thick-belts

Forgiven

Pairing: Ivar x Reader
Summary: Reader belongs to Ivar but at night he belongs to her.
Warnings: HOLY SHIT SO NSFW, swearing, submission, praise!kink, explicit
Length: super long!!
Tagging: @squirrelacorngliterfarts @captainpoopweinersoldier
@underthenorthstar @mizzvengenz6661 @whenimaunicorn
@lordavanti @ivartheboneme @pagan-raider @synnersaint @rockyrascal
@arkrimwitchout @heathen-army @cherrytrinkets @littlewolfieposts
@lumpyqueen97 @wastelandsheep @ubberagnarssons @shondlenoodle
@sylvia-wolfe-postlimit-blog @bluearchersstuff @ryderwinchester @ivars-pet
@ceridwenofwales @fandomers  @ivarsvalkyrie @lyra-stark99 @blonde-valkyrie @alienskind @lollyfuckindagger  @holy-minseok


I walked up to the flowering altar, with my hands on my hips, admiring it at first and just the sight of it brought back memories. Ivar and I had been married no more than a few months now, wedded in the same exact spot in the woods.

I smiled, reaching out to touch it and started remembering how handsome he looked, his hair slicked back and resting nicely. His skin aglow from the setting sun, his tunic a strong blue to match his beautiful eyes. Bjorn had helped him find the right angle for his stool while Floki held him up on his back, waiting patiently.

The way my love looked sitting there on his stool when the drums had started, I recalled it clearly, the way he turned his whole body to see me, the sun hitting his face perfectly. How tightly he was holding and then wringing his hands, fidgeting nervously. The stunned smile when he finally saw me for the first time that day, holding an array of foliage in my hands as I made my way towards him.

My smile grew even more when I turned around and saw Ivar was sitting on a well made chair then, brought out special for him so he could watch his older brother be married up close. I walked up to him and smoothed down his hair, tucking it behind one of his ears. He lightly slapped my hand away with a smirk and raked his fingers through it, as if I had messed it up.

I raised an eyebrow, giving him a warning look and instead was about to talk to one of the other Shield-maidens joining the foray, when he caught my wrist and pulled me to sit side-ways in his lap. He cupped my face and kissed me as softly as only Ivar could imagine.

“I would behave myself if I were you, Ivar. You are playing a dangerous game.” I said lowly, nipping at his ear lobe. We were still newlyweds, nothing or no one bothered us. They all knew how in love we were with each other, getting caught fooling around wasn’t that abnormal in the slightest.

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I watch the older butches. They have perfectly shined shoes and crisply ironed dress shirts; ties that point politely down, slung around necks I want to carefully touch; thick belts and square edges and hair that looks like it’s been freshly cut at all times; change in a loose jangle at the bottom of pockets calling out an insistent rattle as they walk by; neatly clipped nails on hands that are forever ready to hold open the door. Their postures are straight and stiff, except for the ones who stoop their shoulders to hide their softness.


The butches are always quietly determined to get the drinks. I watch their calm circle to the bar and back, nobly presenting cocktails to femmes who take them like prizes. At the end of the night, I see them hold up coats with outstretched arms for their tired femmes, hail cabs with one authoritative arm reaching for the stars, the other wrapped lightly around their girl’s waist. They make everything look charmed and easy–rolling coins across the table with a silver flash; arm-wrestling with their sleeves rolled up as my eyes hungrily lock on their tensed forearms; swinging Zippo lighters open before I’ve even contemplated having a cigarette. I crave their softness, how gentle they can me in touch and gesture; I love their hardness, all of the sharp lines and angles I want to feel the pinch of and press myself against. They wear their difference out there every day in a mostly hostile world. They take refuge in approving nods of other butches, in welcoming smiles of the femmes at the bar. When they are here, they are home. When they are here, there is nowhere else.

—  Debra Anderson,
“Spotlight”
Earned It || Bucky x Reader

Summary → Upon receiving his orders to join the 107TH, your mother insists on throwing your long-term boyfriend a wholesome, farewell dinner. But Bucky has different plans in mind. (Set in the 1940′s.)

Word Count → 3.2K

Warnings → Cursing, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex (use protection, kiddos). 

A/N → Happy #FreakyFriday y’all! This is by far my absolute favorite smut I have ever written. Sergeant Barnes being a tease while wearing his uniform? Yes, please. Enjoy & as always, can’t wait to hear your feedback!

“Y/N, could you fetch the floral arrangement? It’s on the kitchen counter next to the toaster.” Your mother instructed, though she would never admit it to you, she was clearly a wreck of nerves.

You nodded with a soft smile before scurrying off to the adjacent kitchen. You found the centerpiece she’d put together with ease, primarily composed of daisies and sunflowers, exactly where your mother had said. It was perfectly arranged in a circular vase, it’s meticulous beauty undoubtedly coming from your mother’s years working as a florist. You took the vase carefully between your hands, gripping it tightly as you hurried back to her.

“Where should I place it?” You questioned, watching as she fidgeted incessantly with the table settings.

“Just there, between the candles.” She pointed to a small space at the center of the table, not bothering to meet your gaze as she adjusted the utensils. With a few final touches, here and there, your mother straightened up and smoothed over her apron. “What do you think?”

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Thicker than Water - Part 5

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Masterlist


Bucky x Reader series

Summary: Inspired by this post (x)
Being born and raised in a HYDRA family means you must be a devoted member to the organisation, carrying out orders with blind obedience. But after being assigned the suicide mission of being the Winter Soldier’s handler, you slowly start to question where your loyalties truly lie.

Warnings: Blood, violence, swearing

Word count: 4286 It’s so LONG!

A.N: I am so exited for this!! I know it took me FOREVER to write and post this chapter but I really like the way the series is turning out and I hope you really enjoy this part.
I also want to thank @wordsturnintostories for helping me with writers block and a THOUSAND than you’s to  @vashanatasha for her help with the Russian translations. This entire chapter is dedicated to her because she’s a literal angel and this wouldn’t have come to life without her. <3

Originally posted by led-lite


March 2009 
Ukraine - 1307 Hours
 

“The target is a highly valued scientist of S.H.I.E.L.D that’s about to be smuggled out of Iran by one of their operatives, but we’re intercepting them with an operative of our own.” The voice belonging to one of the commanders had long ago become white noise to you as you walked ahead of him, clad in tactical gear full with a thick belt and combat boots, with a knife strapped to one of your thighs. “Your punishment is to go.”

“What do you mean this is punishment? It’s murder! I’ve never had any proper agent training and now you’re sending me out there to die.”

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anonymous asked:

Could you do a itty bitty prompt of maybe the big three finding an old tape of Tony, when he was young and a punk playing in a band, blown away by his singing voice. That we all know RDJ has in real life. XXXX

I read old tape and I’m doing old tape and these boys won’t know what hit them.

~~~

Finding the tape had been a complete accident. They had been in a middle of raiding the old stacks of ‘ancient’ boxes that Tony had unlovingly stashed away in the deepest and most hidden closet to ever exist to search for the elusive pictures of baby Tony that they knew existed somewhere. Tony had refused to hand them over or revealed their locations and had forbidden Rhodey from offering any of his own pictures of teen Tony during their time at MIT.

Not easily diverted the three decided if Tony wasn’t going to offer them willingly, they would go on a massive hunt for them, all secretly of course. They couldn’t risk Tony burning them as a last retort. After some careful inquiring and a bribe or two they managed to learn about the stacks of boxes that haven’t been touched in years and the possible locations for it. Believing the closet to be the most obvious they quickly went through a treasure hunt to find it and were rewarded with four cardboard boxes covered in dust and taped shut. Steve and Bucky didn’t even bother to find a sharp object to cut through the tape, tearing it open with their hands.

They were positive Tony would’ve swoon from the sight had he been there to see it.

The first box didn’t give them anything worth the effort. The second box was no better. The third at least had some old Captain America merchandise, masks and action figures that haven’t seen the light of day in a long time and gave them something to tease Tony about. The fourth box, however, was a gold mine. Inside were chains and belts and thick leather bracelets with spikes and even a pair of boots that seemed to go up to the knees. The find in itself was enough to make them coo and aww at the idea of Tony wearing what was referred to as ‘punk’ style, but it was the two items hidden under the boots that had shifted enough after Steve yanked the box out of Bucky’s arm that that had them itching to hear what was recorded.

It was an old tape and a cassette player. On the tape the words “not worth it” was written on it in chicken scratch that didn’t belong to Tony. The player, to their surprise, still worked and whirred to life, clicking open after Bucky had pressed a button on it. The three exchanged looks, agreeing it was now or never and understanding what they were getting themselves into.

They placed the player in the middle and carefully inserted the tape, fearful that one rough move would cause the entire thing to combust. T’Challa was silent assigned as the button presser and started the tape. They were instantly assaulted by the sounds of a very loud crowd in the distant. People were screaming and cheering and chanting words they couldn’t distinguish. For seconds it continued like this until eventually a voice was heard loud and clear, yet still somewhat obscured.

“You better be grateful for this, Tones. I swear I saw this chick with more piercings than bracelets and she had bracelets covering her entire arm. There needs to be a limit there.”

The three gaped at hearing the voice that could only belong to James Rhodes. It was clear he was the one recording the tape, but what in the world was he doing in an environment he obviously didn’t want to be at?

Another moment of screaming. “Finally, you’re coming up.”

The crowd, in what seemed as an impossible feat, hushed down to murmurs and stomps. The three held their breath, waiting for what was to happen. It had to be something big, considering it was recorded by Rhodey and was hidden in a box instead of thrown away so it had sentimental value.

None of them were ready for what was actually on the tape.

It started off powerful and rough and slowly grew and grew, overtaking the murmurs and causing the speakers of the player to tremble slightly.

Steve, Bucky and T’Challa all saw each other’s mouths drop when they realized… Tony was singing.

Tony’s starting note continued to rise until eventually it broke as he reached his peak and began his vocals, fast and confident and it drove the crowd crazy. They cheered again and there were faint noises of hard things hitting the floor that sounded suspiciously of bodies doing so. Possibly fainting, they concluded. Had they not been in so much shock themselves they probably would have fainted on the spot as well because, holy shit.

“Louder, Tones! Bring the roof down!” They heard Rhodey scream.

Steve and Bucky scrambled to grab the player, wanting it closer. They struggled, bit and kicked and put up a heck of a fight only to have T’Challa snatch the player right out of their hands and hold it above them.

Tony released another note, one that really did cause them to clutch their chest and lie on the floor as they no longer could support themselves.

“Shit,” Bucky whispered while staring at the ceiling.

“Agreed,” T’Challa began questioning his life.

“We need to find Tony,” Steve managed and while the three nodded to the plan none of them made the effort to move and search for their genius.

Instead, when the recording stopped, “Play it again.”

They lost track of how long they were in that closet for, but after Tony found them hours later, rag dolls on the ground and clutching the player for dear life, they decided they didn’t care. It was all worth it.

Originally posted by keepcalmandcallnico

Seemed fitting to include this right here

Shower and Grime: Loki x Reader (NSFW)

Said I’d write more of it and I did! It feels kinda rushed at a certain point and I am meh about that but hope the rest is good


Hot water spurt out of the faucet, raining down marvelously on the tiled floor. You smiled, holding your hand up to it and watching the mud, mostly dried now, run off your hand before landing on the ground and swirling around the drain. The temperature would be heavenly, able to ease even the deepest aching of your shoulders and your smile widened.

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anonymous asked:

31- things you said while I cried in your arms in kic verse please?

31) things you said while I cried in your arms

“Victor, it’s—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s fine.”

Yuuri sighs, stroking Victor’s hair as the man continues to cry in his arms. He needs him to calm down soon; it’s only a matter of time before someone walks by and spots them folded together in one of the plush armchairs in Yuuri and Mila’s office area. The editor-in-chief sobbing into his secretary’s chest—Yuuri shudders at the rounds of gossip that would provoke. The chat channels had just started to die down, too.

“People make mistakes,” Yuuri says gently.

Victor sniffles. “A mistake is pairing a thick belt with an A-line skirt. A mistake is wearing tweed and wool and flannel. Wearing zebra print in the middle of summer? That’s a mistake. But this,” he says tearfully, pointing an angry finger at the catalog that’s now been thrown on the floor. “This is a tragedy. Disrespectful. Assaulting.”

“I want to sue,” Victor continues. He gives Yuuri a pleading look. “Can’t I sue?”

“You can’t sue Balenciaga for having a bad design, Victor,” Yuuri reminds him.

“A bad design,” Victor repeats, wiping at the corner of his eyes. It’s not fair, Yuuri thinks absently. Even when he’s distraught, he’s so pretty like this. “That’s not a bad design. It’s not even a design at all. It’s a fucking IKEA bag—why are you looking at me like that? Shit, did I ruin my mascara?”

Yuuri startles, swallowing because his throat had gone dry. “No, no. Er. You’re good.”

Victor sighs forlornly, just as Chris walks in. The creative director looks distressed. “V-Victor, did you see the—”

“Yes, can you believe—”

And that’s how, later, Mila finds Yuuri’s arms full of both men sobbing into his neck, looking both anxious and apologetic about the situation. She’s tempted to join them because she’s seen it too, eyes still burning from the after-effects of it, but there’s work to do and deadlines to meet.

“Honestly, Yuuri,” she huffs, pulling all three of the men to their feet.

(based on this actual catastrophe)

wait-imlost  asked:

omg no your writing is amazing!! :) can you do a losers club at the pumpkin patch hc?? or maybe just like chill fall vibes?? thank you!! 💛

(aww thank you so much!)

~So the Loser’s are all going to this huge farm place to go apple picking and their goal is to bring back the biggest pumpkin they can from the patch. 

~Ben is thriving in the fall, let me tell you this boy is in a sweater and a scarf and is serving a look. 

~Mike has one of those flannel jackets with the faux fur on the inside. He has one of those plastic spider rings on his finger. (He has a bag of them in Bills car for some reason??)

~Eddie is sporting one of Richie’s long green & white flannels, the sleeves are way too long and he’s basically drowning in it. 

~Richie is rocking his red flannel and a necklace with glow in the dark pumpkins. “For when it gets dark you guys!”

~Bill is in his dad clothes. A brown flannel with a thick brown belt. He has a huge watch and whenever someone asks him for the time, he responds with “Time for you to get a watch!”

~Beverly has a nice pair of mom jeans with a tucked in tank top and her favorite scarf that’s like 5 years old. 

~Stan rocks a dark green jacket with a knitted sweater underneath. He stepped out from a Gap ad or something, I swear. 

~They get to the farm and somehow in the first five minutes, Richie has already bought those plastic witch fingers with the long red nails and has one on each of his fingers. 

~He is stroking Eddie’s cheek and Eddie’s just staring off wondering how he got stuck with him. 

~Mike buys them all those amazing cinnamon doughnuts and Bill buys the apple cider. 

~Ben has the idea that they should split up and come back with their favorite pumpkins to see who comes back with the best one. 

~So they set off. 

~Mike comes back with a near perfect medium sized orange one, with a large steam. 

~Bill is struggling but has a huge frickin’ pumpkin. He’s proud. 

~Beverly has a white one because she claims they are a better canvas to paint on. And she is definitely going to have the spookiest pumpkin. 

~Stan has the most perfectly round and beautiful pumpkin anyone has ever laid eyes on, how did he find that????

~Ben’s has a huge dent on the side because he felt bad that no one would buy that one. 

~Eddie comes back with the tiniest little orange pumpkin. It literally could just sit in his palm. He likes the small ones, ok?

~Richie comes back with a frickin’ oddly shaped green gourd. 

~They browse the store until Bill faintly hears a song playing and the seven of them find themselves standing directly under the speaker just so they can dance to Earth, Wind and Fire’s ‘September’.

~Beverly carries Eddie’s pumpkin in her scarf so Eddie can keep throwing apples at Richie. 

~Richie can’t stop singing ‘Monster Mash’

~Richie can’t stop singing and Stan is so annoyed and gives him the finger.

~But Stan put on one of those witch fingers so the green finger with the long red nail is what flips Richie off and everyone dies of laughter. 

anonymous asked:

Tips for looking more masculine ? Clothing? Hair?

OOOOHHHH, BOY, DO I HAVE SOME MCFREAKING TIPS FOR YOU, MY GUY!!! I have been researching this for forever!!

1.) Shirts:

Button down shirts!!! They are your best friend!! Button downs are a very gendered article of clothing because men’s shirts have buttons on the right side while women's shirts have buttons on the left side (So make sure you get men’s button downs and not women’s button downs). Also, they look very classy so not only do you look manly, but you look fancy as well!! (best option for adults or if you want to look older)

There’s also Polos which look really nice, too! Make sure you get men’s polos, though.

If you don’t like button downs or polos, make sure you get MEN’S T-shirts!! Not unisex, not women’s- MEN’S. Men’s shirts fit way differently than unisex or women’s and in turn, will make you look far more masculine!! (best option for kids/teenagers)

I also recommend shying away from V-necks. They are more androgynous and could make someone think you are a girl. 

Nice sweaters and sweater vests are awesome if you get ones that fit you right!! Bonus points if you wear a dress shirt or polo underneath of one! 

Also, hoodies! They hide your form and will make you look super masculine as well! (Again, make sure it is men’s. Avoid women’s clothing like satan. Unisex is okay if it’s a hoodie)

2.) Bottoms

Cargo shorts are great for young kids/teenagers, but not so much for adults. For adults, I recommend a pair of sweatpants, dress pants, khakis, or jeans (Just pretty much anything that goes down to your ankles is good). Also, always wear a belt. Belts are so manly and awesome! Make sure you get a thick, neutral colored belt, though (Black, brown, gray, etc). 

Athletic shorts are great because girls rarely leave the house in them so its pretty much always a guy wearing them outside. I wouldn’t recommend wearing them if you are over, say, 20, but if you are younger than that, you should be good.

MAKE SURE THAT WHATEVER BOTTOMS YOU GET ARE MEN’S I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH!! NEVER WEAR UNISEX OR WOMEN’S!!

Underwear is also very important. Not really for looking masculine but for feeling masculine, which is super important! My personal favorites are regular length boxer briefs because they are the perfect amount of manly and they are great for packing! Which is what I’m going to talk about next!

Packing is when you put something that looks like a p*nis in your pants to make it look like you have a p*nis. You can buy packers specifically for ftm people or you can make one by rolling up a sock or filling a c*ndom with a gel of sorts (like hair gel). I think the best option (if you can afford it) would be to buy an stp packer. This will make it to where you can pee in urinals in public which will also make you look a lot more masculine.

3.) Hair 

A masculine haircut is really all you need. Just go to the barber and ask for the haircut you want. Do some looking and experiment with haircuts. If the barber asks you if you want to keep your sideburns, say yes. Sideburns will make you look more masculine too. My haircut, for example, is very simple. I have clippers with a guard of four on the top and then a guard of three on the sides and back. I have short sideburns as well. This haircut works really well for me so maybe you should see if it will work for you? I think you should just look up pictures of men’s haircuts, pick out the one you like, go to the barber, and show it to them. 

4.) Makeup

I know what you’re thinking. “I’m a guy! Why would I wear makeup!?” Well hear me out: Makeup- when used correctly- can make you look more masculine! Here’s an article on how to apply makeup to look more manly. There’s also a bunch of youtube videos on this as well so look at those.

I hope this helped! If you have any more questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

-Mod Jesse Boy

Divided: Part 20

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Steve x Reader

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1832

Summary: Your journey with T’Challa takes an unexpected turn as he causes you to question things about your relationship and yourself. 

Authors Note:  I am still technically on hiatus for one more week until my sister’s wedding is over, but I had a bit of time today and figured that you guys might enjoy this. Plus I’ve been feeling like shit and could use a small confidence boost before the wedding. <3  I always love hearing from you all, so drop a line with thoughts or predictions!  Tagging is open, just ask, if you are on my tag list and your username has changed PLEASE let me know!

Divided: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19


“You’re never going to find him.” You snarl, your arms crossed against the thick leather belt that held you against the chair. “Do you ever stop talking?” T’Challa rolls his eyes in front of you, his fingers flexing in annoyance as they curl tighter around the steering stick.

“Nope.” You pop your lips, the sound making him wince slightly, “Better get used to it T.C. You’re the one that pulled me from my team and dragged me on your wild goose chase. You can let me off anytime…” You taunt, narrowing your eyes in annoyance.

He refuses to acknowledge you, his gaze darting briefly to the radar as he flies slightly to the left, correcting his course. “Come on T.C. we’ve been screwing around in the air for hours now. I know for a fact it does not take this long to get to Wakanda.”

He smiles slightly, biting his lip as you suddenly start with surprise. “We’re… we’re not going to Wakanda… are we?” You ask in confusion, your brow furrowing slightly at him, his silence causing your heart to beat faster, each thump echoing in your ears.

“Then where… where are we going?” You feverishly glance around through the windows of the cockpit, trying to get your bearings but all you see is black as the rain whips along the outside.

T’Challa smiles slightly, as if he knows something you don’t, “I don’t know yet.” T’Challa speaks slowly, his patience waning as he stares at the radar screen. Suddenly a large area of the radar becomes illuminated as you hear a deafening rumble from below.

“What is that?” You search wildly for answers as you try to look out through the darkened windows of the small jet, but you are unable to see anything but the black sea. T’Challa reacts quickly, causing the plane to tumble sharply to the right, turning at a tight angle to skirt along the sea, shaking with turbulence under the full force of the storm.

“What are you doing!?” You yell, gripping onto the leather straps as T’Challa lets out a slightly exhilarated laugh. “Finding out where we are going… wasn’t that your request?” He chuckles, explaining himself as if none of his flying technique was out of the ordinary.

You glance forward to see a large fortress rise from the ocean, as if it were a fabled sea monster rising beneath the surface, it’s iron jaws springing open to release a small helicopter before closing quickly as it descends back to its home in the depths of the black water.

T’Challa raises the jet slightly, elevating up to the clouds, quickly chasing the small helicopter. “Stark.” You breathe, reading the name emblazoned on the side of the chopper, “We’re following Stark?” You question as T’challa sinks the jet into the clouds, his eyes carefully watching the helicopter above.

“Oh come on… you could at least fucking answer me.” You huff, crossing your arms across your chest once more, your annoyance peaking at being ignored. There is a small flash of light in the distance below the chopper, a slight bit of movement ruffling over the roof of the jet, though nothing appears on the radar.

T’Challa moves quickly, tilting the jet directly upwards as he rolls into position, turning to follow the small streak in the air. “Stark… He knows something… He knows where we are going.” T’Challa affirms, finally providing you with some answers, however cryptic they were.

You sit there staring straight ahead in bewilderment as T’Challa flicks the controls, setting the plane to increase in speed as you follow the air current of Stark’s suit, keeping a safe distance.

“Why won’t you just listen to reason T’Challa. You are King now, your people rely on you, to lead them, to take care of them. But instead you gallivant off in chase of false vengeance?” You spit forward at the would be king, hoping to talk some sense into him.

“How much you think you know, but how little you understand, young arachnid. My father will not know rest until his murderer faces justice, it is my duty to see it done.” T’Challa speaks firmly, his tone biting as you recoil slightly at the sharpness of his tone.

You take a deep breath, your attitude returning in full force as you find your voice once again, never being one to lose it for long. “First off, how many times do I have to tell you? Bucky did not kill your father, it was this crazy guy who impersonated the psychiatrist, he has a plan to awaken these deadly assassins in…” You stop yourself before giving away the location, not wanting to aid T’Challa in his quest.

“He didn’t do it T’Challa, you’ll see I’m right in the end.” You finish, your voice losing its hostile tone, as you implore him to hear you. “And the second thing?” T’Challa asks quietly, requesting the latter part of your argument.

“The name is scorpion, not arachnid.” You speak firmly, declaring your title for his use. He nods, smiling slightly at your defiant tone.

“Ah, yes, the scorpion. Known for its stinger, dulling out critical hits from a small puncture wound.” He speaks softly, chuckling slightly to himself, “Tell me scorpion, is that the only reason for your title? Your exceptional ability with knives?” He raises an eyebrow.

You don’t respond, not knowing where he is going with the question, confused at T’Challa’s sudden desire to talk to you. “No.” He answers softly, responding to his own question, “I believe not. It is not just your deadly skill… it is your nature… to defend yourself; to attack.” He speaks slowly, his words swirling in your head as something tenses inside your chest.

You bite your lip, your eyes stinging slightly as tears prick at the back of them. Your fist curl into defensive balls as your shoulders roll back into a broad position. You couldn’t quite explain why T’Challa’s words were causing such a visceral reaction in you, or why his simple statement caused your stomach to twist into knots, but the dark truth of his words caused every hair on your body to stand on edge.

“I spoke once before about the story of the scorpion and the turtle. In my culture, we tell this to growing children when they reach the age where they begin to find themselves.” He takes a deep breath as you watch him, your shoulders tense, awaiting his lecture.

“One day a scorpion needed to cross a river, so it implores a turtle to please carry it across the river. At first, the turtle hesitates, unsure of whether or not to trust the scorpion, fearing that it might be stung.” He begins, you roll your eyes as he lectures you.

“The scorpion argues with the turtle, reasoning that if it was to sting him, then they would both drown… The turtle considers this, realizing the logic of the scorpion’s argument and agrees to carry the young scorpion across.” T’Challa speaks slowly, wanting every word to resonate with you.

“And let me guess,” you snarl, your anger flaring forcefully in your chest, “The scorpion stung the stupid turtle anyway.”

“Yes.” T’Challa said simply, “The scorpion stung the turtle, dooming them both. And when the turtle asked the scorpion why, do you know what it said?” You stay silent, knowing him well enough to predict that he was about to answer his own question.

“The Scorpion replies that it was in its nature to do so.” T’Challa falls silent, waiting to see the effect that the story had on you.

“So what? You’re saying that I am self-destructive? You’re not the first one to notice that T.C.” You snarl, your defenses rising again. “Besides the turtle should have been looking out for himself, you expect me to believe that his shell failed to shield him? Or that he was actually dumb enough to believe the scorpion?”

“You miss the point young one.” He interrupts you, recognizing the defensive tone in your voice, “The scorpion does not sting the turtle for self-destruction. The scorpion is fundamentally vicious… vicious in its nature… it will not change.” T’Challa finishes, falling silent once again, leaving you to think.

“So is it about me? Are you saying I’m vicious?” Your hostility rises as his insults sting inside of you, touching on nerves of truth that you subconsciously kept controlled.

“I’m not saying anything, Y/N. It’s just a story…” He smirks to himself as you sit behind him in silence. His words reverberating in your head.

Who was he talking about? What was he talking about? What all does he know? Your heart pounds quickly as your mind races, is he referring to what I did to Steve… how I hurt him, how I stung him? So if I am the scorpion… Then is Steve the turtle… Or is Bucky now the turtle? Your eyes squeeze shut, your head aching slightly with your swirling thoughts.

Is Bucky the scorpion? It would not be far off that T’Challa thinks him vicious…Why insist on telling me this story if there is no point to it? You glance through the window, noticing the terrain had changed in the time you had gotten lost in your swirling thoughts. The area outside had become mountainous, snow coating the ground and peaks of the rising crests.

“Where… where are we?” You ask, getting nervous at the sight of your new location. T’Challa does not answer you, remaining silent as he fiddles with the controls at his fingertips, his eyes never moving from the wind shield.

“T’Challa,” you speak more firmly, demanding him to answer you, “We are passing over western Russia at the moment.” He says quietly, paying careful attention to your quickening breath at his words.

He knows. He knows Bucky is in Siberia. “T’Challa,” You start slowly, knowing your hand had already been played for you. Your only hope now is to reason with him on your lover’s behalf.

“I am done listening to your arguments Y/N. I have heard your words and have weighed them against my evidence. They have been found wanting.” T’Challa speaks quickly, his tone calm, but assertive. “I will do you the service of taking him captive. Thus leaving him alive, and able to stand trial. This is all I will guarantee you.”

You sit silently, thinking through T’Challa’s offer, knowing at the least it was a guarantee of Bucky, remaining alive… T’Challa would give him a trial, he would see once and for all that Bucky was innocent, you were willing to take those odds.

You smile slightly, now understanding Natasha’s promise that she was doing you a favor. At the very least you had the guarantee of Bucky’s survival… Your stomach clenches as you suddenly realize how faint of a guarantee that was, knowing full well what Steve and Bucky had headed towards, hoping that Tony, T’Challa and yourself would be enough to help them.


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DIY Maid Harness/Belt

Some lovely people have asked how I made my apron-styled harness for my Halloween outfit, so here it is!

Materials and equipment you will need:

  • Measuring tape
  • Pleather - 0.5 x 1.0 metres/yards should be plenty
  • Craft foam - I used 1mm thick foam but you can use thicker foam for a chunkier look
  • Buckles x 3
  • Paper fasteners, or actual rivets x 4
  • Hot glue gun
  • Scissors - fabric and craft
  • Needle and thread or sewing machine

In this I’ll be using craft foam with fleece-backed pleather to create the look of a thick leather belt. You can use actual belt weight leather strips instead for a more authentic look. Also, the back bow of my harness is a detachable bow from a handbag, but you can make some extra straps and assemble a bow from them yourself.   

Keep reading

walker-of-yggdrasil  asked:

Angs prompt idea :) : Kylo turn back to the light and become Ben Solo again and Hux expect to stay with him in sake of their love (maybe he want to redeem himself too ?) Except that Ben is now disgusted by him/ forgot totally about him and only see him as a fanatic terrorist (I'm sorry :D)

“Ren?”

Hux can’t help but stand from the bench in his cell and leap towards the door when he sees Kylo suddenly standing on the other side, finally come to his lover’s rescue. Hux has been imprisoned by these barbaric bounty hunters for weeks now, spending every second of his time in captivity wishing to see his brave and beautiful knight on the other side of the door.

But as Hux stares at Kylo through the reinforced glass, he doesn’t feel the sense of elation he thought he would.

Kylo looks…different. Instead of his infamous black robes, he’s wearing a pair of navy slacks, a white shirt and a black vest. Even his hair; the luscious locks of dark hair that Hux hated to love is tied back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck, hidden as though forbidding Hux from running his fingers through it like he’s missed doing.

Kylo’s dark eyes are filled with light, a sparkle that looks like hope and no sign of any sort of darkness that Kylo’s soul is supposed to be filled with. Hux swallows hard but regardless, as soon as Kylo has opened the door to his cell, Hux’s arms are around his neck in the strongest hug he’s ever given. Having his lover come to his rescue is almost enough to send Hux into tears but he holds them back, burying his face in Kylo’s shoulder.

Only when Hux’s mind has quietened does he realise that Kylo has remained abnormally still.

“Ren?” Hux whispers, frowning. “Why won’t you hold me?”

As Hux’s wishes, Kylo’s hands find themselves on his waist and, for a moment, the galaxy is right.

But even the burn of a sun’s supernova wouldn’t be as painful as feeling Kylo’s hands push him away. Hux stumbles back with a startled gasp, eyes wide with fear.

“Ren?” Hux doesn’t understand. The man in front of him looks like his Kylo but everything about his movements and expressions is screaming at Hux to back away from him.

The imposter flexes his fingers, and Hux can’t help but glance to the lightsaber hanging from his belt and then to the blaster in the holster on his opposite hip.

Kylo despises blasters.

“That’s not my name,” Kylo says, and Hux feels his stomach drop. “My name is Ben. Solo.”

“No,” Hux gasps, shaking his head. “Your name is Kylo Ren. Master of the Knights of Ren and heir to the Dark Side. Ben Solo is dead. You told me so yourself!”

Hux recalls the countless times that Kylo has recited stories from his childhood to him, telling him tales of a young boy called Ben who felt unloved and lost, a boy who was sacrificed in order for Kylo Ren to be born.

Hux shivers, feeling as though he’s staring down a ghost.

“The Resistance has bartered with your captors for your release, General,” Ben says, pulling a pair of thick binders off his belt. “And I’m here to arrest you.”

Hux opens his mouth to speak but a broken heave for air comes out instead, and he wonders whether the sound is his soul shattering into a thousand shards, piercing his heart, threatening to render him to his knees and beg for someone to wake him from this nightmare.

“It’d be best if you remained calm, Starkiller,” Ben sneers, spitting out the nickname that he’d whispered to Hux whilst kissing over his freckles, comparing them to stardust. “The Resistance are going to make you answer for your crimes against the galaxy. And snakes like you don’t deserve mercy.”

Ren, for stars sake! Snap out of it!” Hux cries, backhanding Ben across the face, whipping some hairs out of his bun. He hangs his head, hair obscuring his eyes. “They’ve done something to you! Manipulated you! It’s me, it’s your ‘Tidge, don’t do this. Please.”

Ben brings his communicator up to his lips, face still hidden to Hux’s eyes.

“This is Captain Solo. The prisoner is refusing to cooperate. I’m in need of back-up. Bring extra binders,” he says, and Hux flinches.

Yes, Captain. We’re on our way,” comes the static-y reply before Ben drops the comlink to the ground and stands up.

Hux’s breath is suddenly ripped away from him, an invisible hand curling around his throat as he’s pushed back to the wall, back hitting it with force to the point where he feels winded. Gasping, eyes wide, Hux clutches at his throat, terror swelling in every nerve when he looks up and sees the man he would give his final breath for attempting to steal it from him. Ben’s hand is outstretched, lip curled in a scowl, and Hux believes that his once-beautiful knight is going to kill him.

“K-Kylo…” Hux whispers, voice breaking, eyes slowly closing. “M-my moon and my s-stars.”

Ben falters for a moment, gasping as though in pain as he drops Hux from his Force-hold, and Hux can’t find the strength in his legs to hold himself up so collapses to the ground in a weakened heap, breathing ragged and broken. Tears stream down his cheeks, from the lack of air or from being completely heartbroken, Hux isn’t sure.

Either way, he doesn’t expect to look up and see Ben on his knees in front of him, eyes wide, dark and lost.

Ben cocks his head to the side as though a confused animal, eyebrows drawn together in a saddened frown, and Hux loses the remainder of his strength.

He lurches forwards, taking Ben’s plush lips up in a fervent and longing kiss, fill with desperation, a silent and absolute plea for Hux’s Ren to come back home.

“It’s me,” Hux whispers. “Ren. Wake up. This isn’t you.

Ben blinks hard, shaking his head, mouth falling open as though to finally say something

“Captain Solo!”

Hux flinches back when Ben stands up so abruptly, turning to face the gaggle of Resistance fighters who stand in the doorway, blasters trained on Hux.

“Cuff him,” one of the men says. “Get him back on the ship and lock him in the brig. Scum.”

Hux stares up at Ben, wanting to whisper his name but finds that it won’t come; he doesn’t believe Ben is the name of the man in front of him. They’d kissed—and Ben had kissed him back.

He doesn’t take note of the binders being snapped around his wrists, he doesn’t growl when he’s hauled to his feet, but he whimpers when he’s dragged past Ben and out of his cell, looking back over his shoulder at the lost boy standing alone.

Ben Solo is dead,’ Hux thinks, closing his eyes in some sort of relief. ‘Kylo Ren is alive. He’s alive.’


As he watches the Starkiller be dragged away, Ben reaches up and touches his lips, feeling as though a spark is nestled upon them, sending shivers down his spine, recalling how the General’s kiss had made him feel.

It felt familiar, it felt warm.

And it felt like home, like rushing in to your lover’s arms after a long time away, like falling into bed and sleeping next to each other, like existing with someone inside a bubble and not caring what the rest of the galaxy is doing because this is home.

But Ben pushes his hand against his throbbing temple. This couldn’t be: this is the first time he’s even met General Armitage Hux. That’s what his mother and uncle have told him.

And his family wouldn’t lie….would they?

Faking It - part 4

Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, reader

After getting news about a family reunion coming up, the reader decides to set up aplan to  make her look like she isn’t as single as she actually is. But when all her candidates can’t go, she’s left with the only person who she least expects to go along with the plan.

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: leT ME TELL YOU this was longer than expected, but you guys love this story so much so ya’ll will enjoy it. Smut chapter is next and I’m rolling up my sleeves on it. If you want to be tagged just ask and if I forgot you, (because people are constantly asking to be tagged so I forget a few people) I do apologize

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

MASTERLIST

Originally posted by justall-myfeelings

 The light poured in through the open windows. You squinted at the rays and pulled the duvet over your head. Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your waist. He groaned and buried his head in the pillow. His grip tightened on your hips but quickly loosened. You were about to fall asleep once again when your phone rang. An annoyed moan escaped your lips. You turned and reached over Bucky’s torso to grab your phone. 

“Hullo,” Your voice rough. 

“Y/N did I wake you?” Your Mother asked. 

“No,” You lied, “I was just….making breakfast." 

"I see,” You knew that she was smiling. You could practically hear it through the phone. “Tomorrow is the gala. You know the one that your Father’s company hosts each year. I’d like for you to come. It would be your first time.”

The charity gala happens every year. All of your Father’s coworkers and bosses, get together for some drinking, eating and mingling. There is even an auction. Women and men volunteer to be auctioned off as dates and all the money goes to charity. The idea of being auctioned off makes you think of slavery, but other people think differently because the money goes to charity. Nonetheless, the idea puts a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I don’t know,” You said. “I don’t even have a dress.”

“That’s okay! Your sister and I are going dress shopping today.”  You winced, knowing there was no excuse to get out of this one. “We’ll pick you up at around 2 PM, be ready by then, Erika doesn’t like waiting.”

You gave her the address to the house and hung up. Your shoulders slumped and let your phone fall onto the bed before settling back under the sheets.

“Who was that?” Bucky asked.

“My Mother,” You mumbled. “We have to go to a charity gala tomorrow.”

“Dress code?” He questioned.

“Formal of course,” You said. “You’re gonna need a suit.”

You and Bucky have been to enough formal parties, galas, and other occasions to know the routine. Thanks to Tony, who had probably gone to more galas than you can count. Fortunately, back when you were a teen you weren’t able to go because it’s 18+. Now, you’re over the age restriction which means that your Mother is ecstatic to have her whole family there.

“Is your entire family going?” He asked.

“Nope,” You were relieved. Your Aunts never went, mainly because they all have children that were under 15, so there was no one to care for them.

“Are you going out?”

“Yes,” You sighed. “Mother wants to go dress shopping. Call Tony, maybe he can recommend a tailor or tell you where the nearest Men’s Warehouse is.” You patted his chest and pushed yourself off the bed.


“I’ll be back later, Bucky,” You called and adjusted the strap of your small backpack.

He nodded and pecked your lips, knowing that your sister and Mother were watching. “Tony hired this specialist, they’re gonna get me fitted for a suit.”

“Make sure it’s a black tie,” You added as you walked away from the door.

“Y/N, Bucky is good-looking and rich? You hit the jackpot!” Your sister exclaimed when you entered the car.

“This is Mr. Stark’s home. Not Bucky’s,” You snorted at her comment.

The store you went to, was in Hollywood of course. It was a very expensive store and you certainly weren’t rich. Beautiful gowns were lined up on racks along the walls. A clerk approached the three of you.

“Welcome, ladies, how may I help you today?” She asked.

“We’re looking for evening gowns,” Your mother said.

“Event?” The woman asked.

“Gala,” Erika intervened.

“Right this way.” You followed her further into the store until you reached back section where even more dresses were waiting to be picked. You began a search for your own dress. Very lazily, you eyed each dress you touched. In reality, you didn’t know what you were looking for. You didn’t know what color, what design.

“See anything you like?” Erika asked. You shook your head as she took out a dress and motioned for the clerk to put it in her dressing room.

“Would you ladies like some champagne?” A different clerk asked.

You smiled and gladly took a glass from the tray she held. Erika on the other hand refused. She wrinkled her nose, “I absolutely despise that stuff.”

“You’re no fun,” You mumbled as you threw your head back and guzzled down the strong liquid. The next half hour you walked around the store, with your glass in hand and your mind not there. You didn’t want to be here, but here you sadly were.

When it was your mother’s turn to try on her dresses, you and Erika sat down on the provided couch while she got into her first gown. You had lost count of a number of champagne glasses you had consumed, yet you continued to request a refill.

“So Y/N,” Your sister began. “How’s Bucky in bed?”

You nearly spit out your champagne. Instead, you choked on the liquid and coughed violently. “Did Betty put you up to this?” You eyed her.

She shook her head, “Can’t I ask? It’s not like I didn’t tell you the first time David and I had sex.”

“Yes and I am forever grateful for that valuable information,” You said sarcastically. The last time you had sex, was in a one night stand. You certainly weren’t going to tell her that.

Your mother tried on all four of her dresses. After ten minutes of arguing, all three of you came to a conclusion that dress number 2 was the better choice. Your sister was next. She jumped up excitedly and waltzed into the dressing rooms. You leaned back and ran your finger over the rim of the glass.

“Are you okay Y/N?” Your Mom asked.

You were pulled out of your daze and turned to look at her before giving her a sheepish smile, “I’m great.”

“I love it!” Erika exclaimed as she walked out of the dressing room. “Mom look at the sweetheart neckline!” She squealed and ran her hands over her chest.

“It looks good,” Your mother agreed.

“But,” Erika added. “It doesn’t show my curves and the color is too bright.” Without another word, she disappeared back into the dressing room.

Erika tried on a total of 7 dresses. You offered pointers on which ones looked good and which ones didn’t. Finally, she was brought down to two dressed. A black tight gown with a sweetheart neckline that she adores and a pale pink maxi dress that had a thigh split. After careful consideration, she went with the black dress.

“Your turn, Y/N.” Erika smiled.

“Oh, I didn’t find anything,” You said bluntly.

“We aren’t leaving until you find something,” Your mother threatened.

You turned to the clerk, “Surprise me.”

Minutes late you found yourself in the changing room with three different gowns. The first one was such a terrible combination of red and white, that you didn’t bother to come out of the room. Instead, you slipped into the second dress. A beautiful creme colored dress with a plunging neckline. A thick gold belt rested just below your breasts. The skirt split at the thigh and you had to admit, you looked great. You walked out of the dressing room and stood on the elevated platform in front of the mirror. Your mother and sister seemed to approve.

“That looks amazing,” Erika said.

“You look like a goddess,” Your Mother added.

“My boobs are pushed up to my ears,” You complained and pulled up the neckline. You lifted the skirt and walked off the platform.

“This is the last dress, Miss,” The clerk said as she took out the third dress. You handed her the gown you just had on and slipped into the dark blue one.

It was tight and showed off every single curve you had. The loose mermaid end trailed behind you. The torso was a wrap around. It hugged your neck and showed off a small piece of your stomach in the shape of a triangle. You walked out of the room.

“That is your dress,” Erika said and did a small clap of glee.

“That looks stupendous,” Your mother agreed. “You are taking it.”

You examined yourself in the mirror. You felt beautiful. Like a queen. Like you could conquer an entire country and gladly rule it alone.

“This is my dress,” You repeated and you believed it.


“Doll,” Bucky knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you ready?”

Your heart nearly fell down to your ass. You were ready, yes, you were just really nervous. With a last quick glance in the mirror, you nodded and walked towards the door. Your heels clicking against the marble floor.

Your hand rested on the knob before you slid the doors open. Bucky was standing on the other side, your jaw fell agape. He wore a perfectly fitted tuxedo. His white dressing shirt stretched out against his chest and the black tie hung perfectly tied around his neck. His hair was combed back to keep it out of his face. Overall, Bucky looked handsome.

“That specialist did a good job,” You noted.

“Y/N,” he began. “You look gorgeous.”

You blushed and let your gaze fall to your covered feet. He tilted your chin up using his index finger. His blue eyes met yours and it was a brief moment of intense eye sex.

He cleared his throat, “We should get going.”

You nodded and he took a step back before offering you his arm. A smile pulled at the corner of your lips as your looped your arm through his.

Instead of leading you outside to where your car was parked, Bucky took you to Tony’s car garage. Cars were lined up under the fluorescent lights. Different colors, brand, and design.

“Stark doesn’t have to find out,” Bucky grinned mischievously and walked towards a Camaro.

“But what if he does,” You insisted. “Or what if something happens, I certainly can’t pay off a car like this one.” You motioned to the Lamborghini.

“Nothing bad will happen, Y/N.” He looked at you. “Have a little faith in your man.” He winked and you rolled your eyes before reluctantly sliding into the passenger seat of a black Corvette.

Bucky found the keys and stuck them into the ignition. The engine roared to life. The doors opened and Bucky raced out of the garage. Tires squealing against the concrete as speedometer told the miles per hour.

50

60

75

80

There was an exhilarating feeling that was rising inside of you. Adrenaline. The need for speed. A wide smile broke onto your face and you laughed. Bucky joined you as he accelerated the speed. This was a side of Bucky you’ve never seen before. He was being cocky. And you liked it.


You arrive at the gala, arm in arm with Bucky. Several people that you barely knew came forwards and struck up a conversation. Telling you about how you’ve grown and how you look like a woman now. Bucky identified himself as your boyfriend and they wished you many happy years.

Your grip tightened on Bucky’s arm when you spotted someone you haven’t seen in years. Adam Clair was your boyfriend for 2 years until he broke your heart and turned to a spunky redhead. It took so long to get over him, now all you felt for him was rage. A blond now clung onto his arm.

“Shit,” You muttered under your breath when he spotted you.

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“My ex is walking over here,” You looked at him.

“You want me to punch him?” He asked.

“What? No!” You whisper-yelled.

“Y/N!”

You pulled your best fake smile and straightened up as you looked at him.

“Hi Adam,” Your cheeks throbbed from all the smiling. “How have you been?”

“Busy running a business,” He said smugly. After Adam’s father died, he inherited Clair & Co.

“Sounds exhausting,” You rolled your eyes.

“This is my fiancée, Briana Knight.” Adam introduced the blond.

You were a bit taken aback. You didn’t expect him to be tied down to one girl for so long. Nevertheless, here he was, with a fiancée. She smiled widely and extended her arm for a handshake

“So nice to meet you, Briana,” You stated kindly. Briana shook Bucky’s hand as well. “This is Bucky Barnes, my boyfriend.”

“Barnes?” Adam asked, his gaze drifted to Bucky’s arm. His metal one. Realization flashed across his eyes. “You’re The Bucky Barnes! The Winter Soldier! No wonder you looked so familiar.”

Bucky stiffened beside you. The tension between you tightened as Adam continued to talk.

“Man, always knew you liked a bit of danger in your life Y/N but never imagined you’d date a criminal,” he laughed and you burned with anger. “An assassin.” He burst into laughter.

Briana gave an apologetic frown. Sympathy showing clearly in her hazel eyes.

You stepped towards Adam, but before you could do anything else, Bucky wrapped an arm around yours and pulled you away. Before you could give Adam hell, you were already being dragged away.

“Let it go,” Bucky said.

“I can’t just let him say that stuff!” You huffed.

“Yes you can, I’m already used to it, Y/N.” He paused. “Besides can’t let you attack him, you’ll probably break a few bones. You’re too pretty to be angry right now, doll.”

“Boy, do you have a way with words, Barnes,” You said alluringly.

You found the table that your family was sitting and joined them. Your Father commented that you looked beautiful in the dress and your Mother butted in, saying that she picked it out. Erika sat proudly next to her fiancé, Ashton. Rose, Jay’s wife sat alone, with your brother nowhere to be seen.


The night dragged on, you already ate and the auction was soon to commence. You wanted to leave already, but your Mother just kept on pulling you or Bucky into a different conversation. Your Dad absolutely loved Bucky. He talked about various things with him and the other men.

“It’s time to bring out your wallets ladies and gentlemen because we’re about to begin the auction.” A man on the stage announced.

Many people straightened up and turned their attention to the stage. Some men were smugly talking about how much money they were planning on spending. A few of the ladies were whispering excitedly, talking about which men hopefully would bid on them. You winced at their words.

Bucky placed a hand on your knee. You looked at him, he smiled slyly at you. You were grateful for his continuous encouragement throughout the entire time.

His hand began to slide higher until it rested on your thigh. You sucked in a sharp breath and your stomach caved in. Your heart began to play a game of ‘See How Fast I Can Beat.’ A  heavy exhale escaped your lips. You knew that he knew what he was doing to you. He looked at you from the corner of his eye. Never in your life did you want to kiss him as much as you wanted to right now.

You stood up abruptly and excused yourself from the table. Your cheeks burned as you moved swiftly among the tables. The bathroom was in a secluded area. Before you stepped inside, you leaned against a tall column.

“You okay there, doll?” Bucky asked.

You turned and glared at him. He smiled at the fact that you couldn’t hide the lust that filled your eyes. He stepped closer until your back was pinned up against the column.

His lips captured yours in a heated kiss. Bucky’s hands explored your body until they settled on the curve of your cloth-covered bottom. You tried not to moan when his mouth left yours. He left a trail of hot wet kisses on your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered against your skin.

His low voice sent a chill down your spine that only fueled the fire in your core. Your chest heaved violently against his.

“Bucky,” You said breathlessly. “We can’t do this here.”

He pulled back and looked at you, the desire in his eyes was clear. “You want to get out of here?”

“Hell yeah,” You replied as he took your hand. The two of you sneaked away from the gala and into the open air where the valet was already waiting.

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*Tumblr didn’t let me tag a few users so I will just send you this part via message

The unschooled eye couldn’t tell the two sorts of women- butches and androgynes- apart. Butchness had been so thoroughly declared passe that an entire generation of dykes could dress in what was essentially butch-woman drag and evoke defensive responses only from conservative straight people (and very straight-identified “gay women”).

At first I believed the mythos of the Vanished Butch (and her symbiotic sister-species, the Vanished Femme). But certain women wearing the uniform made my nostrils flare, my tongue tie, my skin prickle like an electrical storm had passed. They filled the clothes differently. It took me some years to begin to understand why I wanted to chew on some women’s thick brown leather belts and not on others.

Non-butch women wore the Uniform like librarians who had just come in from gardening. It was not clothes that made the woman. It was stance. It was attitude- it was impossible to picture one of the librarians wearing a tux, or myself dressing in silk or lace to present myself to her. It was impossible to think of presenting myself to her at all, to offer that mixture of allure and willingness that I desired to give to a butch woman.

The missing ingredient, I see in hindsight, was eroticism, worn on the sleeve and there in the step: Where political dykes would don a baggy flannel shirt and think, “No one will sexually objectify me if I wear this,” the butches were tucking their shirts in, knowing that some little gal would love the softness of the flannel under her hands as she ran them up over the butch’s pecs.

—  Carol A. Queen, “Why I Love Butch Women”

anonymous asked:

Could you please write a fic where Rhys gets up in the middle of the night because he scents a horny sleeping Feyre. Then he wakes her up by doing kinky shit to her 😍😅

I just want everyone to know that I will probably NEVER answer one of these prompts again. I have too many other legit stories I want to tell. So this is gonna be short and sweet and smutty. This is NSFW and, as I have no fear of words, I use language that MANY people find offensive. This was NOT written with personalities or what’s canon in mind. So it does not reflect how I see or understand these characters. You’ve been warned!

[A Midnight Feast]

It was the smell that woke me. Something sweet and haunting, and so thick in the air that I could have choked on it. It called to something so ancient in my blood that I damn near woke in a frenzy.

I inhaled deeply, and my body sang to life.

Keep reading

Two Years

Two years.

Two years until he’d been rushed into a Normandy escape pod and blasted into space.

Two years since he’d watched that glorious ship explode into pieces across the starry sky, that leviathan of a ship beyond that had taken her down slowly turning and leaving the way it had come.

Two years since he’d received notice in that little hospital that there were only few casualties with the loss of the Normandy. As he flipped through the roster, one name making him pause and stare at the screen, wishing he wasn’t reading it properly.

Harley Lynn Shepard, right there next to the photo taken when she’d joined with the Normandy. Her hair a bit longer, but still curly. Eyes sharp and the little smirk slipping free at the corner of her mouth. KIA and MIA were in bold red text near the bottom of the screen.

He remembered how he’d slumped in that little cot, leaning his head down over the small tablet, his long fingers gripping it so hard that small cracks began to appear around the edges and the screen began to flicker, her name disappearing and reappearing. The nurse had left the room at that point, but not before placing a box on a nearby table that she murmured was addressed to him, leaving the large turian alone with his thoughts, leaving him to grit his teeth and try to breath as deeply and smoothly as he could, not allowing himself to break down. Not letting himself be taken over by the memories of her laughter, of her guidance, how she handled herself with a gun. How she’d made his heart flutter each time the lift had opened to admit her to the lower decks of the ship, trying his damnedest to not remember the scent of her or how she smiled when she spoke to him, how the flutters had started to grow into love.

It had taken him a few days to be released from the hospital, just long enough to get him rehydrated and fed after spending so long in an escape pod. Once he’d been free to leave, he headed to the apartment he’d kept while he’d worked for C-Sec, trying to find a familiar place that he could be alone with his thoughts.

Once he’d gotten through his front door, he leaned against it, reaching behind him to lock it just before he slid down the door to settle on the floor. The tablet of crew missing and the package the nurse had left clattered to the floor as he did, just enough to make him look over at the box. Swallowing, he pulled it towards him, using a long nail to slice open the tape and pulling it open. The contents made him once again take a deep breath, this time it quavering in his throat, as he reached into the box and slowly started removing items from it.

Shepard’s hat that she wore when she’d been working on the Mako. Photos of her mother and herself, of Harley and the crew, even a few of Garrus himself and her together. He flipped the images over to read her scribbled hand writing, dates and names, pet names for the people in the photo. ‘Target practice with the best’ was written on the back of one with himself in it, where both he and Shepard had been shooting targets in the Spectre shooting range. ‘So cute when he’s sleeping’ was on another, this one taken after a party where Garrus had fallen asleep on the couch in the Normandy’s lounge. Tears started to glisten in his eyes as he delved deeper into that box, pulling out other odds and ends that held the remains of Shepard’s life. Her chain that had a bullet casing from her first time shooting with her mother, that thick Spectre belt buckle that she’d always worn when off duty, along with a jacket with the N7 logo stitched across the chest.

How could an entire life be diluted down to the contents of a box? Garrus had thought, sifting through the items with care, carefully picking up a tablet and pressing play on the vid it had contained. As it played, it looked as if it was being filmed by Liara, who was laughing and teasing, trying to convince Harley to pick up her guitar that she always had somewhere in her cabin. A few minutes of urging had convinced the Commander, and she settled on the couch in her room and began to play, her fingers moving over the strings and her eyes closing as she began to sing softly, too softly for the words to be picked up by the vid. The tune of the guitar let Garrus know what she was singing though, an old Earth song about unrequited love and regrets. Her eyes opened near the end and seemed to look through the vid into his, making the tears start to fall down his face.

He’d kept the vid, along with some photos, near the table beside his bed, the rest of the items he’d stored carefully in his closet. The next day he’d tried to return to C-Sec, to his old job, only to find that they were calling the Reaper attack a hoax. That Saren had been working alone. The new council was negative towards the Normandy crew, especially the commander that had let their predecessors die in the attack on the Citadel. Garrus had worked alongside C-Sec as long as he could before he’d left; heading to Omega to try and do some good without the rules and red tape that he had been drowning in.  

It hadn’t taken him long to get a group of eleven specialists together that had similar thoughts to his, and it had taken even less time for them all to be gunned down by a traitor amongst them. Seemed like nearly seconds after, Garrus was slowly taking out as many mercs as he could, Blue Suns, Blood Pack, and Eclipse, he hadn’t been picky.

Two years.

Damn time flew when you had nothing to lose anymore.

Sighing, Garrus tightened his fingers around the bullet casing around his neck, then slowly got to his feet and looked out over the awning through the scope of his sniper rifle, trying to get a glimpse of where the new wave of mercenaries were coming from. Seeing one poke his head out from behind a bullet riddled column, Garrus squeezed the trigger and blasted a hole between the man’s eyes. “Fish in a barrel,” he muttered as the man slumped to the ground. Swiveling the gun towards the entrance to this death trek, he froze, seeing a new trio leaping over a barricade and pause as they saw the building, almost as if they felt the weight of his gaze through the scope. A solarian on one side, a black man on the other, the center being dominated by a woman in blue armor. Her curling hair was cut close to her head, her head protected only by bits of metal and an LED screen that would help her find the perfect headshot. Garrus felt his heart clench at the sight of her, waves of suppressed memories and emotions of two years and more flooding back to him.

“Shepard?” he whispered.