticulously shaped brows curved in displeasure.

“Ignore him, Maul. You don’t want Mace to see you like that.” Depa nodded when the Zabrak’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded.

“Come on. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Maul snipped, poking Depa in the cheek.

She laughed. And they hurried on. “Of course. Why do you think I know where all the snacks are?”

[singmyaubade]

the greatest heist

james potter x female!reader

summary: when james's girlfriend decides to fuck with you, your only other choice is to fuck with her.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, wearing, jealousy

a/n: this story was an OLD draft and i kind of wanted to finish it so yeah. i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!

THE sun peeked through the curtains of your dorm room, casting a warm glow that made your bed feel like the most comfortable place in all of Hogwarts.

You groaned as you felt someone shaking your bed, a voice calling out urgently.

"Y/N!” They yelled again, the bed shaking more forcefully.

“For fuck’s sake!" you mumbled, sitting up and squinting against the bright light. "What do you want?”

"Wake up!" Dorcas stood there, clearly annoyed. “We have astronomy in two minutes!”

That definitely jolted you awake.

You practically leaped out of bed, catching sight of Dorcas rushing to button her shirt. “Fuck!” you exclaimed, quickly slipping into your tights and skirt.

“Why did nobody wake us up?” you asked, frustration bubbling as you glanced at your roommates. It was a mix of annoyance at them and yourself.

“Bloody fucking twats,” Dorcas muttered. “I’m going to stick my wand so far up their arse once I get to that tower.”

“Count me in,” you replied, hurriedly putting on your shoes—still not fully laced—and adjusting your tie.

You grabbed your book bag. “Come on!” Dorcas urged, already heading for the door.

You both practically ran to the stairs, unready for the most strenuous workout of your life. You both huffed in frustration as the stairs moved.

You looked up at the seemingly endless flights of stairs, frustration boiling over. "These stairs are a fucking safety hazard," You hissed. "Do they not care if we die?"

Dorcas crossed her arms, panting slightly. “Dumbledore is definitely getting my letter of complaints,” She ranted. “I mean, I understand we’re young wizards and witches, but Merlin, are these stairs really bloody necessary?”

You chuckled as the stairs set in place and you both rushed to the top quickly.

You both huffed, clearly out of breath as you both pressed on, each step feeling like a small victory.

With a force of urgency, you opened the door to your Astronomy class as the entire class turned their heads to you. You could hear several students snickering, specifically the Slytherins as you flipped them off.

Professor Adair turned to you both with a sigh. “Nice to see you, ladies. May I gift one of you a watch for Christmas?” He asked sarcastically, prompting a few snickers from the class.

Desperately trying to catch your breath, you replied, “Apologies, Professor. I’m afraid my alarm didn’t go off.” You quickly took your seat next to Sirius, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

“Mine too!" Dorcas argued, "And to be fair, I mean this class is pretty high.” She moved next to Dorcas.

Professor Adair rolled his eyes, continuing with the class with a mutter about the two of you.

“You know,” Sirius leaned into you, “If you need a proper alarm-“ He slyly said, hand almost touching your thigh.

You stomped on his leg as he groaned, touching the injured limb.

“Note taken.” He hissed.

You smirked as you started writing down a note in your notebook which you made into a paper plane, flying it over to Lily.

She looked at you hesitantly, opening it.

Why did you not wake me or Dorcas up?

She looked at you, looking confused as the angry look on your face never faded. She began writing down her response which she sent to you.

Emma told us all that she would wake you both up and when she came to Astronomy, she said she did.

A fuse blew inside of you, of course Emma was behind this. It makes sense that she would be the one to do it considering how she treated your entire friend group.

For context, Emma was all of your supposed “best friend” which would be a fine label if she didn’t sabotage anyone who she thought was a threat.

At first, she considered Lily a threat because of how much others loved her especially James Potter. So instead of asking Lily to put a good word in for her with the others and James, she started spreading horrid rumors about her.

And everyone being cruel teenagers believed her, berating her wherever she went.

It took the entire girl group and the Marauders to make people back off and debunk these rumors.

Although you and the rest of the girls knew that Emma had done this, she had gaslighted Lily into thinking that it was obviously some bitter Slytherin that were jealous instead of her and eventually, the situation turned boring and died down into nothing.

But that wasn't even the end.

Soon after, she considered Mary a threat due to how smart and confident she was and decided to get her absolutely hammered before OWL'S.

And it caused her to get a poor score which resulted in her not leaving her bed for weeks.

But again, Mary had blamed herself and told everyone that it was "her stupid decision" that led to this.

After that, it had been Marlene.

Then suddenly, it had been Dorcas.

And now you were clearly her new target for what reason? Merlin knows.

The only reason she didn't wake Dorcas up was because she knew she couldn't single you out. Emma knew you disliked her from the moment you met her and you weren't as nice about it.

Now, you may not know why she was targeting you at the present moment but the boy in front of you laughing with Remus could've been a huge clue.

James Potter.

Golden Boy, Heart-throbber, Fit, Kind, Funny, Brave, Determined, Bold.. I mean did you really have to go on?

The man that Emma had been in love with for years and had been dating for the present moment.

And not only was no girl allowed to approach James without dealing with Emma but she would pay hell for even making eyes at him.

Unfortunately for you, James had been struggling a bit for charms and enlisted your help in studying. At first, you had gave him a 'fuck no' before moving in order to not get his girlfriends wrath but when he pleaded and begged,

You forfeited.

You were hoping that he would keep it a secret but James being the dumbass he is mentioned how much of a good time it was to the entire group, Emma grew as red as a tomato.

You mentally cursed James, knowing that your life was already going to become a living hell.

Fortunately, you kept most stuff to yourself and never confided in Emma with anything.

There was nothing that Emma could do to incriminate you with but you just knew that she wouldn't back down and there was nothing you could do.

You did do your best to keep away from her but Lily couldn't stop hanging out with her which made the rest of your group completely vulnerable.

At the same time, you couldn't blame Lily for being so gullible and kind-hearted but it made her a pushover and Emma could guilt trip her way out of anything.

So if Emma was going to play this game, you were alone.

And you had to be the best player.

The bell chimed, bring you out of thought as you began packing up.

Emma came over to you, "Y/N! I'm so sorry that I didn't try harder to wake you and Dorcas." She hummed, "I thought you were fully up by time the time I left." She faked a sincere smile.

"Yeah Emma, I think it would be best if you never enlist yourself to such a task again, I'm afraid it requires a bit more of a brain hmm?" You sweetly said, leaving the conversation as she scowled towards you.

You rushed over to Remus, "Remus, please tell me you have the notes for this class." You pouted, grabbing ahold of his arm.

"Of course." He told you, beginning to grab his notebook out of his book-bag.

"Thank you so much," You gratefully said as you began walking with them.

"Wait, why didn't you ask me?" Sirius asked, pouting.

You let out a snort, "Have you seen your handwriting?" You derided as James and Peter laughed.

Sirius fake sniffled, "One day Y/N, you will appreciate my beauty and brains." Sirius dramatically hair flipped.

"You know there's nothing up there." James said, knocking on Sirius's head as Sirius swatted his hand.

You rolled your eyes as Remus handed over his notebook to which you thanked him with a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey! Wheres mine?" Peter asked, "I gave you the notes for potions."

You rolled your eyes again, giving Peter a peck on the cheek as well.

Your eyes locked onto Sirius, already knowing what he was gonna say, "Well, you just insulted me, I think you owe me one." Sirius said, tapping his cheek.

You clenched your jaw, pecking his cheek quickly as he grinned from ear to ear.

"Wait where's mine?" James asked as your eyes widened, "Don't wanna be left out," He fake sniffled.

"Your girlfriend will quite literally harvest my organs." You scarily said, putting the notebook in your bag.

"It's just a kiss on the cheek!" He argued as the whole group shook their head.

"Mate, I'm going to have to agree with her on this one," Sirius patted James on the back, "She will bloody kill Y/N and us for letting it happen." Sirius said.

There was a rumble of protest in his throat but a part of him knew that you both were right. He didn't want you to be faced with the fire on Emma based on his actions.

"Fine, guess you guys are right," He muttered as he dragged his feet.

You groaned, reaching over to James and pecking him on the cheek as he grinned.

“Everyone's been kissed now,” you sighed, your voice trailing off in frustration. “Can we just—” But before you could finish, a sharp voice sliced through the air.

“Y/N!” Emma screeched, her anger prominent as the group recoiled, hissing in surprise. She stormed toward you, her face flushed with rage.

You were begging Merlin that she hadn't seen the peck you gave to James.

“Did you just kiss my boyfriend?” She laughed harshly, her grip tightening on James's arm as he shot you an apologetic look, guilt written all over his face.

“Oh, maybe it was Sirius instead?” You quipped, trying to deflect with a joke, but Peter’s snort only deepened the tension.

“Real clever,” Emma shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she stepped closer, invading your space. “A good friend wouldn’t do that, Y/N. I don’t take betrayal lightly.” Her tone was sharp, a warning laced within it.

You matched her intensity, moving closer until your breaths mingled as you spoke, “And I don’t take threats lightly.”

“Okay, let’s all just calm down!” Sirius intervened, wrapping an arm around your waist while James did the same to Emma, but the heat between you and Emma crackled like a campfire, neither of you backing down.

“It was just a peck, sweetheart,” James cooed, wrapping an arm around Emma as you rolled your eyes, arms crossed in disbelief.

Emma pouted, “You know how protective I get about you.” She nestled into his chest, and the sight made your stomach churn.

“I know, baby,” he said with a smile, holding her close, while the rest of the Marauders looked on, barely able to stomach the scene unfolding before them.

“As entertaining as this little drama is, I need to get ready for the party tonight,” you announced, desperate for an escape.

"The party isn't until tonight!" Peter said, confused.

"Mentally prepare!" You joked.

“Wait!” Emma’s voice pierced through your thoughts just as you turned to leave, and you sighed, bracing yourself for her next act.

Her expression shifted, all sweetness now. “I’m sorry for misreading things with James,” She said, feigning concern. “I know you’ve never had a boyfriend,” She added, her tone dripping with condescension. “But, you can get a bit... jealous. But we’re friends, right? So I shouldn’t act like that.”

You clicked your tongue, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes even harder.

“And as your friend,” She whispered, pulling you into a tight hug, “I just want to warn you. If you so much as talk to James at the Gryffindor party tonight, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

She released you, her smile wide and disingenuous, and before you could even muster a response, she skipped back to James, leaving you fuming.

Fury coursed through your veins as her words echoed in your mind, the unfairness of it all burning like a fire inside you.

Ever since Emma had walked into your life, she had fucked with everything around you.

Your friends, your reputations, your social life, hell even your sanity.

And if nobody else was gonna put a stop to her.

You guess it would have to be you.

-----------

Are you really ready to wage war with her?” Dorcas chimed in from the closet, her tone skeptical.

“Dorc,” You began, frustration creeping into your voice. “Emma has been terrorizing us since third year. Are you seriously going to tell me that taking her down doesn’t sound appealing?”

She sighed, contemplating. “Okay, fine, you’ve got a point. But how exactly are you planning to take her on?”

A sly smirk crept across your face as you revealed the outfit you’d picked: a black corset paired with the shortest black skirt you could find, topped off with fishnets. Dorcas’s jaw dropped sarcastically. “So, you’re going to out-dress her?” She asked, incredulous.

“No,” You replied, rolling your eyes. “I’m going to use her worst fear against her. I’m going to seduce James.”

Dorcas nearly choked. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Listen, I would never usually even consider looking at another girl’s boyfriend, but this is different. James is the one thing that will shatter her, and honestly, it sounds cruel, but so is she!” You shot back, your resolve hardening.

“And if she tells the whole school what you’re doing, you’ll look like a homewrecker and be exiled,” Dorcas countered.

“Which is why it has to look like it’s all James’s idea,” You insisted, undeterred. “He’s been my friend since childhood; it’ll look innocent.”

“I don’t think this idea is as foolproof as you think,” Dorcas muttered, slipping into her red dress with an exasperated sigh.

“Dorc, trust me, she can’t hurt me,” You reassured her, the fire in your belly fueling your confidence.

“Well, if everything goes south,” Dorcas said with a reluctant smile, “I’ve got your back.”

You beamed at her. “What would I do without you?”

Just then, a loud bang echoed on your door. “Hurry up before all the firewhiskey is gone!” Marlene called, her voice a mix of urgency and excitement.

You and Dorcas shared a laugh, gathering your belongings and heading down to the common room, adrenaline buzzing in the air as you prepared to face the chaos of the night ahead.

The lively atmosphere of the common room was a familiar backdrop for you all; it felt like there was always a party, whether an event warranted it or not. You, Marlene, and Dorcas scanned the room and spotted your usual crew gathered around the couch. With a burst of energy, you hopped right next to James.

His eyes widened in surprise as he took in your outfit, but before he could say anything, Sirius swooped in.

“Y/N, have I ever told you how much I’m attracted to you?” He drawled, causing you to snort.

“Eyes off, Black,” You shot back playfully, just as Marlene whacked him with a pillow.

“Why do I even try?” He lamented, sinking dramatically into his chair.

Marlene grinned mischievously. “You know, I’d sleep with you, Black.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Yeah, if you pay me and wear a cloak,” She teased, sending the group into fits of laughter.

Sirius scowled at Marlene while Lily pinched his cheeks, only for him to swat her hands away with a playful glare.

“You do look good, Y/N,” James murmured, his voice sincere.

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Now what did I do to deserve a compliment from James Potter?”

He chuckled softly. “Well, after what I put you through this morning, I think you deserve more than just a compliment.”

“Speaking of this morning,” you leaned in closer, lowering your voice, “Where’s your girlfriend?”

James shrugged, a hint of frustration flickering across his face. “We got into a fight after you left. I tried to talk to her about her manners,” he said, his tone casual but the weight behind his words was clear.

“But you guys were literally snuggling when I left,” You laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, well, that was before I realized how messed up her behavior was. Jus'... embarrassing, you know?” He gulped down his drink, and you couldn’t help but notice the guilt etched on his face.

It twisted your heart, seeing him upset. James was your best friend, and the thought of anyone hurting him made your stomach churn.

You hated seeing him like this, torn between loyalty and the flaws of the person he cared for. It felt like a heavy weight was pressing down on both of you, and all you wanted was to lift it.

"Well," You spoke as he looked at you, "If you want me to forgive you, I think a dance would do," You said, standing up and extending a hand to him.

A goofy smile plastered on his face, James said, "Anything for M’lady’s forgiveness."

You scrunched your nose at his corniness as he took your hand and led you onto the dance floor. He twirled you around, making you giggle before pulling you back in to sway together.

"You’re such a dork," You snickered.

"And how many years have I proven that to you?" He shot back, laughter in his voice as you rested your head on his shoulder.

His fingertips grazed your back while you swayed, and he whispered in your ear, "I miss us hanging out."

Outside of Charms tutoring and classes, you never got to see James and it always hurt you. You both knew why you couldn’t and voicing it would only make it worse.

But it had been hard not having a proper hangout with just the both of you since third year.

You felt warmth spread through you, flustered. "I miss hanging out with you too."

Looking at him, you noticed how beautiful he looked—his messy hair and that infectious grin. There was always a gleam in his eye, and everything about him radiated warmth. It felt like summer when you were together, and butterflies filled your stomach.

You knew he was just your best friend, nothing more. And that would always be the truth, as long as you told yourself that.

Suddenly, James twirled you again, but this time you spun out of his grip and fell onto the suddenly slippery floor.

You fell with a hiss, "Shit!" you moaned, wincing in pain as James rushed over with the rest of the group, the crowd parting to give you space.

"What the fuck happened?" Sirius asked, concern etched on his face.

"I don't know!" James replied, kneeling beside you. "She just slipped!"

You hissed as you tried to stand on your sprained ankle.

"Let me see," James muttered, inspecting your foot as you groaned.

"Maybe it's her leg," Marlene added.

"Well duh," Sirius shot back, earning a playful hit from Marlene.

"Can we just get her to Pomfrey?" Lily huffed, and the boys nodded in agreement.

Sirius tried to rush over to you, but James waved him off. "I got her," he said, lifting you bridal-style.

You winced at the jolt to your ankle, nuzzling into his neck as you caught a glimpse of Emma in the back of the room, her expression burning with rage.

You knew then that the games were just beginning.

[teaboot]

Feels weird leaving an ask, like I’m walking up to a sage on a mountain and asking advice but that sage is likely just some guy in his pj’s eating cheese. Anyway any advice for how to be okay with being perceived? It’s hard to not feel like everything I do whilst in someone eyeline is embarrassing

I'm actually eating Pierogi in the bathtub right now so this is perfect

Okay first off, currently working my way out of the wet paper bag that is Social Anxiety that once had me agoraphobic and melting down on my way to buy groceries, just so you know what you're working with

Care about how you dress, but not in like, a fashion way. Just a "I like how I feel in this shirt" sort of way. And not so much, "I look good in these pants so I will wear them to be perceived Correctly", as, "I feel great in these house slippers and when I feel good I'm confident and when I'm confident I give less of a shit what the haters might think". Wear what feels good. Cut your hair and do your face and nails whatever way feels good. Appearance is secondary to vibes.

Lean into the funny. I waited 10 minutes in line for a coffee order that had already been set out for me this morning, and when the barista noticed, we both had a good laugh. Five years ago that would have killed me. Now I'm glad these poor workers will have a funny story over their bland ass shift. When I was in retail that would have been adorable and hilarious! And so, my goofemup is a gift. I am full of blessings

Get louder and watch as nothing bad happens. Take up more space and watch as nobody yells at you. Wear brighter or skimpier or janglier outfits and bask I the glory that is "Nobody gives a shit except the nice strangers who give me compliments". Marvel at how far you can push the envelope before anyone so much as comments on it. This will free you.

Say yes to terrifying opportunities to be Seen. Karaoke, dance, improv. And if you can't do it sincerely, embody a caricature of yourself. It's terrifying and it sucks eternally and forever and ever and ever like hellfire until suddenly it doesn't. Then have fun.

Be honest. Not unkind, but blunt if you need to. "I'm having a bad time". "This kinda sucks for me". "I know you hate this song but you can deal with these last 30 seconds because I need it to live". Mostly people will think it's a joke but respect it anyway. God bless

Please keep in mind that I am flying by the seat of my pants here and this is just stuff that's worked for me. I am still a nervous disaster crying into the void. Good luck space cowboy

[scoonsaliciousupdates]

5.1 Major*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, explicit sexual content (hand stuff, protected PIV).

Word Count: 1k

Previously On...: You want Bucky, he wants you-- neither one of you can wait to get back to your place.

A/N: Car sex! Huzzah!

I feel like I wrote "cock" too many times...

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

It was a tight fit, but so worth it. The sports car didn’t have a back seat, so Bucky had pushed the driver’s seat back as far as it could go so you could straddle him as you kissed each other and ground your pelvises together. 

You moaned into Bucky’s mouth. Even through the fabric of his pants and your panties, he felt so good, hitting almost all the right spots. “Pants,” you grunted. 

Bucky chuckled into your lips as he reached down and started unworking his belt and fly. “So needy,” he murmured, moving to suck beautiful bruises into your skin. 

“Yes,” you agreed, your breath coming out in gasps. “Desperate.” You reached over into the passenger’s seat, grabbing your clutch. Opening it up, you pulled out a handful of condoms.

At the sight of them, Bucky chuckled. “Were you a Girl Scout growing up, doll? Cause you sure came prepared.”

“Let’s just say,” you paused to rip the foil packet open with your teeth, “I had high hopes for tonight.” 

“Well, far be it for me to disa–” Bucky sucked in a breath as you rolled the condom down on his exposed member, taking the liberty to start stroking it with both hands. “Fuck, sugar, just like that.”

“Look at this big cock,” you cooed as you looked down at where you were working him. “So big and thick, I can’t even get my little fingers to fit around it.”

You couldn’t even identify the sound Bucky made at your words, but you were fairly confident he liked them, so you went on: “How’s this giant, beefy cock going to fit in my tiny, tight pussy, Sergeant?” you asked, your voice coming out in a purr. “Gonna tear me in half with this monster dick. Split me right in two ‘til I’m screaming.”

Bucky’s mouth was hanging open, his head lolled against the headrest and his eyes closed. “Keep talking, sugar,” he panted. “I’m so fucking close.”

You grinned. “Think I can take it, Sarge?” you asked as you jerked him. “Think I can be a good girl for you? Take every inch you have to give me? Let you stretch my pretty pussy wide open? Gonna make me choke on this dick?”

With a growl, Bucky gripped the back of your head with one hand, pulling your mouth to his in a brutal kiss. His other hand slid between your bodies, under the skirt of your dress. Skillfully, he slid the gusset of your sopped panties aside, then grabbed his cock from you, guiding it into your entrance.

You gasped at the intrusion, luxuriating in the feel of him as he pressed fully into you. Then you began to move, riding his cock, the both of you now silent as you stared into each other’s eyes. His hands moved to your hips, helping you as he fucked up into you, handling you as though you weighed nothing. You grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket for purchase, pulling him to you and capturing his lips with your own.

The windows of the car were long fogged over, encasing the two of you in a private cocoon of lust and heat as you bounced on top of Bucky’s cock. “You feel so good, sugar,” he moaned. “So tight, so perfect.”

You reached behind your head and pulled at the ties behind your neck that held the top of your dress up, letting the front of it fall down your chest to your waist, exposing yourself to him. Bucky’s eyes followed your movements, and when your breasts were revealed, he let out a low groan. He took one hand off your hip and brought it to your tit, palming the flesh until your nipple pebbled beneath his touch. Leaning down, he brought his mouth to the other, sucking and biting at the hard nub.

You threw your head back, lost in the sensations he was giving you. Grabbing the back of his head, you pressed it against your skin, never wanting him to take his mouth off of you. He switched, moving to your other breast to give it the same loving attention. 

“Bucky,” you gasped, pulling his hair so that he had to look at you, “Bucky, I’m close. Cum with me, baby, please,” you begged. 

Bucky nodded vigorously, taking the hand that had been paying homage to your breast and moving it down to your clit, where he began to rub it furiously. “I’mma get you there, doll,” he said, voice husky with his own impending release. “I’ll be right with you.”

It was your turn to nod, desperately, as you locked eyes with him. You kept up the eye contact through your individual orgasms, cumming within moments of one another. You cried out as you came, his name a garbled prayer on your lips, and you couldn’t believe you’d known this man for just over 24 hours, yet he already knew how to work your body so well, as though by pure instinct, or as if you were made for one another. 

As you both came down from your highs, you rested your head against his chest, breathing heavy as you listened to the sound of his rapid heartbeat. Lazily, you brought a hand to his chest, wanting to feel the pounding beneath his skin.

You felt Bucky’s hands come up around you and caress your bare back, now slick with sweat. “You’re fucking perfect, sugar,” he said, and you had to laugh when you could feel the husky rumble of his words inside of him.

“Pretty sure you’re the perfect one,” you said, feeling blissfully fucked out. “I think I’m becoming addicted to Bucky Barnes-induced orgasms.”

“Well,” he said, kissing the top of your head, “I am more than happy to keep you well supplied, doll. So long as you don’t mind returning the favor.”

You let out a laugh. “Not even a little bit,” you said. 

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations No.13

-just my opinions, please take them with a grain of salt !

-Libras tend to only give significant attention to people they think are beautiful/pretty. (So if a libra man is messing around in your dms, you at least know you’re pretty! Lol) Subtly I’ve noticed that Taurus placements tend to do this as well? Like, they don’t write off people in the way some Libras do but I haven’t seen someone with Taurus in the big 6 dating someone that isn’t attractive or at least aesthetically pleasing.

-Stellium in 3rd/ mars in 3rd/ Gemini Mars and Stellium in 6th/ mars in 6th/ Virgo Mars: do you find yourself multitasking all the time? I find that multitasking helps me finish tasks faster 9 times out of 10. Like I need to have my attention in a few places at once to be efficient. (I love podcasts and drawing)

-Neptune conjunct moon, Pisces moon, moon in 12th: you have really deep intuition but not much clarity that comes with it. Like I had this like intense instinct go off that i was going to run into something one I cut off last year- and I was right! But only halfway lol, totally different dude than I expected lol. It’s like shaking a magic 8 ball, you’ve got an answer but not the answer lol.

-I agree that your moon sign shows the most of your true personality, especially as you get past like 25. But with sun conjunct moon I’ve had a tricky time spotting this. I think it’s clearest with Aries and Aquarius moons for me. Aries moons have so much energy and they grow into being real leaders as they get older, and Aquarius moons have real stand out opinions and tend to live in their uniqueness more and attempt to conform less as they get older.

-Mercury in 3rd or Gemini or natal retrograde can mean you’re incapable of writing short little text messages lol. You either write a paragraph or send a lot of little texts successively.

-I find that Venus/Libra dominant people can be very charming in public and really judgmental in private/anonymously. They don’t want their opinions to clash with their pleasing persona.

-Scorpio sun + Sagittarius moon/ Sagittarius sun + Scorpio Moon doesn’t mean you have to be wild but oml they’ve been some of the most extreme people I’ve ever met. I feel like these people are always bringing BIG energy into the room and changing things around them with that Jupiter/Pluto double whammy. (I have stories about every person I’ve known with those placements but my go to is an aunt that had a boyfriend that bought her a car and a dog and she crashed the car, abandoned the dog with my grandma, and broke up with the guy. He’s doing better now lol.)

-But on the flip side, Capricorn placements can bring in Saturn type changes and lesson to any environment they come into. I have a stellium so it’s hard for me to separate all the categories where I’ve seen places fall apart (usually work places and bad bosses but it applies to everyone)

But for sun- people get insecure and start acting from a place of ego, moon- emotional tension gets tested and people are more likely to react from petty places, Mercury- communication and technology that was patched together falls through in the weak places and systems get overwhelmed; Jupiter- Luck runs out for those that are flying by the seat of their pants and don’t really know what they’re doing; Neptune- no more delusions are allowed, lies and duplicity are exposed

And after I’ve left those places and their dysfunction behind it seems like the lessons continue on even more. I’m not sure why the effect lingers, except that Saturn will make you learn or punish you.

[chrysanthemumgames]

Could you share a little more about your writing process? Do you outline? I’m struggling with keeping the amount of choices down in my game but also keeping it customizable

I may not be the best person to ask about this, as I'm honestly still quite an amateur, but I'll share some of what I do, and maybe it'll help.

I do think some amount of outlining is pretty necessary for writing an interactive fiction. Flying by the seat of your pants (that is, just writing until you're done, then going back to rewrite everything into coherence) isn't really sustainable practice for a (long) choice game. You really want to know at least where all the major branches of your game are going, and where they can meet back up again.

Those meeting places are called chokepoints, and they're vital.

For example, in Chapter Four of FoA, the player has three different routes of investigation they can take. They can go talk to Lethe and try to help heal her, they can go into the city to see if the spirits know anything, or they can go to the riverbank to try and pinpoint the source and nature of whatever is ailing the river Lethe. This results in three distinct scenes, each with their own choices, and if I'd wanted to, all of them could have further branched in some big way that would affect the plot, and so on, and so forth.

The thing is, that's not really doable. There needs to be some place the branches meet up again so the story can continue, at least as early in the game as Chapter Four! In this example, it was literally a meeting where everyone talked about their findings, but of course it doesn't have to be. The point is, it brought the branches back together again and allowed the story to continue. You should probably at least have a sense of when the bigger branches are going to occur, and what's going to bring them together again. That alone will help you control the number of choices and branches you offer. If you know they all have to eventually get the player to the clock tower at midnight or something, then you know how to steer things within each branch.

My outlines tend to be a little more detailed than that. I start with a beat chart for the game (or, in the case of BotL, a beat chart for each subplot, because it's basically several subplots stacked together wearing a trenchcoat), and from there I put them in the right order and make a beat chart for the whole thing.

A 'beat chart' here is just a list of the big things that happen like 'PC meets Iasion' or 'Trial of Pirithous and Theseus.' Once you have a really general outline like that, you can stop outlining if you want. You have a roadmap, and if you're more of an improvisor, that should still be enough to help you steer yourself towards the necessary chokepoints. If you prefer to plan more, like me, you can break your outline into chunks and add levels of detail. I will do a chapter-by-chapter outline with a list of scenes for each, and then when I come to the specific chapter I will actually outline the scenes with code before writing my way through them. Sometimes all at once, sometimes in the form of outline, scene, outline, scene.

Finding the process that works for you is a big part of succeeding at finishing an IF, I think. Yours might not (probably won't) be the same as mine; the important thing is that it keeps you moving forward (and not just laterally, into more and more branches). Branches are great, but you have to prune them back sometimes for the healthiest plant. IF. You get what I mean, I hope.

[phlurrii]

meau honey i'm so sorry i doubted you

for real though my lead into this was very 'ugh they're gonna try and catch her and they're not going to have any idea what they're up against and she's going to kill some people but probably for (very legitimate, very good, furthering the plot of it all) story reasons something will catch her off guard, it's going to be a whole mess and i feel bad for both sides'

i don't feel bad for both sides anymore lmao get him meau (and keep flurry safe!!)

Ehe,, glad it was a pleasant surprise! Caught off guard or not, I see it to be pretty difficult to take Meau down via any normal human means. They’d need to genuinely employ one of her brothers or an actual legendary to pose any real threat to her.

As the problem with writing god like characters is it’s really hard for anything to really threaten them, so I try to keep that in mind for situations she does feel threatened in; as well as make sure I don’t dumb the story down for the sake of taking her out or down a peg unsatisfyingly.

Cant say I’ve accomplished it in all honesty? I’m very uneasy about my earlier writing sometimes cuz… I did not intially plan this much serialization. But I really do try and put a lot of work and effort into making it both fit and read decently enough given the “flying by the seat of my pants” the story took on X3

The Noe arc is something I’ve especially put so much work into just writing to accomplish that improvement and satisfaction for readers ;3!

[goodstories08]

I just want to say that I love your Reed Richards x male reader oneshot and prequel (that sounds so weird. I’m sorry if it’s weird). If you don’t mind could the post I’m about to ask be after the Wiccan oneshot

I was wondering if you can do another Reed Richards x male reader oneshot, I don’t know if you write smut but if you do can you, can you do a smut oneshot where the girls are out at school so reed and y/n get into a 69 position and start having fun with each other until they realize that their kids school is done and they are walking back and they go faster getting to their climax and once they do they are only able to get their pants and shirts on before their kids walk in.

Kiss Me Softly

Reed Richards X Male Reader

!Kind of a continuation to my other Reed Richards stories, but as always you really don’t need to read the others to understand this one!

Y/n’s feet lay up against the armrest of the squishy couch. His head laying on his side so he can watch the Tv on the other end of the room, which was nearly pitch black aside from the little light the screen provided. The popcorn in the bowl beside him sifted around as he took pieces and threw them in his mouth. It had been a long week and he was happy to finally have a day off of work, even if that meant lying about being sick.

“Honey I’m home,” Reed yelled as the sound of the front door shutting echoed throughout the house.

Y/n’s eyes widen as he realizes he had spent the whole day watching Tv. He was still wearing his robe and his hair was all messed up. He panicked for a moment but with the slightest wave of his hand the whole room’s atmosphere changes. The curtains slid open to reveal the sunlight, the snack wrappers had disappeared, and Y/n’s outfit had changed into a nice sweater and jeans.

His glowing blue eyes faded as Reed enters the room. “Hey baby,” Y/n says while flying up from his seated position, hovering above his taller husband and laying a kiss on his lips.

“You used your magic, didn’t you,” He says while pulling Y/n down till his feet touched the floor.

He thinks of protesting it for a second, but as he lets out a sigh everything. He had done reversed. His robe drew itself back on and his hair ruffled itself back up. Reed giggling at him the whole time.

“You don’t have to dress up for me,” He says while throwing the shorter male onto the bed, securing him to the couch cushions and pressing his lips against his husbands. “I love you exactly how you are,” he whispers after pulling back.

“Well the girls are at school, so why don’t you show me how much you actually love me,” Y/n smirks as his husband immediately perks up to the comment.

“Maybe I will,” he replies in a seductive tone while picking him up and rushing for the stairs. The two laughing as they slam against every wall in their house. Their tounges intertwining and passionately moving in a synchronized motion.

“Reed,” Y/n moans as his husband pushes himself into the door to their master bedroom, backing up till his legs hit the edge of their shared bed. His hands quickly move to untie Y/n’s robes before casting it aside and securing his lover to the bed with his legs wrapped around his waist.

Reed begins to kiss down his face, stopping when he makes it to the middle of his neck, his beard prickling his skin in a way that tickled the smaller male. “Reed if your trying to give me a hickey you know I can get rid of it, right,” Y/n laughs, Reed advancing further down his body toward his stomach, continuously laying gentle kisses along the way

“You know you want to keep it,” He whispers between kisses.

Y/n grins as Reed makes it to his waistband. “May I?” He asks while slowly tugging it, Y/n nodding.

He is quick to slip his pants off, immediately kissing his lovers growing bulge. His hands massage Y/n as they move back to his but, feeling up and down the edges of his hole. “Ahh,” Y/n says while pulling his hands back, “Your not getting it that easily.”

Y/n’s eyes heat up as he floats them up into the air, a cloud of blue light swirling around them as he moves them to pull himself on top. Reed grunts as they land back on the bed, Y/n straddling his hips. He reaches down, eyes still blue as he taps Reed’s shirt, not bothering to unbutton it and using his magic to send it to the other end of the room right beside his robe. Y/n feels up and down Reeds chest, his dark hairs forming a light patch in the center that lead down to his stomach, his happy trail thick and dark.

“Y/n you gotta stop teasing me,” Reed lets out, the other smiling as he grinds harder against Reed’s rock hard erection.

“Do I?” He asks.

“Please, just please,” Reed pauses to let out a moan, “I just need you.”

Reeds low husky voice was already enough convincing for him. He quickly gets down to the floor, now on his knees as he slides Reed’s pants down. Y/n grins as he notices the small stain growing in the fabric of his underwear, Reed was leaking precum, and a lot of it. “Someone’s been thinking about this all day, haven’t they?”

Reed lets another low moan out before pulling his underwear off, his impatience growing. “You don’t know how much I need you,” he says. Y/n’s eyes pull away from Reed’s as he looks down to his husband’s wet, throbbing cock. He takes a moment to look at it before moving to the tip, licking the clear sticky liquid of his head. Reed lets out a low groan before giving in to the pleasure and pushing his husband’s head down to his shaft causing him to gag.

“Ohh yea, just like that,” he groans as his hips roll into his throat.

He continues for a minute before Y/n can finally pull back for air, taking in a few breaths. “Can’t let you have all the fun,” Y/n says before floating up so Reed can reach his hips. Y/n continues to suck and stroke his shaft as Reed pulls his underwear off, now sucking his as well.

Y/n feels a surge of power as he decides to try something new. His power growing as he begins to vibrate the blue whisps around him, Reeds dick quickly shaking around the back of Y/n’s throat causing him to moan uncontrollably.

“Y/n! Y/n stop,” he yells causing him to stop, flying backs so he could face Reed.

“You ok?” He asks.

“Yea, not it was amazing. I just didn’t want to cum already,” He says causing the other to laugh. Y/n’s arms fly out as he uses his power to push Reed on the bed, the both laughing as Y/n moves to straddle his waist. He reaches to move his dick to the crack of his hole, Reed sliding up and down before he had even entered.

“Calm down,” Y/n giggled.

“I can’t, fuck you feel so good,” he moans.

Y/n reaches back and gently slides his head into his hole, Reed pushing into him slowly. “Is that ok?” Reed asks, waiting for an answer before continuing.

“Yea,” He says, Reed quickly taking it as a green light to move further. He slides in, pushing further till he fully made it inside.

“Fuck, I forgot lube,” he says while moving to pull his dick out.

“No, I got it,” Y/n says while using his magic triple the load of Reeds precum, filling him to the brim till his began to leak out. He waves his hand again to clean himself out again just to be sure.

Reed began to move in, starting slow, but quickening as the two get more heated. Y/n rides Reed up and down as the two fill the room with grunts and moans.

“Fuck you feel so good,” Reed praises before flipping him over so that he was on top and looking down at his lover. He moves down and begins to make out with Y/n. He soon feels his own powers growing, Y/n moans as he feels his hole getting stretched further and further.

“Reed, that’s enough,” Y/n lets out, Reed immediately stoping the growth of his stretched cock.

One of Y/n’s favorite things about their sex life was Reeds power, I mean, who knew a man who could grow the length of any body part would be good in bed.

Reeds begins to speed up, moans getting louder and kisses getting sloppier. Reed’s hand moves down as he begins to jerk his husband, the shorter male quickly finishing. He squeezes his hole tightly as his eyes glew a bight blue, Reed letting out one final moan before finishing deep inside Y/n.

The two are panting for air, Reed’s sweaty body collapsing over his husband, dick still inside Y/n as it returned to its normal size.

“You were so good baby,” Reed whispers while moving up to Y/n’s lips, kissing him, still out of breath.

The sound of the front door shutting quickly caused the two to freeze. “Daddy, Papa, we’re home!” Yelled Skylar the slightly younger of the two girls.

Reed quickly slips out of Y/n diving down to get his shirt and throw his pants on, no underwear, just his pants. He struggles to button his shirt before running to the door, the girls opening it by a crack. Reed covers the side that Y/n was on so they couldn’t see him, only his face leaking through the crack, “Hey sweethearts, what are you doing back so early.”

“It was only a half day today Papa,” She laughs while moving to open the door, Reed still holding it closed and not letting them in as Y/n scrambled around.

He snapped his fingers, automatically cleaning himself up and reaching n his hand out, one of Reeds graphic shirts flew to his hands. He quickly pulled it on over a pair of short shorts that he now wore.

Reed was panicking till he felt Y/n tap his back,” Hey girls.”

“Daddy,” They yell before pushing through the door and wrapping him in their arms. “Papa, you too,” they say while reaching up for their other dad, he smiles before leaning over and hugging them. Both Reed and Y/n staring into each other’s eyes, thankful that they were able to clean themselves up before accidentally scaring their children.

[ragingbookdragon]

And I'll Be An Old Troubadour, When I'm Gone

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Dis my favorite GS song <3 fits my OC perfectly <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ghost doesn’t typically get out of the country if he can help it when he’s on leave. Rarely does he even get to Scotland to see Soap’s family. That’s about it, but somehow, Troubadour convinces him to fly out to the States and down south to see him for the month they’ve been given. It does take quite a bit of convincing, and even a great home cooked dinner and somehow wining and dining Ghost’s pants off, but he does.

Troubadour has a fun time showing him around the town he grew up in, and even takes him to the high school he played football in. He grins widely as he sees his trophy in the case and a cheering team photo behind it. He tells him stories about getting drunk by a bonfire and almost burning all the little hair he had on his chest when he decided to jump over it and almost fell face first instead. Tells him about how he managed to whoop a rival school’s tail in a street fight in a parking lot when he was a senior. Talks on and on about how he used to spend every summer on a tube floating down the river with a fishing pole in one hand, a beer in the other, and a can of bait between his knees. Ghost’s eyes don’t give it away, but his smile is evident beneath the black face mask he wears around the town.

He drives Ghost around town, takes him to the local diner and shows him what a real country fried steak tastes like, and by the time they’re done with apple pie and coffee, Ghost is literally bursting at the seams and ready to fall over in the booth while Troubadour laughs at him. He looks good when he laughs. Like he isn’t trying to look out for everyone like Price always is. Troubadour’s good like that; the big brother they never had, the one they can go to for anything, no matter how foolish or big. He sometimes thinks Troubadour should retire and do something better with his life. Something less risky. But he knows that Troubadour is a good man, wants to do the right thing, even if he gets his hands dirty. He wants to make a difference. Wants to be the man he deserved to look up to as a young man instead of the shit father he did have. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could be a good man like Troubadour.

Troubadour tells him the cabin he’s rented is about two and a half hours out of the town and Ghost settles into the passenger seat of the 2021 Dodge RAM 1500, comfortable and content to close his eyes for a couple hours. He watches the end of the sun fall behind the mountains and watches the stars come out above the truck. So deep in his own mind that he doesn’t realize Troubadour’s hand is on his thigh until he feels his lover’s fingers gently pressing and thumbing against the roughness of his jeans. Troubadour likes to touch. He’s always holding Ghost’s hand, his thigh, his chin on the soldier’s shoulder, toes brushing his calf under the covers.

He looks over inconspicuously, taking in the side profile of the man he’s come to love so deeply, of something that came from such an admiration and respect. Ghost often wonders if Simon Riley would be the man Troubadour was if he hadn’t let his past warp him so greatly. The man’s hands are strong, firm, steady, the wheel gripped in one as he silently and masterfully turns the wheel around a winding curve when the radio plays the next song and he sees the corner of Troubadour’s mouth turn up and he starts to hum the cords of the beginning, and Ghost is almost shocked at the smooth voice that comes out of the man, like bourbon running in his veins as he sings.

Sometimes I feel like Jesse James, still tryin’ to make a name. Knowing nothing’s gonna change what I am. I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song. I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

It makes something in Simon’s chest tighten painfully. Their lives are lived in an hourglass that’s running out of sand fast. Every moment is never guaranteed, no tomorrow ever promised, but the longer he spends with Troubadour, the more he hears the life he wants to be living instead. He wants to wake up at five AM for god knows whatever reason, and sit on the porch in matching rocking chairs drinking their coffee. He wants to sit on the back porch in the swing and drink bourbon as they watch the fireflies in the summer and talk about the change in football and wonder if the season will be better than last year’s. He wants to spend every Sunday going to a café where they complain about the same breakfast they always get but still eat it and can’t wait for the next time. He wants to sit on the steps of their home in the early winter months, and watch Troubadour chop wood and bitch that he could chip in instead of ogling him like a pervert but still take his sweaty shirt off anyway.

Simon begins to admit the one thing he’s always been afraid of, and that’s the fact that he actually wants to live long enough to die an old man next to the old man he’s come to love.

He doesn’t even realize his eyes have begun to sting until he blinks rapidly and takes a deep breath, looking over at Troubadour as the man simply sings away without a care in the world other than the fact one of his biggest bragging rights is, “George Strait wrote a song about me. I mean, it’s obviously about me.”

Simon feels the world collide with everything he’s ever felt and known when Troubadour looks over as if called out to him and gives him a pearly white smile.

I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song, and I’ll be an old troubadour when I’m gone.

Troubadour picks up his hand, kisses the back of Simon’s, an ever-present and firm promise to love him for all he’s worth for as long as he has and even into the next life and all eternity.

I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

[lovelyelbowleech]

Hi, currently in love with your work. I’m on my 4th re-read since I discovered All’s Fair several months ago, and I have you to thank for prolonging my current Atla Hyper-fixation. Back in the building.

I wanted to ask when you started this story, how much did you develop characters like Shen or Kazuma? Were they mainstays since the beginning or did you end up coming up with them and their roles as the story progressed?

In chapter 12 of War Crimes, Shen mentions both his brother and his mother eluding to what happened to them so clearly he had something going for him since he first showed up, and it got me started on this train of thought, wondering just how ingrained in the story you figured they’d be? Cause I don’t see a ton of OCs in fics that affect the story this much, nor are such well rounded characters of their own I forget they aren’t in the actual show.

What made you decide to bring their roles in the story to the forefront?

Also, if you’re still doing the WIP and game;

“Stop” or “Dread” ?

Thanks and keep up the good work! heaps of praise upon thee!

Hello! So sorry its taken an age to respond, being sick knocked it out of me.

4 rereads is a lot! Glad you have enjoyed so much!

In regards to your questions about the OCs – it varies from character to character.

During War Crimes, I started planning War Games and I was torn between using Hakoda as the main adult view point character or making someone new. I felt like Hakoda was going to need to be focused on Sokka and their relationship, so I created Shen. I planned a basic backstory for him (his brother, the fact he was essentially a grown-up child soldier) and then sort of just waited to see how it turned out while writing. I didn't really have an end game for him, although I knew the important beats when it came to his interactions with the kids. It was actually the way I wanted to introduce Suki that was the main influence for the direction his story went and I think the catalyst for him becoming so entwined in the story.

Which leads me to Kazuma.... he did not exist until he was on the page 😅 I needed someone to take Shen to be imprisoned with Suki. So I made Kazuma... I like to give even the small characters a little bit of backstory – even if it never makes it into the fic, it makes them feel more nuanced in my head. So I gave him a bit of personality and a (tragic) back story and then decided I quite liked him. I thought his perspective would be interesting – being in a similar position to Shen but on the Fire Nation side. So I just rolled with it, and then somewhere around his first POV I realised he was exactly what I needed for Azula's story. So he was very much a fly by the seat of the pants character! Although when I got him figured out and how he would be involved with the story things became far more planned and now he is all tied up with plot.

Hua was plotted from the end of War Crimes, but Tu was more flexible. I knew how I was going to use him just not the details. Jianjun has also grown as I have written him. I always knew what I wanted him to do, just not quite how 😂, so he has grown as a character as I write.

It was never my intention to get any of them so wrapped up in the plot, it just sort of happened that way, so I’m rolling with it 😅

Thank you for the ask! And the interest in the OC’s ❤���❤️

I will come back to the ask game when I have written a little more of the new chapter 😂

[darsynia]

Shipping and Handling | Ch 3: Gravity

(Stucky x Reader slow burn, Steve x Reader fast burn, Friendship all around)

SERIES MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: There’s a chance you and Steve aren’t the only people dealing with the strange chemical bond from Mistress, so you agree to submit to daily tests that should help Dr. Banner figure out what’s happening, and maybe how to stop it. The problem? Seeing each other every day brings a new set of side-effects that both of you hide from each other and Banner until things come to a head– not just for the two of you, but also for the man who has to deal with you: Bucky Barnes. Length/Warnings: 4,631 / sexual situations, 'dere's some TOUCHING

Tags: (please request!) @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreblogsfics @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee @eralen @mrsevans90 @myinconnelly1 @thorinsmistress13 @cjand10 @wckedheart @samfreakingwinchester @blind-devil @sanniegirl1214 @karimac @dispatchvampire @beautifulchaos723 @weirdpeoplecoolpeople

Excerpt:

I could get out of here so quick it’d make the ‘weird news’ section, Bucky thinks to himself. He’s seated on the concrete up against the wall, knees up, glowering at the rest of the men in the same containment cell. The tight pressure of his pants is punishing against his erection, but the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Hey Colada, you gonna kill me with your eyes?” one of the gym rat assholes calls out from across the room.

“Depends. Your head hurt yet?” he asks, not bothering to raise his voice.

“Fuck, you ain’t kidding, man is scary as shit!” The man shoves his companion and turns his back, unintentionally showing off the greasy blonde mullet he’s sporting.

Not for the first time, Bucky thanks the combination of circumstances that’s kept him from needing a mindless fuck. The desperate want has been gnawing away at his insides for over an hour, but it’s at least manageable so far. His clothes reek of coconut, and the part of him that remembers going undercover in the past is cooked with laughter. His leather-clad punk rock piña colada smelling ass isn’t flying under any kind of radar, not even in a drunk tank full of genuine idiots.

Chapter Three: Gravity

Once inside the car (a limo, of all things), Steve guides you to the back into the curved corner seat before retreating as far away from you as he can get. He doesn’t have a fever, but his blood is on fire, both in desire and a strong need to protect you.

From himself, if necessary.

“Steve?” 

Your objection to the distance between you is plaintive, but he looks down at his tightly clasped hands, not trusting himself until he can get his breathing under control. “We’ve got to get you to Bruce as soon as possible.”

“Oh yes, exactly the penetration I need: a needle in my arm!” you grumble. Steve can’t hold back his shocked reaction, which prompts you to wince and look away. After the driver eases the limo out into the heavy traffic, you add quietly, “How the heck did you resist this?”

“I didn’t.” 

The tiny sound you let out on hearing that goes straight to his groin. Your next words help him regain his composure though.

“Steve, I’m scared. I don’t want to be a guinea pig for some kind of experimental treatment, but I don’t want to force you into anything either.” you whisper. “Maybe I could see if--”

“No.”

Steve barks out the word, caught in the grip of fierce possessiveness. His hands ache as he pours all his strength into keeping his fingers intertwined, instead of reaching out. The thought of someone else, someone not him…

“I didn’t even finish the sentence!”

He shakes his head, mind racing to find an explanation that doesn’t make him look like he is overstepping. “Secondary transfer is going strong. I pictured someone else touching you, and--” he breaks off, lifting his eyes to yours. Something you see in them has you unbuckling and coming over to rest your warm hand on his forehead. Muttering something about overheating, you start undoing the first few buttons of his dress shirt. “Dee,” Steve groans, unable to conceal the stress in his tone.

He catches your wrists as gently as possible, but that just reveals that the backs of his hands are lined with fingerprint bruises. You tut as the already-healing wounds catch your eye.

“It’s just like you to apologize for trying to keep your hands to yourself!” you say, but all other admonitions die on your lips as you watch the self-inflicted marks disappear. “That’s… that’s like magic,” you breathe. “Bruce really did pick the perfect person to try to figure this whole thing out. And then I had to go and screw things up!”

“Your being in the apartment was an accident, one I don’t blame you for.” He uses as firm a tone as he can, but your face crumples a little, sweat beading up along the furrows of your regretful expression.

“I shouldn’t have come over here. I only had about five minutes of coherent brain power left.” Your voice is barely a whisper, reaching your hand out and resting it gently over his heart.

“Spent most of that on reassuring me.” 

You close your eyes tightly and nod, saying, “You deserve better than to deal with this whole ridiculous situation again.”

On hearing this, Steve makes a decision, reaching over to tap a message to the driver on the communication pad hidden on a panel nearby. Tony sometimes messes around with it when he ropes him into doing Avengers events, something Steve never thought he’d come to appreciate. 

He rests his hand on yours and says, “When we met, I chose to trust you because Bucky trusts you. None of that has changed.” He pauses for a reaction, but you’ve got your teeth firmly embedded in your lip, your entire body tense with concern about what else he might say. He’d rather you didn’t have your eyes closed, but he remembers how hard it was to use logic and reason after being dosed with Mistress. “No matter what happens afterwards, Bruce has to know how direct exposure affects you, so I need to ask: do you trust me?”

You open your eyes to blink at him, and Steve notes how blown your pupils are. Knowing it’ll make things temporarily worse, but needing a response, he cups your face with his hand. Almost instinctively, you angle into him as you nod, showing both a conscious and unconscious sign of trust.

The limo pulls over to the curb and he lifts your hand from his chest to press a kiss onto the back of it. Bucky would probably complain he looks like some kind of knight errant. Shaking that thought off, Steve gets up and makes his way to the door, saying over his shoulder, “Try not to burn me in effigy till you get to the Tower, all right?”

The despairing tone you use to call out his name slices at his conscience, but there’s no time to do anything more than start running to the tower. Exertion should burn off some of the lust, at least. He hopes he can get through all the things he’s planning in the twenty minutes before the limo’s projected to get there. 

Your body had screamed in relief when Steve touched your face, but seconds later, he’s gone. At first, you’re confused. The limo sits for a while at the curb like it’s waiting for Steve to come back-- but finally it eases back into traffic, to your utter disappointment. You know the lust that’s prompting you to clench your thighs together for friction could all too easily take over.

It’s incredibly difficult to try to focus, but you pour all your mental efforts into the task of trying to remember just what Steve said before he abandoned you. You push past the moments of pleasure that crowd your mind, seeking a touchstone, something to keep your sanity intact--

Bruce. Bruce will want to test you. That means there’s a purpose to this torture.

You throw yourself back so you’re lying prone on the warmed leather of the limo’s seat, bending your knees toward your chest. The cool air on your exposed skin is hardly a relief at all, but the pressure from the shaping garment you’re wearing is oddly welcome.

“Well, that’s a first,” you mutter aloud. The sound of your voice is low and rough, undeniably sexy, and you light on that as something you ought to mark down for Banner.

When the limo stops and turns off its engine countless minutes later, you’ve only managed to scrawl something barely-legible about that observation onto a scrap of paper. It kept you busy, focusing your thoughts away from the heat licking through your body, and that’s what counts.

The door opens, and somehow, Steve leans in. “Time to fly to another perch, Chickadee,” he says gently, holding out his hand. 

“How--” you breathe, moving toward him. Only now does it occur to you that you’re basically a million desires held loosely together by the wax of willpower alone. You don’t want to make Steve deal with that-- but those concerns melt away as you step out onto the sidewalk in front of the building and collapse against him in relief. Steve sweeps you up into his arms, dipping his head to press his lips to yours.

The kiss is intense after your solo minutes in the limo miserably conflagrating. You clutch at him, loving the safety of his strong arms bearing you up. All that exists in the whole world is Steve, a good man, a trustworthy man, someone who knows exactly what you need. You bury your fingers in his hair to encourage him, eagerly anticipating the moment when he’ll lay you down and take you, the only thing that will heal the wounds caused by Mistress.

Except, for the second time in a half hour, that’s not what happens.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, apologizing right away when the bright light from the exam room he’s carried you into makes you recoil against his neck in surprise.

A cool, unwelcome hand catches your upper arm, turning you away from Steve just as he adjusts his grip to bring you to a stand.

“Just a little pinch!” a woman’s voice says. It’s not Dr. Lyonne, and Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Behind you, you can hear Steve’s unhappy voice demanding… something, but there’s a ringing in your ears, and everything goes wavy and indistinct after that.

You experience only flashes of the next minutes-- the solid chair under you as your blood is taken, the insistent voice asking questions about the evening, icewater through a straw held to your lips, but mostly you’re focused on keeping from reaching out and begging everyone around you to end the torment burning through your veins. Through the pervasive lust you’re wracked with, a single horrid thought keeps emerging.

Is this what Steve felt like that day?

It becomes louder than anything else, until you reach up and cover your ears with both hands, closing your eyes so tightly that the pressure flashes like fireworks.

“Dee?”

On any other day, Steve might touch your shoulder to get your attention, but he knows that you don’t have your eyes cinched shut and your arms crossed and your body tensed up for nothing. The desire simmering in his own veins is bad enough without more contact scrambling his senses. So, he stops your wheelchair in front of the elevator doors without hitting the button, and walks around so the sound of his voice will come from in front of you.

“I don’t pretend to know what you’re going through, because this stuff hits everyone differently. I’m just going to give you some options.”

You do a curt little head nod, pressing your lips together tightly.

“Option one is to head to a room to take care of things yourself, however long that might take. We’ve got an empty, furnished apartment set up if that’s your choice, with, ah,” his words fail him, but Steve pushes through. “--supplies.”

You make a choked noise in the back of your throat, and he rushes on to the next suggestion.

“Option two is to let you into our apartment, since you might feel safer there. Buck and I will use the other place in the meantime, till we get an all clear from you.” Bruce had suggested this, and Steve was doing his best not to picture it. 

“Alone?” you whisper, sounding miserable.

Steve crouches down in front of the wheelchair, his heart clenched into as much of a fist as the hand he’s gripping the armrest with. His high-minded resolutions not to influence you have been shredded by the look on your face.

“Not alone, not if you don’t want to be. The third option is for me to stand by what I promised in the restaurant. To finish what we started, out in the car.”

Your breathing had been quick and distressed since he’d wheeled you out of Bruce’s lab, and as he watches, you struggle with your words, pulling in a breath only to let it out in furrowed-brow frustration twice. Finally, you let out a huff of a laugh and let your hands drop like you’ve given up trying to be diplomatic. 

“Are we coworkers, thanks to all this? Do we need to get lawyers involved?”

“Oh, I’m sure Tony would love to get lawyers involved,” Steve groaned, “--but this is just between us. No surveillance and no pressure. The limo is parked in a private garage, it has tinted windows, and Stark’s AI guards all access. It’s the safest place I could think of without a chance of being interrupted or--”

“Yes.” Along with the fervent assent, you throw your head back, your whole body going through a kind of delighted shudder of relief that has Steve standing and walking a short distance away so he doesn’t do anything rash.

After a few deep breaths, he says, “I’m going to wheel you into the elevator, but if I’m honest, I’m not sure you’re in any condition to agree to this.”

“At least as much as you did, the day we met!” Your laugh sounds manic, but when Steve turns around, he catches you letting out a deep breath, your hands in fists on your lap. “If--” your voice falters, but you clear your throat and continue. “If you really think that, I can’t do this to you. I’ll… go up to the apartment.”

His own disappointment at that option slices through his inhibitions, and Steve hastens to refute the necessity of your offer. “Don’t do that to yourself. You won’t be able to fix this without me.”

“I know. But you should have the choice.”

He hits the elevator button and the doors open right away, offering a distraction from responding as he wheels you in-- but Steve Rogers isn’t much for avoiding tough things.

He ignores the part of his brain that points out that this isn’t tough at all.

“I do have the choice. Bruce said, and I quote, ‘I’ve never seen you walk away from someone in distress, and I don’t expect you to start now.’ He’s right.”

Steve forces himself to count to twenty as the elevator takes the two of you to the sub basement, but his veneer of control is shattered when the doors open and he looks down at you. You’ve leaned your head back to look up at him, desire etched across your features-- but equally present is an expression of utter trust.

It’s as much of an intoxicant to him as Mistress.

He walks around to block the door of the elevator, turning to hold a hand out for you. No way is he going to wheel you to the limo for what’s about to follow. Your immediate, confident grasp does a lot to assuage his concerns. The way you stumble into him right afterwards is just a symptom of the malady he knows just how to fix.

The empty wheelchair in the elevator will do nicely as an indicator to whom it may concern.

“God, I want you so much right now I’m basically a lit flame,” you whimper, twisting free of him and skip-stumbling over to the limo. Before he can stop you, you’ve opened the door and posed beside it in a wicked little gesture of sultry chivalry.

Multiple realizations hit Steve as he walks over.

He wants you, but he’s coming to realize he also wants you. As a person. You’re smart and compassionate, talented as all hell and beautiful inside and out. Steve’s never seen you act starstruck, yet you clearly respect Captain America as a facet of his personality. You’re joking about gallantry, but not to mock him. This… this is joyful, and he’d be willing to bet that if Bruce got ahold of a blood sample right now, he’d find that the minutes you’ve spent together have stabilized your desperate lust as much as his has been inflamed.

When he gets to the limo, you press yourself as close as you can, sliding your palms along his shoulders and his upper arms as you pull in a deep, steadying breath at his chest. A little whimper-sigh escapes your lips, reminding him of the urgency you’re caught up in, the need he’s forced you to delay satisfying for the greater good. Your whole body is trembling.

“I’ve got you,” Steve rasps into your ear-- and as if you’d both practiced the move, you hold onto his shoulders right as he lifts you up, your legs moving to bracket themselves around him. He bands a hand across your back to pull you into a desperate kiss, and the next coherent thought he has is to marvel that the inside of the limo has enough space for him to stretch out lengthways.

Everything is moving fast, and though he knows your body is willing, he needs to be sure your mind is on board. Even as he thinks this, you’ve already removed your top and are working on the rest of your clothes. The beauty of the lines of your body as you angle and arch sends his hips thrusting up against you.

Your hitched moan in response is almost enough for his compromised sense of what’s right, but not quite.

Steve catches your hands at your back as you struggle with your bra clasp. “Are you still in there? Can you consent?”

“They should do a study on how much your moral code makes me need you inside me,” you pant, rolling off of him to strip off everything from your lower half in record time. “That’s just wrong.”

He can’t resist. 

“Are you saying you’re in distress, ma’am?” he asks as he rushes off his own clothes. Something rips, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

You arch your back and throw your arm dramatically over your eyes. “Save me, Steve Rogers!”

He does.

Thoroughly.

I could get out of here so quick it’d make the ‘weird news’ section, Bucky thinks to himself. He’s seated on the concrete up against the wall, knees up, glowering at the rest of the men in the same containment cell. The tight pressure of his pants is punishing against his erection, but the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Hey Colada, you gonna kill me with your eyes?” one of the gym rat assholes calls out from across the room.

“Depends. Your head hurt yet?” he asks, not bothering to raise his voice.

“Fuck, you ain’t kidding, man is scary as shit!” The man shoves his companion and turns his back, unintentionally showing off the greasy blonde mullet he’s sporting.

Not for the first time, Bucky thanks the combination of circumstances that’s kept him from needing a mindless fuck. The desperate want has been gnawing away at his insides for over an hour, but it’s at least manageable so far. His clothes reek of coconut, and the part of him that remembers going undercover in the past is cooked with laughter. His leather-clad punk rock piña colada smelling ass isn’t flying under any kind of radar, not even in a drunk tank full of genuine idiots.

His stomach lurches. The dousing of Mistress he’d gotten was more than the amount that fucker had splashed on Dee, but it was worth the exposure to knock the guy out. You’re probably going to be pissed at him, even though he’d used his flesh hand just for your sake.

Bucky allows himself a smile meant to unnerve the men watching him, but internally, he’s scrambling. Thinking about you had been a mistake, maybe a big one. He’d enjoyed your performance that night; you’d added subtle physical and vocal flourishes that showed your skill to captivate an audience, himself included. When he closes his eyes, he can see the sway of your hips, both as you sang and while you danced with Steve.

A surge of desire courses through him, and he has to rock his hips to stifle the effects with the seam of his trousers. The pain-pressure doesn’t help this time. The damned aphrodisiac is finally winning.

New subject. Now.

The sharp sound of a police baton knocking against metal bars rings out. “Barnes?”

Bucky lifts his head and sees two figures near the door to the large cell. Beside the policeman is a squirrely-looking lawyer type with a terrible toupee and obviously fake, non-matching facial hair. The man’s suit is oversized, enough to trigger a visual scan for weapons. 

He gets up in one fluid motion, leaning his head down so his hair covers most of his face and deliberately hulks toward the door. Everyone between Bucky and the bars scurry out of the way, but he’s focused on the lawyer’s clear inconsistencies.

Thick-cut, ill fitting glasses Inability to stand still No eye contact Very high quality shoes

He chooses to lift his arms wide to grab the bars and lean forward, a dominant stance even in this caged madhouse.

“That ‘sposed to scare me?” the lawyer says-- and Bucky starts to cough instead of laughing. The lawyer is Tony Stark. He’s using an exaggerated New York voice, the kind you find on kids cartoons, but it’s him.

Bucky decides that ‘undercover’ for him right now is ‘over-cover.’ Drunk, horny, and indiscriminate.

“Do you like being scared?” He makes sure to slur his words just enough.

The policeman makes a terrible face and backs up. “Jesus how many did you drink?”

“I got a collection of umbrellas in my pants. Want one?” Bucky offers, reaching for his zipper.

“You can make me a bouquet of them in the car, buddy. Just keep those hands to yourself!” ‘sleazy lawyer Tony’ pronounces. 

The officer’s eyes climb skyward. “I can keep ‘im in here for as long as you--”

“Sure, if you’ve got condoms.” Bucky smiles.

He’s never seen anyone unlock a cage so fast, not even when he was crushing someone’s windpipe as an inducement to hurry.

That thought’s enough to make him stumble through the now-open cell door. It’s funny how convenient inconvenient flashes of memory can be.

“C’mon Casanova, let’s get you into detox,” Stark drawls, adjusting his enormous fake glasses.

A shout of “It’s Colada!” follows them out of the hallway.

“Do I wanna know?” Stark leans over to ask, giving Bucky a strong whiff of the alcohol on his breath.

“I’m as sauced with that sex drug as you are with--”

“All right, all right,” his ‘lawyer’ interrupts loudly, shoving Bucky past the policeman guarding the door. Stark’s holding up an ID that could probably get him into the Pentagon, but for all that he appears sloppy, he’s remembered to bring the kind of ridiculous car his persona would drive. The two of them hop into the back seat and Stark rolls down the window to wave at the jailhouse. The momentum from his man Hogan stepping on the gas knocks the tipsy superhero on his ass and leaves his nasty toupee in Bucky’s lap.

He throws it out the window.

“That was rude!” Stark says, frowning.

“I don’t think your girl wants you to come home with any kind of Mistress.”

Stark wrinkles his nose as if finally recognizing the smell. “Right. Well, maybe don’t punch convicted felons and get on the scanner next time? That’s not the kind of heroism I was expecting from you, Colada.”

Fuck, that better not catch on. “Don’t.”

They’re pulling into the tower already, driving all the way down to Stark’s private garage. Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to stay inside until the car stops. The closer he gets to privacy and the ability to do something about the fire radiating from his groin, the more intense it burns.

Stark is busy looking affronted. “Hey, I’m the Stark itect of your escape out of jail, Barnes. You could say thank you.”

The car stops, and Bucky opens the door, saying as he gets out, “Thank you for keeping your bad puns until the end of the ride.”

There’s a limo parked near the elevator. It’s out of place, no driver visible, but the lights are on. It hadn’t occurred to him that Stark’s tower would have VIP guests. If he weren’t so fucking horny he’d investigate, but as it is, he can only rush past.

Bucky bursts into the apartment with almost no self control left. Inside, a part of him is screaming about loss of control, but he erases it with a hand on his cock. He’s standing in the fucking doorway with his pants at his ankles and he could not possibly care less. Everyone in the building should be grateful he shut the door at all. 

He slams his head back against the wall behind him. The feeling of it giving way against his strength is as powerful as the liquid ecstasy coursing through his veins. 

It’s been more than one lifetime since he’s felt the itch to be outrageous, but right now he almost wishes for Steve to walk in and see him, head practically buried in the wall, the rest of him on display. His body is bowed out in a taut arc centered on his cock, his movements electrified by the twice-damned aphrodisiac in his system. Bucky had kept his mind mercifully blank from picturing anything, but just as before he’s weakened the dam by thinking about Steve.

Steve had looked great in his suit, overdressed but classy, but that was Steve. He’d always been like that, even before he’d lucked into that body.

Fuck. Think about something else.

He’ll come in the doorway but he’ll be damned if he’ll come in the doorway thinking about his roommate. Society hasn’t ‘advanced’ that far.

Something ELSE, Buck.

His hand is gliding, the pleasure is unreal, and the entire slideshow in his head is Steve. Bucky dials back in time, even though he usually doesn’t invite the nightmares that can bestow unless he’s got a few days alone to deal with them. He skips past cone bras and miniskirts, bouffant hair and do-wop music, letting out a whine in the back of his throat as he’s almost, almost there, but not quite.

Just as he’s got the perfect image of a pin-up dame in his head with the right shade of lipstick, the thought that he might not get to come crashes in like a neon Times Square sign dropped by a helicopter.

Bucky’s eyes open wide and his hand stops, then drops to his side. He’s still a live wire of erotic voltage right now but the chance that might become a permanent state of being has him wrenching his head from the wall.

He thinks back. What had you told him about this, what had you done? Is this related? There's zero chance you won't feel responsible if it is.

His lust-addled mind mixes every thought he’s had in the past five minutes into a psy-op worthy of the absolute worst HYDRA’s ever managed: an image of you superimposed on that red-lipsticked siren of a minute ago. A jolt of need draws his hand back to try to finish with your sultry voice at the vintage microphone as the soundtrack. 

In his mind, Bucky sees you throw your head back to croon something that sounds so much like lovemaking it’s enough to send him, and he falls to his knees shooting ropes of grateful release all over the floor in front of him.

It’s one of the best he’s ever had, almost worth the mess he’s made.

Fuck.

Your head’s thrown back, hips rocking at a pace you’d never be able to manage without Steve’s solid hand supporting your arched back as shards of honeyed pleasure start to strike from the oncoming storm of an orgasm. He’d promised to hold back, worried he’d hurt you, but with a groan you start begging.

“Steve let go, come with me, I can take it. I need you, I--”

He whimpers your name and complies, obliging but forceful, his powerful thrusts in perfect time with yours until seconds later, Steve slams his hand down beside you and comes. The very feel of it prompts your orgasm, pitching you forward onto his chest in a sobbing puddle of relief and ecstasy.

Neither of you moves, still connected, as both of you catch your breath.

“Is it me or was that even better than--” You stop, unwilling to say ‘usual’ or ‘before’ because you are not, not going to acknowledge aloud that you have an ongoing sexual, but not romantic relationship with Steve Rogers.

Just thinking that reveals that the hurricane of pleasure earlier came with some piercing debris you’d rather not try to heal right now.

“I’d say yes.”

To be continued...

[an0nfr0mth3d3n]

more headcanons/story bits/whatever

So one day Pac woke up early because he really needed a piss and he got up out off the bear furs (shush I know we haven’t seen bears yet on purgatory but I had the idea in my head that soulfire uses animal furs as blankets around the base and there’s a sleeping room that is lined with the reeeally fluffy furs and everyone pretty much dog piles in there and it’s pretty much a hot mess, but necessary cause they can’t afford to keep the campfires burning at night because DUH the BASE might BURN DOWN and it gets REALLY COLD so they just have this insulated room and it’s nice and cozy and OKAY I’ll get on with it) and he left the room to go to the elevator and get out.

He got to the surface and went in the woods to do his business, and it was like, that morning purple? Where the sun isn’t up but you can see the outline of trees where they just look like they were painted black against the sky? And occasionally a bird will fly by and they too just look dark against the sky. The first couple whistles of tentative birdsong are echoing in the silent woods and he turns around to go home, shivering and regretting not grabbing a winter coat or at least one of the furs.

When Pac gets near the base however, he sees Fit sitting on a fallen spruce tree, facing towards the sea, sharpening a Diamond sword on his knee. (Rhymes. Hah.)

Fit, who heard him approaching, turns his head and beckons pac over to sit next to him. Pac does so, even though he is SO COLD he thinks if he sits down the bark will freeze to his pants. He sits because he is a massive simp, and they kind of just watch the sky slowly brighten up, and additional details get revealed onto the silhouetted trees as if someone is carefully tracing over them with cyan dye, and bleeding it into a mix with dark green.

Pac is still super cold and he doesn’t NOT shiver because A. That’s hard to do when you are pretty much in your pajamas in 20 degree (FAHRENHEIT BISHES IM AMERICAN although metric is better Fahrenheit is better on a numerical scale cause when it is 109 degrees F it feels like it would be the number 109 and not some wacky other number. I will concede metric units to you because as an engineering student every time I see American units being used in a problem I cry a little inside)

(wait a second Pac would use Celsius becau- oh whatever it doesn’t matter that much)

apologies for the rant

in 20 degree weather, and B. Maybe Fit would-

“Do you want me to. Uh. Go down and grab a coat?” Fit offers, his throat husky from disuse.

Pac mentally facepalms. “Ah, no I’m doing good actually! Great! Really. I’m not, it’s not like I’m cold!”

They sit for a while in awkward silence. The stirrings of the world become more frequent around them, woodpeckers knocking into trees, and the breaching of whales in the distance. Fit turns around to look towards the base where all of their friends are still sleeping.

As if he had been checking that no one could come up and see them, Fit puts the sword into his inventory and reaches over, gently dragging Pac to sit, not in his lap because that would be crossing a line of things that roommates did, but on the log space in between his legs (ok so like I imagine he like, moved back a bit on the log, and like, manspread so there’s a seat there). Fit’s arms wrapped around Pac, just to keep him warm and stop his shivering, it wasn’t as if there was ANOTHER reason what are you talking about of COURSE not.

They sit there, watching the world around the base slowly come to life. The first cloud lights up a golden color, and the sky blushes with beauty. Its still cold, but sometimes the cold isn’t all that bad.

This was not a headcanon what went wrong what did I do oh god

[trixter-god]

The bat and the wolverine

(!!!working draft!!!)

Parings: Original character x Logan Howlett, Original character x Bruce Wayne, Logan Howlett x Bruce Wayne, Original Character x Logan Howlett x Bruce Wayne (eventually)

Summary: Starr (Trix) Baker-Foley better know as The Trixter was like many mutants living within the safety of Charles Xavier’s school for the gifted. A job that kept her busy and job that drove her crazy. Funny how trying to teach an art class for gifted teenagers was harder than trying to save the world. So sometimes she needed an escape. Somewhere only she knew about and only she could get too. A whole different universe.

warnings/tags. 18+ (eventually), fluff, angst, smut (maybe), canon typical violence, cursing/profanity, romance, open relationships, two boyfriends, jealousy, pining, slow burn, lovers to strangers, enemies to unliking friends to lovers, (More will be added)

Chapters (tbd)

Words (so far) 691

An: currently flying by the seat of my pants here. Sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. (no beta we die like Jason Todd) This is just a small dabble into the story I want to tell and I’m looking for any and all feedback/interest to make me actually sit down and give this the time and attention it deserves.

About Trix’s x-gene/powers:

Has the powers of reality manipulation. She can change her surroundings, people, things, etc. to whatever she wants. (Think the scarlet witch, unoriginal I know) Powers works better with smaller areas and only a handful of people at a time. She could change a room but not the whole mansion

Also has the powers of dimensional teleportation but she can only teleport herself and nothing else.

Her powers don’t work well out of her “original universe” but she is still able to use them in small doses.

Selfish, she was being selfish. That’s what Jean had said to her when Starr tried to see her own boyfriend. Boyfriend was a strong word. It made a lump form in her throat. She punched a bit harder against her target. A small hum of praise was thrown in her direction which only made her mind slip again. Thinking back to a familiar hum in her ears.

Logan left. Disappeared for months. No. A year. It shouldn’t affect her like it did. Starr barely dodged the sharp skillful right hook thrown in her direction. Logan was known for slipping out at night. Leaving for a good couple of weeks but he’d come back. He always came back. Like a stray, crawling back into her bed. The sad part was she’d let him. Even now.

A foot connected with the back of her knee as she lost her balance falling against the rubber mat with a growl. She doesn’t get up like she normally would just laid there in her own frustration.

“You're not focused.” A calm voice broke through the storm that was her mind for a moment, bringing her back to the present.

Bruce.

Calm, gentle, calculated, paranoid, mind numbing. She could keep going but instead Starr flipped over against that black mat staring up at the high cave ceiling catching her breath.

Bruce let out a hum again. This time it was one of questions as he looked her over. Questions he’d never actually ask, probably knowing the answers already. Starr could feel that sharp icy gaze against her skin, it made a shiver run through her. She shrugged it off by tearing off the protective wrapping from her knuckles, throwing it forgetfully across the floor.

“I’m done.” She mumbled, rubbing the sweat from her forehead. Bruce didn’t respond. His always light footsteps stopped next to her making his imposing figure stand in her field of vision. He was analyzing, it made her scrunched up her nose.

“Stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice level.

Fucking ass

“You know what I mean.”

He did. Always seemed he was the only one. Well besides Logan. Her fists balled up unconsciously, a moment Bruce noted.

His well sculpted yet abused body sunk down sitting crisscrossed at her side.

Those trademarked Wayne blues still made her skin crawl until her own eyes locked with his. Like the Atlantic meeting the Pacific.

A light touch of his knuckles brushing against her side in a way that was asking for a window. Starr let out a deep sigh closing her eyes thinking that would clear her elegant like memory. It never did.

“I’m being… emotional again.” She had to take a pause to find the right words. Those knuckles turned into fingertips pressing small circles into her sore side. Bruce nodded, not needing any actual explanation from her.

Starr’s eyes finally opened again after a long tense silence. Her head tilted is just enough to finally look at that unforgettably sharp jawline. Sweat stuck to his body in a thin sparkling sheet. He mindlessly pushed her dark hair from his face. It was longer than he’d like it, something she would probably have to fix once he remembers who lives behind the mask. She didn’t want to admit how badly she wanted to just reach up and give it a tug. Maybe distract herself from that man who didn’t even want to put a label on what they were with the one who’s patiently waiting for her to do the same. Starr swallowed that back down instead letting her hand trace over one of deeper scars across his leg.

“I can have Duke cover your route.” Bruce’s voice broke the well crafted silence. The soothing motions on her side stopped making her want to press against him.

“No, I’m fine.”

He nodded with some hesitation. It was a losing game to argue with her as stubborn as she was.

“Shower?” He suggested instead.

It was Starr’s turn to nod.

“Together?” Her voice raised up teasing, which was met with the smallest twitch in the corner of the dark knight's mouth.

“Together.” He agreed.

[sonnet009games]

As someone who's interested in writing interactive fictions too, do you have any tips or tutorial references to help get started?

From a technical standpoint, I would suggest researching the engine you’d like to use to make your game, because the features and limitations of the engine will probably have some bearing on the kind of interactive story you can tell. Ren’Py and Twine both have extensive tutorials, plus “Cookbook” style guides from their communities. There are other options out there, but I don’t have any experience with them—if you google “interactive fiction engines” I’m sure you’ll find articles comparing the options that are out there.

From the writing standpoint, I personally love a spreadsheet for planning out eeeeeverything, including dialogue choices and their consequences.

I pretty much fly by the seat of my pants most of the time, so I’m not exactly a font of good advice or best practices, sorry! But I really hope you give making IF a go, and I’d be excited to see what you create!

[aquagirl1978]

Rescue Me - Jin Grandet x Reader (Ikemen Prince)

A/N: Part of the Late Summer Rendezvous hosted by @xxsycamore - this is a gift for my dear friend @randonauticrap, I hope this little bit of Jin brightens your day!

Pairing: Jin Grandet x Reader

Prompt: sexy life guard

Tags: NSFW; Minors- DNI

The summer rays were warm on your face as you relaxed in your chair; the sun, high in the sky, shined down on you as you read your book and sipped iced tea. Digging your toes in the sand, you turned the page, anxious to see whether love would bloom between the heroine and her love interest.

A group of small children ran by, laughing and shouting, causing you to put down your book for a moment. Oh, to be young again. Your gaze followed them down the beach, your eyes lingering on the tall lifeguard tower.

Seated atop the tower like an eagle perched in his nest, dressed in red swim trunks and dark sunglasses, was a man. A very handsome man with broad shoulders and sculpted abs. You watched as he blew a whistle and called to some people to not swim so far out.

Oh, how you wished he would blow that whistle and call out to you.

You’d come running to him, your body wet from swimming in the ocean. Pressing your palms on his bare chest, you’d watch with lidded eyes as drops of water, glistening in the sunshine, trickled down his chest. He’d tease you for getting him wet like that, and maybe, if you were lucky, he’d grab you by the wrist and take you somewhere more private.

You glanced further down the beach and saw an outcropping of rocks. “We can stay hidden there,” he would say, as he held your wrist firmly in his large hand, his thumb pressing on your pulsepoint, as you panted, trying to keep up with his long strides in the sand. 

Peals of laughter broke your fantasy, your eyes quickly finding the source of the sound. A flock of teenage girls had surrounded the lifeguard’s tower and were loudly chatting with him. The lifeguard was friendly in his responses, his eyes, however, were locked on the ocean. 

Picking up your beverage, you took a long sip, the cool liquid refreshing on your tongue, however, doing nothing to temper the heat growing inside. Biting your lip, your mind wandered once more, allowing those long, strong swimmer’s arms to wrap around your shoulders.

“You should be punished for distracting me while I’m working.” His tone was serious, but the way he looked at you – garnet eyes aglow with wicked mischief – told a different story. Holding his gaze, you remained silent, waiting for your punishment. 

He dipped his head towards yours, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss. Your wet body pressed against his as the tip of his tongue probed open your lips, seeking entrance into your mouth. Moaning softly, your tongues met, twisting and twirling, as he hands began to wander down your back. 

His fingers would easily pull down the straps of your bathing, allowing your breasts to spill from the tight fabric. You could feel the smile in his kiss as he cupped one breast in his hand, his thumb massaging your nipple. The roar of the ocean grew louder, masking your moans, as the water splashed around your ankles.

Tearing your eyes away from the lifeguard's tower, you reached for your book, desperately needing a distraction. You focused your eyes on the words on the pages, following the escapades of Mitch and CJ and friends. Of all the books you owned, why did you pick the one book you owned about lifeguards?

You picked up your glass, now only half-full, although you would need enough iced tea to fill an Olympic-sized pool to quench your thirst this afternoon. 

The whistle blew once more; your head turned to find the lifeguard flying off his post, running straight into the water. The water slowed his movements as a small crowd stopped to watch as the lifeguard scooped the young boy in his arms, swiftly returning to the beach. He brought the boy to his tower, where he offered him a dry towel and a brightly colored lollipop. A frantic couple came running; reuniting with their son, they thanked the lifeguard profusely for saving their son's life. 

"Just doing my job," you heard the lifeguard say before popping a blue lollipop into his mouth. This one here truly was the complete package – strong, handsome, kind, and a hero. 

He was also soaking wet, head to toe. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his damp bangs free from his face, his breathing only slightly heavier after his heroics. 

The book fell from your hands and into your lap; there would be time to finish the story later.

"This is good," he'd say, stopping when the water reached just below his shoulders. Scooping you in his arms, your bodies free of your bathing suits, he pulled you close, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your body shivered with excitement as he plunged a finger inside you, quickly adding a second. Tilting your head back, the water helped keep your body afloat as he continued to finger you.

His name was but a whisper on your lips as he entered you, your hands slippery as your nails tried to dig into his back. Was it the water? The position, maybe? Or perhaps the thrill of making love at the beach? Either way, your senses were heightened, enhancing your pleasure. 

It wasn't long before your bodies melted into one, the state of your bliss euphoric yet ephemeral.

The skies turned a shade of cotton candy pink as the sun started to set; the lifeguard blew his whistle one more time, marking the end of his shift. You watched him leave wistfully as you packed your bag. It would be dinner soon, time to head home. 

With your bag slung over your shoulders, you made your way to the parking lot. It wasn't hard to find your car as most had already left for the day.

After tossing your bag into the trunk, you slid into the front seat next to a handsome, familiar face, a long, white tee shirt covering some of his red swim trunks. 

"Hey, babe," Jin said, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek. "Ready to go home?"

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @bellerose-arcana @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage @nightghoul381 @itsjudesfault @maries-gallery @xbalayage

[nectar-cellar]

i finally have these 2 icons in me sim bin omg

i tried to keep nina’s look as similar to her TS2 appearance as possible even though i am itching to change it. the black crop top and pink jeans/cargos... the bright berry lip with the smoky eye in the daytime... I’M SORRY I JUST DON’T GET IT! i threw on some coral blush to complete her look. why not. it’s just so much all at once. it reminds me of the 2000s before social media was big, and most people just did whatever they wanted with their makeup and outfits. it’s the complete opposite of the current clean girl/soft glam/natural, minimalist, highly curated and perfected look. nina cakes it on and she looks damn good.

she’s like if a 2000s barbie raided a bratz doll’s closet. i’ve decided that’s the direction i’m taking her in. 

so actually this look is very fitting for nina the character. i can see her putting this on at her vanity in the morning, clothes strewn all over her bed, music blasting. i feel like she just doesn’t give a fuck. she looks in the mirror and she knows she’s hot, end of story. i can respect that.

you know what nina, i retract my judgment. i didn’t see the vision but now i do.

more ramble abt them below

i feel like dina very much aspires to the stereotypical sugar baby/gold digger lifestyle while nina just wants to live each day to the fullest, have fun, and is less concerned with snagging herself a rich man. she’s the more obvious wild child of the two (dina is just sneakier about her activities). i feel like nina would go for more sportswear and streetwear type clothes while dina goes for the y2k, 2010s glamorous it-girl look.

dina actually seems more mature and more of an older sister to me than nina. i feel like nina’s personality is more straightforward/direct, impulsive, and emotionally driven, while dina is more two-faced, strategic, and more of a subtly manipulative game-player which you’d have to be if you were to be a successful gold-digger. she thinks ahead and considers different outcomes, making her the more “responsible” decision maker of the duo. at the end of the day, they are both women who put themselves first and go after what they want, they just achieve their goals in different ways.

it’s interesting that the sims wiki states that nina’s official description is the “brains of the operation” and wants to study medicine when none of her traits in TS3 and TS4 really reflect those qualities. if anything i think dina would be the more successful one in the medicine field because she’s ambitious, charismatic, and you already know she’d network the hell out of a room. nina seems like she’d be more of a yolo, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants type of person in school/work/life in general.