she was seared onto his hearts

No. 48 I love you

Summary: 100 banging kinks for Bucky’s 100th birthday! 

 I love you. (Bucky x Reader)

Warnings: smut oral (f receiving), dirty talk (ish) fluff mega fluffy
Word count: 1750 (give or take)
A/N: My first story on here and it’s smutty whooo. Thank you @bucky-plums-barnes  for the opportunity 

Please leave feedback and comments as it’s my first fic on here and I’m mighty nervous!  Aye Carumba!  And also, apologies for errors.  I didn’t have time to thoroughly check grammar etc.  


Barely made it.

Y/N looked for his apartment number and buzzed.  

Seconds ticked away in what felt like eternity, until the light in the upstairs window came on, painting the apartment in hues of orange and gold.

“Yeah,” Bucky responded over the intercom, his voice tired and faint.

Y/N took a deep breath, nervous with the reality of having to answer. 

“Who is it?” He asked sternly this time.

“Happy Birthday” 

The buzzer, pronounced and loud meant she could enter. 

Bucky opened his apartment door shocked to see Y/N  soaked to the bone. Her body visibly shaking from the cold, her lips pale with a hint of blue.  He couldn’t help himself as he pulled her to his chest and hugged her.  His heart weeping when they touched.  

"What are you- what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call I could have- I  would have-” the words dying in his throat. None of it seemed to matter anymore.  Why get caught up in the logistics of their meeting he thought when what mattered, as he caressed her cheek and stared into her eyes, was that she had made the effort to be here, with him as his birthday ended.

And so, Bucky kissed her.  Quick fevered kisses to her cheek, chin and lips for the weeks he had gone without her lips and and knowing it would never be enough he cupped her face in his hands and finally kissed her deep in a dizzying assault compounded out of frustration, relief and love.

Y/N melted under his loving assault and answering the call of his spirit, she greedily kissed him back. Not caring that her lungs burned and she desperately needed air.

Bucky lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist and still kissing, he closed the door with his foot.  

Sexual Hunger pawed at the base of his belly demanded instant gratification. To lay her down right there on the hard cold floor of his hallway. But Bucky knew that would only result in a quick fuck and so, in an exercise of self control he had decided to take the torturous walk towards his bedroom. Rationalising to himself that If he could make it to his bedroom, then perhaps, he could pace himself tonight.   

Using what little will power he had, Bucky carried her towards his bedroom as his lips unwilling to leave hers for the briefest moment, stroked the fire between them.  Unseeing and uncoordinated they bumped into the sofa, only for him to turn her against it, their kisses strained and desperate. His metallic hand gripped the back of his neck pulled her closer, needing to be closer yet it still wasn’t enough.

Y/N started to slip, her wet body sliding down his frame and Bucky determined, hoisted her higher, remembering his purpose he stumbled onward like a drunkard, feeling out the steps of his hallway until his fingertips brushed cool moulded wood, the door frame to his bedroom.

He wasted no time in laying her on the bed, his weight crushing her as their tongue danced against each other.  His fingers found the buttons on her shirt and he tried to undo them without paying them attention, but the task was futile without removing himself from her arms or her lips.  Y/N gasped, as she felt a succession of forceful tugs and the ripping of fabric, her buttons popping in triumph.

Bucky pealed the wet fabric from her skin, bringing forth goose bumps that begged for his touch. Slowly, he kissed her shoulder but his longing for her could no longer be contained and unashamed he licked the length of shoulder and collarbone tasting a sweet mix of rain water and the salt of her skin.

Y/N groaned and held on to his face, awed by his pupils dark with lust and his lips swollen from their ministrations.  He had never looked more handsome or vulnerable or horny for that matter. She smiled at the sight of him. Her nose gently brushed his, “I love you,” she said breathlessly. 

Bucky is stunned by her words, so stunned in fact that he does not reply, his brow is furrowed and he looks confused and Y/N smiles regardless.  

“It’s okay.  You don’t have to say it back.  In fact, I wasn’t banking on you sayi-” But her words are cut short as Bucky’s lips crashed onto hers in a searing hot kiss. He kissed her with all the passion he had felt for her and when he couldn’t breathe anymore,he dragged his lips away and pressed his forehead against hers. 

“I love you too”  Bucky whispered with a smile.

His confession is food to her soul, and Y/N  found herself sighing in relief, her heart swollen with feelings she couldn’t make sense of or quantify.

“You love me?” 

“I knew I was in trouble the minute I laid eyes on you.” he confessed, his voice is coarse, just like his thumb now tracing her bottom lip.  His eyes trail her face lingered now on her lips,  “I knew it the moment we spoke.. do you remember what you said.  What you called me?”

“I can’t for the life of me remember.” she smiled coyishly, knowing full well what she had said.

”You called me an asshole.”  Bucky chuckled, as he unbuttoned her pants and pulled the wet fabric from her legs. Once free, his fingers held on to her panties and she shifted, lifting her hips, giving him permission to take them off. Their eyes locked. Their breathing heavily laboured.

“But it doesn’t matter does it.” His fingers pulled down her panties and threw it aside.   

“Because you. love. me.”  The words stemmed proudly from his lips.  His hands, both flesh and metal, traced the length of her calves, they paused at her ankles, opened her legs for him.

“With all my heart Buck, with all my heart…”   Y/N mewed as he settled between her thighs.  Entwining his arms around her legs he pinned them apart, he licked his lips at the meal laid out before him. 

Already heady and drunk on her scent, his nose became flushed with the the curls of her public hair and then slowly Bucky licked her wet aching core.  He shuddered when he heard her moan as he slowly licked her slit.  The fingers on his metallic  hand divided her pussy lips apart until her clit stood out pronounced, greedily he sucked pulled and teased it, forcing the most beautiful noises from her lips.  He wrote his name with his tongue over and over, he marked his territory by sucking softly at first then harder, only to delve his tongue inside exploring her inner walls.

Not able to get enough Y/N  greedily placed the index finger and middle finger of his other hand into the warm velvety interiors of her mouth and sucked.  Her moans, vibrating off his fingers became a tool to predict just how close she was. 

She took deep breaths, her back arching and then collapsing only to rise again and this time more determined and strained, as Bucky whipped his head and tongue torrid and determined from side to side. She gasped, breath hitched, belly convulsing, her toes curled painfully. 

Y/N was close.  God, so close, that Bucky knew just a flick of his wrist or a change in movement would send her sharply over the edge.

He stopped.  He pulled away denying her release and Y/N laughed in shock and bewilderment.  "No, no no- don’t you dare" she said, breathing hard, but Bucky unnerved and unmoved by her threats, stared at her, his eyes hooded with hunger, while he leisurely sucked on his fingers, enjoying her taste.

Whimpering her fingers moved to her clitoris in desperate need to end her torment and he shook his head.

“Don’t.” His words firm and deep was not a request but an order.
Arresting eyes, strong as steel, light as day, watched her as he took off his shirt, he made slow work of unbuttoning his pants. He can see her visibly shaking, her lips trembling slightly and he crawled on top of her, marrying her wet warm body with his own. Eagerly she leaned in to resume their kissing, but Bucky pulled his head slightly out of reach.

He was teasing her alright and she was powerless to resist him. Right now, desperate to feel that sweet release that only he could give. She was willing to do anything, for the man she loved. Pulling her hair back,  Bucky ravaged her neck, as he wrapped her legs around his waist and positioned himself against her sopping wet entrance.

With one rough thrust he buried himself inside her.  Only for the both of them to gasp.  It took him a minute to compose himself. And when he pulled out again and thrust forward, she was a quivering mess.  He knew she wasn’t going to last long, and he was grateful because he sure as hell wasn’t going to last long either.

His pace is persistent, his thrusts are deep and brutal.  They pull gasps from her lips. They pull moans from his. The bed creaks in satisfaction from their love making and he loves the sound as much as he loves the sound of his cock entering her, it’s slick, it’s heavenly, he moans again.

His fingers intertwine in her hair as him mouth claims every part he can access. Her neck, her chest, her breasts, until, his efforts were focused on her face.

“Open your eyes” he grunted, and when she did she saw nothing but love and adoration, all of it, was for her.

“Oh God, oh  god James,” she whimpered.  His eyes are staring into her soul, as he pounds into her, relentlessly wanting to witness her undoing.

 I’m close- I’m close…Oh god, ah-“ she whimpers against his lips.

‘I know baby.. I know.”  He said, his voice soft and yet, still unrelenting, he kept up his pace, her legs are quivering, her body is shaking and he knows, she’s almost there, he’s trying desperately to hold on, but his  pace is beginning to falter.

“You gonna come for me baby? Not until you say it again.” He whispered his words punctured by each snap of his hips.   

“James - ,” she begged unable to form sentences, 

“Say it for me.  Forever and only me.“ 

“I love you.”  she choked, and he rewarded by using his metallic fingers to fondle her clit.

Y/N’s orgasm hit her with the force of a freight train until all she can see is his face bathed in white heat. Big fat tears escape from her eyes from pure euphoria.  She crumbles beneath him and Bucky lapped at her lips, absorbing her cries  “That’s it baby.  Love of my life, fuck…my one and only…. моя жена ” his voice is shaky as he continues to fuck her through her orgasm.  Her walls milking him mercilessly until he has no other choice but to cum, jet after jet of warm thick cum filling her.

Moments later, when he had rolled off of her and pulled her body close to his, languishing the feel of skin to skin and planting soothing kisses.  She raises her head a little curious. 

“You said something in Russian when we were making love.   What did you say?”  

Bucky kissed her softly and smiled,  “That’s for me to know and for you to find out soon enough.”

anonymous asked:

Prompt: Castle falls asleep on Beckett's chest.

Post 4x04, Kick The Ballistics.


She hated for him to see her broken, raw and trembling and overwhelmed with inner demons, but part of her had been grateful for the one time she had let him. In her own apartment, during an unexpected panic attack a couple of weeks ago, he had touched the shaking bone of her shoulder, murmured comforting words, relatable words.

I know, Kate, I know. I have them too.

She hadn’t necessarily believed that, couldn’t picture Rick Castle enduring the torturous episode of a panic attack, but he hadn’t been lying to her. 

The return of Jerry Tyson had rattled him, she knew that, and ever since the heartbreak she had caused him throughout the summer, their partnership had been a bit more tentative. Her shooting, those words she isn’t supposed to remember, still looming over them, she knew that too. Castle was under a lot of stress, probably dealing with a good dose of emotional turmoil, but that knowledge hadn’t prepared her for his mother to call her in quiet distress, worried over her son and unsure of what else to do.

“This has happened before, once not long after the divorce with Meredith, when he was under so much pressure,” Martha had babbled, her voice a contradiction of calm and factual, frantic and fearful. “And I know he doesn’t like for anyone to see him like this. But I could hear him when I went to let him know I was leaving and he just sounded so - so grief stricken, and I just can’t not-”

“I’m on my way,” Kate had promised his mother, already changing directions, turning away from the entrance of the subway that would take her home and towards the sidewalk instead, hailing a cab that would get her to his loft quicker. “Just ten minutes, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, darling.”

Martha had stuck true to her word and after impatiently riding the elevator to the top floor of his building, Kate is able to stride inside the loft, take the path to his office without a second thought. Her fingers pause over the handle to his bedroom door, though, apprehension flaring in her stomach. She’s never been inside his bedroom and it isn’t her right to just barge in.

“I’ll be out in just a moment, Mother,” he calls out when she knocks, and he’s a skilled actor, talented in the roles he plays for those he doesn’t allow inside, but she can still hear the slight quiver in his voice. 

“Not your mom, Castle,” she calls back, hearing nothing but silence on the other side of the door for a split second before his footsteps rush towards her. 

The door swings open and despite the smile he musters for her, she can see the cracks in his exterior. 

“Beckett, to what do I owe the pleasure of an unexpected visit?” he quips. “And how did you get in here?”

“Your mom let me in while she was on her way out.” Technically, it was true. “I thought after everything with this case and 3XK… I thought you could use some company.”

His eyes ripple with surprised delight, gentle appreciation, and she wishes she would have thought to come to him sooner, to care enough to check on him without his mother having to inform her of his current state. 

“I - that’d be great. Have you eaten?”

“No,” she admits, biting her bottom lip when Castle steps out of his office, his hand rising to glance the small of her back before it quickly falls away. She misses the warmth of his palm without even having the chance to experience it. “Have you?”

“I was just about to,” he lies, the grin stretched across his lips charming but strained, enough for her to see through.

She doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t try to bring up what she knows is bothering him, but she does stick close to his side in the kitchen, helping him heat up leftover pasta that smells divine despite its time in the fridge. She sits beside him on the couch while they eat, engages in the comfortable small talk, the silence that falls between bites yet never becomes awkward. Not with him.

“How’re you holding up?” Kate finally asks after he’s set his bowl down on the coffee table in front of them, taken the last sip of the red wine he had poured in matching glasses for them. She still nurses hers between her palms.

Castle tilts his head at her in feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Rick,” she murmurs, watching him physically deflate, sighing out in defeat as his shoulders slump, his lips falling into a frown and his eyes going dull, and she stretches forward to deposit her wine glass on the table beside his.

“I’m okay,” he states with a shrug. “Not even sure why it bothers me so much. Ryan is the one who went through hell during this case.”

“What Tyson did to you both was equally traumatizing-“

“Trauma?” Castle scoffs, shaking his head at her. “I didn’t - there’s no trauma, Kate. I’m fine. I just - I guess this case had me afraid that Tyson would step up his game, come after us, people I care about.”

“We never would have let him come after Martha or Alexis,” she swears to him, hoping the knowledge that he had an entire precinct ready to protect his family if need be would provide him with comfort, but she watches his lips purse instead.

“And you?”

Kate shifts on the sofa to face him, her brow creasing with confusion. “Me?”

Castle scrapes a hand through his hair and averts his eyes, looks as if he’s about to rise, take a page from her book and make a run for it, so she drapes her hand atop his knee, effectively stays him.

“I can’t protect you,” he gets out without meeting her eyes. “Couldn’t protect you. I wouldn’t have been able to stop Tyson if he had-“

“Castle, stop,” she breathes, her fingers clenching hard over the bone of his knee.

“And I know you don’t need my protection, but I can’t - God, I can’t lose you again, Beckett,” he confesses, his head in his hands and his body curling in on itself, protecting himself. From her. “Not like that.”

“You’re not,” Kate chokes out, the terrible grief clogging her throat, knotting in her chest beneath the bullet scar that consumes her sternum, consumes everything.

She’s close enough to drop her forehead to the rounded bone of his shoulder, the scent of his aftershave drifting up to greet her, embrace her, and she inhales a deep breath of it, of him, and swallows down her own anguish, focuses on Castle’s.

His spine is stiff, his entire frame rigid beneath the foreign proximity she offers, and Kate reaches for one of the hands fisted in his hair. He lets her have it without resistance, his head turning towards her to watch as she cradles his fingers in her palm, strokes her thumb along his knuckles.

“You’re not,” she repeats, feeling the intensity of his gaze resting on her, searing through her. “I’m still here, Castle,” she whispers, drawing his palm to her chest, up to her heart.

The harsh intake of his breath shudders through them both, but he allows her to keep his hand flat against her sternum, her heart galloping to meet his palm, crashing against the cage of her ribs to feel the warmth of his skin seeping through her shirt.

She couldn’t return his confessions of love, not yet, not with words, but she could offer him this - reassurance in whatever form he needed. She could let him hold onto her heart before she gave it over completely.

“Kate,” he whispers back, but she doesn’t answer, her forehead still sealed to his shoulder, a new favorite place of rest, one where she’s content to remain.

And that’s what they do for a long while - remain. His hand cradled to her chest, her forehead to his shoulder, and his body beginning to lean into hers as time passes.

“Don’t go,” Castle sighs out, his hand going slack beneath hers, and she controls the descent of his fist to her side before she attempts to rise from the sofa. “Beckett-“

“Shh, let’s get you to bed, Castle,” she murmurs, squeezing his bicep before she stands, tugs him up with her. “I’ll stay a little while longer.”

That earns a surprised quirk of an eyebrow despite his drowsy state, the exhaustion from the panic attack that had caused his mother to dial her number, from the pasta and the wine that has even her eyes feeling heavy, from the thought of losing her - all of it overtaking.

He shuffles towards his bedroom with her at his side, his warmth like a magnet she fails to stray from, her body easing onto the edge of his bed even as he plops down. Her mind is in turmoil, red flags and alarm bells plaguing every inch of her skull, but her heart beats hard and fervent behind the walls that bind it, keep it from the man lying next to her on the bed.

“You really don’t have to stay,” he mumbles around a yawn, offering her a reassuring smile, the one he often uses to comfort her, calm her, and they may still be waiting, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stick around, take care of him a little longer, whether he needs her or not. God knows he would do the same for her without hesitation.

“Just for a few minutes,” she replies, easing down onto her side, facing him, and holding her breath as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Kate,” he murmurs, his fingers traveling to stroke up and down her spine, eliciting shivers and streaks of heat all at once, sending her eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you.”

They peel open at that.

“Always,” she returns, watching the blue of his eyes burn so brightly in the darkness of his bedroom before his lashes fall shut to hide the need she recognizes coming to life.

She falls asleep mere moments after she watches his eyes close for a final time, after she trains the rise and fall of her chest to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her. 


The next time Kate wakes, it’s late in the night and her eyes are thick with sleep, her chest heavy with the weight atop the frame of her ribs, the press of his cheek to her sternum, his ear at her heart. It should hurt, her muddled brain muses, the pressure atop her gunshot wound, but the seal of his cheek to her sternum does the opposite. 

He anchors her.

It should terrify her too, but she blinks through the grit of her slumber to catch a glimpse of his face, slack and at peace, innocent and untouched by the grief she had passed onto him. She’ll dislodge him before morning, probably be out of his loft before he even awakens, but for now, Kate combs her fingers through his hair, sighs quietly when he tightens the arm around her waist and nuzzles gently, his nose grazing her collarbone.

This is what she’s working so hard for, trying to be better for, what they’re both waiting for. But for tonight, she erases her shooting from her mind, dispels thoughts of Jerry Tyson and the ache in Castle’s eyes when he’d said he couldn’t protect her, and gives him the beat of her heart, the drum of reassurance beneath his ear. For tonight, she allows them both a much needed rest.

Prompt: ❛ It’s hard to look you in the eyes… ❜ 

Pairing: NaLu

Song: Into the Darkness - The Phantoms

Blistering heat stung her eyes, blinking didn’t alleviate her discomfort. Of all the things she expected to find, this wasn’t it.

Natsu stood, eyes a glistening white. Neither the amber of a dragon or the black of E.N.D. Blank, an emptiness where his soul resided.  

Lucy stood, calling into the void and silence answered. Waiting desperately for some form of recognition, she noticed the white vapours moulding to his body before dispersing into the night air. Fire decimating the woodland, the call of creatures fleeing echoed her own internal strife. It felt like she had failed, falling short at last moment. Self-doubt whispering she had taken too long.

Fighting back feelings of helplessness, the old Lucy had no place in this situation, or at this time. Wasting seconds meant choices are made with real consequences. Dithering came with a high price, contrary to the fairy tales that spoke of fair maidens awaiting their prince. Life or death, good or evil, all are decided with a lack of action. 

Waiting for prince charming didn’t sit right. She’s bringing Natsu back, no matter the cost.  

“Please…” She said, voice cracking and throat constricting as dryness swept through her cavern. Soot and smoke clogging her airway with alarming quickness. Coughing, head pounding, she felt her heart pumping rapidly as she struggled to coordinate her limbs.  

Squinting, she found Natsu’s face as he threw his head back, the high-pitched scream sending shock waves into the surrounding area. The sound wasn’t ferocious. Instead, it made her toes curl, dread tightening her diaphragm. Lucy knew the cry of a dying man.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her nerves. Today they will overcome evil. 

One more time. 


Propelling forward, ignoring the searing pain as scalding embers blistered her skin, she latched onto him.

If talking didn’t work then force it had to be, fear provoking the use of her greatest weapon. Lucy Hearfilia will not be ignored.

“Fight, Natsu!”

And Natsu Dragneel will not die a coward’s death.

She’s betting her life on it. 

Rewritten, Chapter 11: Zelda’s Awakening

Read this on  ➜

“’It’s going to fire, and it’ll hit me, and then you run,’ he explained, casting her the briefest glance over his shoulder as the Guardian began to target him. He savoured looking at her, and tried to tell her, with his eyes, what he’d felt for so long. He had no time to tell her now. It was no use.”

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A one-shot sequel to We Intertwined

An Ignis Scientia Story
Word Count: 2,550

A/N: Here it is! One of my one-shot sequels to my Ignis x Raine story. I have another one coming soon that starts where this one leaves off. Lots of angst under the cut.

“How far along are you?”

Raine shrugged. She was leaned against the wall beside Dave’s shop near the marketplace in Lestallum, subconsciously rubbing the base of her stomach. “Doctor says around six or seven weeks.”

Dave whistled low. “Has be really been gone for that long?”

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anonymous asked:

Inspired by the women's march, could you write something with Sanvers and the rest of the gang going to something similar pls?? i love your writing btw, it's so so good

Maggie’s lacing up her sneakers when Alex’s alarm goes off.

“Babe? Why’re you up?”

Maggie shrugs and leans up to the bed to press a kiss to Alex’s lips. “Couldn’t fall back to sleep. Thought I could go on your run with you, if that’s okay?”

Alex blinks out sleep and arches an eyebrow, but she says nothing beyond her nod, her small smile. She knows that look – that look Maggie gets when she’s prepped for a fight, when she’s scared, when she’s excited and when she’s focused and when she’s over-energetic, all at the same time.

She usually gets that look only when she’s going out on a dangerous mission.

Today, she’d switched shifts so she didn’t have to work. I’m not trying to suppress the protests I need to be part of, she’d said casually, she’d said with a blaze deep in her eyes, with a somewhat sad grin quirked on her lips.

So today, the only dangerous mission is going to be the March.

Alex swishes around mouthwash and tosses frozen water on her face and spits and throws on her favorite running shorts, her favorite running jacket. She stares at Maggie, sitting on the bed with her elbows resting on her knees, her phone in her hands.

“You know they took down the civil rights, LGBT, and climate change sections of the White House site already?” Maggie says without looking up, because she’s a detective, and she detects, so she knows when her girlfriend is looking at her.

“Yeah, I read it last night. You sure you wanna go today, babe?”

“I need to go today, Al. Just gonna burn off some energy first. Come on – wanna get in a 5k before we spend all day on our feet?”

Alex chuckles and pulls the phone gently out of Maggie’s hand and pulls her to her feet and kisses her soundly, softly, tenderly, trying to put every ounce of love she feels for her into their touch.

“I’ve got you, babe,” Alex reminds her, because her girlfriend grew up non-white and non-straight in Blue Springs, Nebraska, and she knows that Maggie remembers what this dread of a deadly storm feels like. Maggie melts into her touch, because no one has ever offered her protection before, and god, she knows it’ll be the only thing that gets her through.

Kara’s commandeered the apartment with an odd explosion of posterboards and markers and donuts and coffee by the time Maggie and Alex trudge back up the stairs, the bottom layer of Alex’s hair plastered to her forehead with sweat and Maggie’s wet tank top slung over her shoulder.

“Check it out, guys!” Kara squeals when they walk in, as James tosses both of them a bottle of water and Winn waves through a mouthful of donut, through wiping powdered sugar off his grey t-shirt reading, simply, “feminist.”

“Nice one, Little Danvers,” Maggie high fives her as Alex chokes on her water, because Kara’s sign reads “Hey Donald – don’t try to grab my pussy. It’s made of steel.”

“You don’t think that might um… give away your secret?” Alex splutters, red-faced, and Maggie presses up against her, a wicked grin on her face.

“Aww, babe, don’t worry, Kara will wear her glasses and no one will be any the wiser that her big sister’s all embarrassed to see a sign talking about her sister’s pussy. But I happen to know that you’re not so shy in – “


“Gonna shower. Come with?”


“Kara, you might wanna turn off your super hearing.”

“Shut it, Schott!”

The mood is somewhat more grim when Alex and Maggie slip back out of the bathroom, Alex donning a red bandana in her hair and one of Maggie’s Black Lives Matter t-shirts fitting snugly over her chest, and Maggie decked out in cut-offs, a grey beanie, and a Fuck Xenophobia tee.

James doesn’t speak, he just pulls Alex into a hug and presses a kiss to her forehead, and J’onn, who’s just slipped through the door – because someone needs to make sure they get there on time – crosses his arms across his chest and nods at her through a thin layer of tears, M’gann’s head on his shoulder.

Winn touches Maggie’s forearm and she grimaces at him. “You good?” he asks, and she takes a deep, slow breath.

“With you guys all around me? Yeah. Yeah.”

The Plaza is so crowded with people, children on their parents’ shoulders – with posters shouting everything from “Consent is Sexy” to “America is Black, speaks Spanish, wears a hijab, is a woman” to “Supporting My Sisters, not just my Cis-ters” – that it takes a full hour to even get into the flow of the march, a full hour of Alex and Maggie’s hands never, ever leaving each other, of M’gann falling into the embraces of so many bar patrons who learned of the march from the posters she and Maggie had put up around the place, of James having a crouched conversation with a little boy asking if he could be big and strong like him one day, of Kara beaming at the constant comments and compliments on her poster, of Winn earning looks of renewed respect from J’onn for his sign, which reads “Our white masculinity kills people I love: can we cut it out, please?”.

The Plaza is so crowded with people that even the news choppers above them can’t quite capture a photo of the entire crowd, but James does an excellent job with his own camera, climbing on lampposts and balancing, with Alex spotting him, on construction pillars to get the best shots, to get the best angles, to get the photos that are going to reach people’s hearts, that are going to remind people what hope is, that are going to fight hardest.

He photographs Alex with her arm out in front of Maggie protectively in front of a line of cops in riot gear. He photographs the searing kiss Maggie pulls her down for, a crowd cheering around them, the way Alex’s body curves into Maggie’s warmly, protectively, lovingly.

He photographs Winn lifting a little girl onto his shoulders after the girl asked, after her grandparents told him to go ahead, because she wanted to see better, she wanted to chant louder, she wanted to fly higher.

He photographs Kara beaming defiantly with her poster, Kara pressing a kiss to J’onn’s forehead, J’onn wrapping his arm around M’gann’s shoulders, M’gann leading chants and Kara following her lead.

He photographs crowds of thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people surging together to say no to forces, to systems, to people, that would soon see him dead, soon see him erased.

And when he hops down off the lamppost to rejoin his friends – his family – their fierce love and open embraces gives him hope that maybe, just maybe, together they can prevent the worst.

Pulse Points:  Chapter 10

This chapter got away from me, so yes, it’s a long one. I hope nobody minds. :) Oh…it’s also rated M. 

You can read it here or on 

Regina had no idea how long she and Robin been wrapped up together on the sofa.

To be honest, she really didn’t remember moving from the kitchen floor to the living room. But somehow they had, and they were still here, snuggled into each other under a blanket, legs tangled, hearts full, all warm and water-limbed, exhausted in every way possible.

She’d cried harder than she had in years, to the point where she was certain she couldn’t have any moisture left in her body. Her eyes had to be red and swollen, her cheeks a blotchy mess if the state of Robin’s face bore any resemblance to her own. But it didn’t matter. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen besides Henry.

“What are you thinking?”

His voice was low, barely more than a rumble in his chest. She snuggled in closer, wrapping her arms around him, reveling in the feel of him under her cheek.

“Not much, actually,” she hummed. “Too tired to think anymore.”

He chuckled and hugged her closer.

“Same here,” he breathed. His lips caressed her forehead, and she closed her eyes, sated and content. “It’s nice just to feel for a while, isn’t it?”

She chuckled.

“Now it is,” she answered. “It wasn’t before you came over tonight.”

“No,” he sighed. “You’re right. Before we talked, it hurt like hell.”

He was right–it had hurt like hell, had drained her of energy like a hemorrhage that wouldn’t clot. She raised her head and stared at this man who’d somehow carved out a huge place for himself in her life.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I never should have–”

He cut her off with his mouth, kissing her as best as he could manage in their current position. It was awkward, but wonderful, and she slid up his body to give them both a better angle, kissing him back soundly.

“No more apologies,” he muttered, drawing back just enough to speak. “I thought we agreed on that.”

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raggedy man, goodbye.

kitashiwrites  asked:

‘we’re two thirds of the threesome we had last night and we’re walking awkwardly out of the last persons’s apartment together’ au for Cazigan 😜 If you want to, make it a follow up to any of your previous Cazigan fics (I'm not picky).

YES BAE CAZIGAN IT’S DONE I was so hoping someone would ask for Cazigan. Of course I could count on you, Kate. <3 Consider this an extension of this Valentine’s Day AU from February. Not fully explicit, but definitely Mature.

When light crashes through the window that morning, Cassian moves to brush the sleep away from his eyes only to halt at the realization of warmth on either side of him that moving around caused him to notice.

His mind whirs for a brief minute trying to remember why his bed has never felt like this before, why he smells distinctly male and female scents not suited to his own bedroom, and why there appears to be what feels like a splash of long hair over his chest and a shorter crop over his toned stomach.

Cassian’s eyes snap open. And it’s not the ceiling of his bedroom that meets him.

What he does find is his very naked self settled nicely between the also very naked selves of Apartments #301 and #303.

It all comes back then. Valentine’s Day. Watching the two neighbors he’d been secretly pining for the past few weeks flirt with each other and then shamelessly invite him over for a party of three with a makeshift Valentine. A night of very entertaining revelry that followed Cassian won’t soon forget.

And now here they all are - Mor’s mile-long legs wrapped snugly around Cassian’s own strong thighs, and Azriel’s arm strewn comfortably across his hips as if it had always been there. Cassian’s lips part with a half-amused, half-shocked smile.

Screw you, he thinks smugly towards the boyfriend who’d dumped not even 24 hours prior. This beats that sorry piece of ass any day.

Mor shifts cozy as a cat and suddenly, Cass goes still, his heart thudding away in his chest. How does this… work exactly? What if they’ll want him to leave? What if this was just a one time thing? He doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach the disappointment if that was all this turned out to be. A pity fuck.

Not that they’d known he was on the outs when they’d run into each other in the hallway. Surely they were genuine in their invitation. It definitely had felt genuine when Azriel had pushed him roughly onto the bed and into Mor’s waiting arms, their kisses searing heat all over.

But what if…

“Up,” a soft, feminine voice purrs at his ear and Cassian nearly jumps, he hadn’t been paying attention in his musings. But Mor is certainly at his ear and sounding much less awake than she typically does and she’s… she’s…

Ordering him to get out.

Cassian’s heart sinks.

He shifts, making to lean forward and separate himself from the tangle of limbs they’ve become between the sheets, when Mor’s hand stops him and she whispers groggily again at his ear. “I like devil’s food.”

Devil’s food?

Devil’s food??

Cassian doesn’t have time to parse out exactly what that means because the sensation of Mor nipping at his earlobe and flicking her tongue over the tip has him recalling precisely the same maneuver from last night on certain other parts of him and he’s not sure anymore if he’s awake or dreaming.

Mor finishes grazing her teeth gently over his ear and settles back down curling into the pillow with a satisfied little smile. “And he likes sprinkles.”

“Glazed,” Azriel suddenly grunts. He hasn’t moved despite Cassian and Mor shuffling about.

“You can get the glazed,” Mor replies sweetly hiding a snicker, “but he’s still gonna eat the sprinkles.”

Wait. Are they really talking about… donuts??

Azriel finally rolls off Cassian’s stomach with a groan, his arm stretching out to one side so that Cass has a magnificent view of his lover’s toned chest, the muscles of which constrict and flex wonderfully in the morning light as Az wakes up. He then steps out of the bed, his bare ass a work of art strutting toward the bathroom.

It’s a long moment of staring even after the door has closed before Cass hears Mor’s giggle and he looks over at her. “I know,” she teases. “He’s hot.”

Yes, Cass thinks, noticing that the sheets have fallen to one side and exposed Mor’s generous chest that he’d spent some good time with a few hours prior. And so are you.

Somehow, he and Az both end up at the front door at the same time, both fully dressed, though Az has kept it simpler than Cassian’s full ensemble. He’s in nothing more a simple loose pair of soft pants and a simple black tee while Cassian only has the dark wash jeans and button up from the night before. He had wanted to look nice before getting dumped, he supposed.

The two step into the hallway and the full realization of what just happened between the three of them - between the two of them even - starts to hit. The door closes and Cassian finds him and Az just staring at each other.


Azriel doesn’t seem too put out by it. On the contrary, he merely flicks his brow up and simply says, “Don’t forget the coffee,” before walking up to his own apartment next door. “Mor’s a bear without it.”

“Aren’t you…” Azriel pauses with his key in the lock. Cass clears his throat confused. “Aren’t you staying?”

“No, I have my own errands to run.”

“Oh. Alright then.” He takes one step toward the elevator and pauses, curiosity getting the better of him. If he has to go out for donuts and coffee, while Az can simply wander next door, then what exactly… “Sorry, errands?”

Az snorts and pushes open the door to his flat, reaching in to flip the light on. “Condoms of course.”

Of course.

Cassian makes sure to get the devil’s food for Mor and plenty of sprinkles for Az and three of the world’s largest coffees.

Send me a prompt + otp or brotp and I’ll write a drabble!

Finish This:

She walked along with him, head downcast but eyes trained on his blazing red ones. She stalked him like a prey, cool calculated gaze watching every shift and strain of his muscle for a tell. So far he gave nothing, but if there was one thing she was sure of it was that everyone had a tell and (Y/N) was hell bent on figuring out what the hell his was. 

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Open Your Eyes and See

Jack wakes up and he’s never hated light more. Everything is blurry except for the searing light in his eyes and the rage that coalesces in his heart. He cries, closing his eyes against the blinding light. There are hands in his hair and on his face, wiping away the tears. Papa says something in québécois too quiet to understand and maman calls him ‘little bird’ like she hasn’t in years. Months later he looks back on that moment and realizes with startling clarity that that spark of hate saved him. It was the first time he’d felt anything but fear in so long. He held onto that anger like a lifeline, stayed angry that he’d missed the draft and angry that Parse never called and angry that his parents kept treating him like a child. Eventually he remembered how to feel other things, but anger was the first step.

 Jack wakes up and Shitty’s still talking about the inherent sexism in faculty hiring. It’s January and it’s beautifully freezing. They’re by the lake and the only reason Jack isn’t cold is because he’s had his face in Shitty’s shoulder. They’ve only been playing together for a semester and Shitty honestly isn’t that great, but Jack has a deep and abiding affection for this insane boy who refuses to leave even on the worst days. Which, of course, is why he shakes sleep from his head and pulls Shitty to his feet. Shitty’s still drunk and Jack’s sobered up completely. They make their wandering way back to the dorms. Jack tucks Shitty into bed in his fourth floor single, but Shitty won’t let him leave yet. He asks Jack to stay, promising nothing but friendship and Jack believes him. Shitty can’t lie to save his life and when he starts mumbling about being homesick against all odds, Jack shoves him over in the bed and slides in next to him. He tells himself he’s just taking care of a wasted teammate, but he knows that having a friend next to him might help him get some decent sleep for once. 

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Fic: The King of Gallifrey and I (9/9)

Find on: ao3
Pairing: Ten x Rose
Rating: M
Summary: Rose Tyler was not happy by any means as she rode the train to the Citadel at the heart of Gallifrey. She’d been hand chosen to be the new Instructor of Human Studies at the Academy, completely against her will, but what King Theta Sigma of Gallifrey demanded, the king received.
Tags: King and I AU, enemies to lovers, fluff, romance, telepathy/bonding, timey wimey, light angst

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she wasn’t in the same room. She glanced around at all the lit candles and rose petals beneath her feet. She heard the crackle of logs in the fireplace. She admired the enormous bed adorned with crimson linens next to her. “Where is this?”

“Technically,” a voice murmured near her ear, “we’re in my mind, like I said.”

She shivered as fingers trailed down her neck and slid her silk robe off.

“This is my bedroom.”

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was breathy as he ran his fingertips down her arms again and held her hands.

“And will also be yours,” he whispered in her ear.

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Strange Magic Fanfic - "A Beastly Beauty and a Beautiful Beast"

Once upon a time, there is a Beauty, and there is a Beast.

Can one not be both?

Originally written for Strange Magic Week Day 1: Fairy Tales. Unsurprisingly, I knew exactly which Fairy Tale AU I wanted to tackle…

I’ve wanted to do a Strange Magic Beauty and the Beast AU for some time now, seeing as its my favorite fairy tale. But I was hesitant to actually write it, uncertain in how to handle it. For me, Strange Magic is one of the best subversions of the classic Beauty and Beast tale because Bog is a Beast and he does not physically change. His monstrousness and beastliness is not a curse inflicted upon him, it’s his natural state. If there’s any curse in Strange Magic, it’s the fact that Bog is so willing to believe he is too hideous to be loved, to resign himself to misery and heartache. 

To do an AU where Bog is transformed into something more classically appealing? It would be to tear down one of the things I most adore about this movie, its bravery and commitment in showing that there is nothing wrong in being a Beast, and that everyone deserves to be loved. I couldn’t do that.  

But then I came up with a twist that I feel stays true to both the spirit of Beauty and the Beast and Strange Magic, and I am so eager to share it with you…!

You will notice that I combined elements from both the original Beauty and the Beast tale and with the Disney version - I love both of them and wanted to see if I could make something that honors both of them whilst still being fresh and new. 

I sincerely hope you enjoy this story - it took over my life the best of way, and I am eager to see what you think! 


Once upon a time, there is a Beauty, and there is a Beast.

This is the tale we know.

A curse was cast.

A flower – a rose, perhaps a primrose, fresh with dew and jealously guarded – is plucked.

A sacrifice is sworn, a vow made.

A girl walks into darkness, head held high and burning bright.

Once upon a time, there is a Beauty, and there is a Beast.

Can one not be both?

Her sister’s fingers, sweetly tracing the petals, softly touching the stems and giving gentle little tugs until the blossom is pulled free from the iron of the earth, the darkness of the damp soil.

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“Protective Chat” Part 1 (Marichat May Day #4)

Okay so I decided I liked this prompt enough to make it a three-parter(?)

Summary:  In the early morning air, hung the shrill cry of a pedestrian in need, and Chat Noir just happened to be heading home from 5:00 AM patrol with Ladybug.

Prompt: “Protective Chat”

Pairing (do i even have to specify?): Marichat

Word Count: 1,567

Rating: T and up

Day #4:

“Protective Chat”

(PART 1/3[?])


In the early morning air, hung the shrill cry of a pedestrian in need, and Chat Noir just happened to be heading home from 5:00 AM patrol with Ladybug.


Red. Just red, red, red. That was the first color that greeted Chat Noir as he arrived at the source of the scream, and it wasn’t like his Lady’s suit either; it was the fresh blood staining the shirt of his classmate, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It dyed the whole front of her tee and matching black mini jacket, some of it already seeping onto her jeans, dying the concrete she was slumped on a brilliant rouge. She was the only injured civilian on the premises (only civilian for that matter), and as far as he could tell, the offender was nowhere to be found.

“Oh my god, Marinette!”

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Pairing: Harry Potter x Pansy Parkinson

Setting: Modern, non-magical, college AU

Word Count: 2,373

Written For: @thetourguidebarbie [fic giveaway #3]

Pansy meets him on the very first day of junior high.

Her summer sunburn is peeling off the freckled tops of her shoulders, and her hair is freshly cut, sleek and slightly stiff with baby-pink glitter, and Draco Malfoy—who now smells like mocha Frappuccinos and the Hugo Boss counter at Nordstrom—is red-cheeked and haughty and furious as he calls Harry Potter ‘four-eyes’ in front of their entire morning-block math class.

And it isn’t a particularly funny, or witty, or clever insult, but Pansy still giggles like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

Draco smirks.

Potter glances at her like she’s an insect.


Draco breaks up with her at the eighth-grade dance.

It’s humiliating, and she’s shrill and breathless and a little hysterical as she pours most of a can of Diet Coke all over the front of his ugly mauve and green Express button-down; instantly, he’s pouting, glaring at her like she’s the one who’s betrayed him, and she spins on her too-high platform stilettos before stomping out of the badly lit assembly room and heading blindly for the very last place anyone would think to search for her.

The soccer field.

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Pivot, a Hakyona fic

He knocked on the door twice.

“Princess, I’m coming in,” he called, pushing the heavy doors open. The room was dimly lit. A stray candle was perched at one of the corners, engulfing the room with an eerie glow. In the center of the room, in front of the Princess’ bed, stood two figures. They were speaking in hushed tones, ceasing when their attention was diverted to the raven-haired male.

Hak stopped in front of them and bowed.

“I apologize for my rudeness. My Prince, My Princess, the King calls for your presence,” he stated monotonously.

What were Soo-Won and Yona doing in a room by themselves, he wondered, not without a hint of bitterness. At this time of night too.

The girl was the first to turn towards him. She looked at him with bewildered eyes.

“…Hak, what are you talking about?” She asked, her face paling in the slightest. “My father is dead.”

Soo-Won stepped in front of her. “Yes Hak, what are you talking about?”

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Sister!Winchester - I Know You're lying

Originally posted by heavenlysams

Your name: submit What is this?

Imagine Sam and Dean coming to save you from a hunt gone wrong.

 Word Count: 1,915
 Warnings: blood, mentions of torture

   “Run! Run now!” Sam shouts. You turn to run, but a demon steps in your way. Before you know it, there’s a demon holding each of your arms.

 But how did you get here? Let’s rewind a little bit.

You pick the lock to the run down motel and take your flashlight out of your jacket. Sam and Dean put you on lockdown in the bunker, after you broke your wrist after a hunt. 

There was a case that your brothers were hunting, and they didn’t want you to come along. 

“It’s only for this hunt.” Sam had said, fixing his tie for his FBI suit and leaving the motel room. You got changed and packed your duffel. Little did they know, you were researching in your spare time and using their notes to aid yours. 

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Why "Raggedy Man, Goodnight" was the best line that Amelia Pond has ever uttered:

Because it’s the end of a bedtime story. The story of a little girl who waited in a garden and grew up to be one of the most remarkable women in the universe. The story of a woman who was forever seared onto the hearts of a raggedy man, who never forgot her. Even after she was gone, it was all still a story…a story in his head. And that’s okay. Because it was a good one. Because it was the best. This is the story of our raggedy doctor, and this is how it ends. 


favourite faces for favourite mythic ladies: Arke with Freya Mavor

As children they had been close, two little girls who chased each other through the skies on brightly coloured wings. Iris and Arke had no secrets and no arguments, and God and Titan alike thought them precious and perfect.

But then came the war and while Iris chose the side of Zeus, Arke chose to become messanger for the Titans, to serve at the feet of Kronos. Still the two sisters saw each other, passing through the sky on their rainbows as they took secret words between greater powers than themselves. There was strain between them, certainly, but they were sisters above all else.

Arke hadn’t really thought about what would happen when the war ended. To her, the war seemed an idea that would simply carry on indefinitely. But an end it had and Arke was brought before Zeus, now King of Olympus undisputed. 

Iris stood by his throne but wouldn't meet Arke’s eye.

When Zeus tore the wings from Arke’s back she did not scream, even though it felt like he had ripped her heart out of her chest, even though it was searing agony and heartbreak rolled into one. (She would not have to see Zeus give those wings to Thetis as a wedding present. She would not have to see them passed onto mortal Achilles.)

With her Titan masters, Arke was thrown into iron-gated Tartaros and there she was given the gift of eternity to think on her sins, eternity to wonder why Iris could not even look at her when she was taken from their world.