#and it was really nice to read about art helping to make echo's prosthetics a little more meaningful

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

Part of the Narrative

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

This first chapter includes swearing and bad attitudes. 

Finally, a huge thank you to @sambethe, who edited this in its entirety and made it so much better. And @shady-swan-jones for the banner and @bleebug for the chapter art! (Also to @icapturedkindness and @gray-autumn-sky, for encouraging me to do this and reading over the initial chapters.) Of course, a shout-out to everyone @captainswanbigbang who helped, encouraged, and made this possible.

Chapter 1

Emma is on her way to meet her new editor, Killian Jones. It goes off the rails quickly, but they still have to find a way to work together.

Emma

Emma was not excited. Well, she was excited to begin working on her second novel. Her first had been a breakaway hit, surprising her and her publishing house. Apparently people ate up her gritty tale of life as a bail bondsperson and were eager to see a second book from the new darling of thrillers.

What was less thrilling, however, was having to go to her publisher’s office so she could meet her new editor. Mills & Booth had done right by her the first time around with Graham Humbert. He was smart and witty, knew just when to push her and when to back off. They had hit it off right away, and not just professionally. Between the usual editing sessions, there had been a few too many late dinners and movie nights, long walks where they laughed and talked about everything under the sun. They may not have indulged the attraction between them, but both had recognized it was there.

And then Graham died. Suddenly, cruelly, he was just gone.

They found out later it was a brain aneurysm. Nothing anyone could have expected, and nothing that could have come with a warning.

Emma was still mourning the loss of her friend and editor. She had no interest in meeting his replacement, even if everyone kept assuring her he was one of the best.

It just wouldn’t be the same, she reflected as she walked down the sidewalk, crunching through the autumn leaves, the sound echoing with each step. The new editor probably was all they said and more, but still, he wouldn’t be Graham. Would he get her in the same way? Would they have that same connection and rapport?

She sighed, looking up at the formidable height and cold steel of the building that housed her publishing house. She knew she had to meet this guy, but she didn’t have to look forward to it.

&&&

The lobby of Mills & Booth was as tasteful and well-appointed as ever, the familiar sight of the warm colors, plush chairs, and literary quotes on the walls soothing her nerves a little.

“Oh hi, Ms. Swan!” Ariel greeted her with a wide smile from behind the reception desk, and Emma couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi, Ariel. How’s it going?”

Ariel was a good sort, bubbly and friendly. Her chipper tone and natural ease had a way of winning over even the most cantankerous clients, all while making sure the office ran smoothly.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Except for, well, your new editor.”

“What’s he like?”

“Mr. Jones? He’s…nice? I haven’t talked to him much.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice and motioned Emma closer. “But what I can tell you is that he’s really, really hot,” she said frankly.

Emma laughed. “Well, hopefully he’s as good at his job as he is at being pretty.”

Ariel pointed her in the direction of his office, and Emma gave a sigh of relief when she realized they hadn’t set him up in Graham’s old one. It at least made it feel like they weren’t replacing him so completely.

The door was cracked open, and she knocked to let him know she was there. “Hi? Mr. Jones?”

She heard the sound of rustling, and the door opened. Then she saw the man who had opened it.

And Jesus. Ariel hadn’t been kidding about the attractiveness thing. Dark, artfully mussed hair, a sculpted jawline with a dusting of scruff. Chest hair peeked out of the button-up he wore under a nice tweed suit jacket. And he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Down, girl, she told herself.

Sticking out her hand to shake his, she smiled politely. “I’m Emma Swan. Your new author?”

She was gratified to see that he too looked a little awestruck. Speechless, even. He’d met her eyes confidently, but as soon as he’d a chance to take her in, he had frozen in place. She knew she wasn’t exactly off-putting, but still, it was nice.

Recovering, he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. Her insides quivered, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from attraction or annoyance. “I’m Killian Jones. A pleasure to meet you, Emma. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

God, a British accent. She was doomed.

She shook her head. “That’s fine. And you prefer…”

“Killian, if you please.”

She certainly did please. But okay, really not the point. And not the kind of thoughts she should be having about her editor a minute after meeting him. She needed to cool it if she was going to work with this guy. Giving him an assessing look, she let him lead her to the chair in front of the desk, his hand hovering at the small of her back the whole way. Even through the layers of her clothing, her skin tingled at the light touch.

“Okay, then. So…where do we start?”

“I don’t know how things worked with Mr. Humbert, but I thought we could go over impressions and expectations. Begin as we mean to go on, as it were.”

“That works for me,” she said. “But honestly, I don’t know much about you, other than that Cleo told me I’d be working with you and you’re supposedly one of the best. Graham and I used to talk about goals and then he edited any drafts I sent him.”

He retreated behind his desk and sat, nodding thoughtfully. “Well, truthfully, things will probably be different, with this being your second book. And I do things differently than your former editor.”

“How differently?” Emma was sure it couldn’t be all that changed. Read it, edit it, give it back. Boom. He smirked at her and she stiffened, uncertainty creeping in.

“For starters, lass, I like to work more…collaboratively,” he said, winking salaciously at her.

Killian leaned forward across his desk, and Emma pulled back, feeling the need to put a little more space between them. She rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what? You want to see more drafts?” she asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

“No, darling, I plan to be involved from the prospectus on.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He might think himself to be charming, and his looks might win him points with some people, but Emma prided herself on being above that. ”First, don’t call me darling. And second, you seriously want to be involved in the prospectus? I’ve done this before, you know. I don’t need my hand held.”

He smiled and smoothed his hands across a few of the papers on his desk. “Pity, I wouldn’t mind holding your hand. But look, Swan, your work is good. It’s really quite promising. But it’s rough, and it could stand some refinement.”

“Rough?! I wrote a fucking bestseller!” She pulled herself to her feet, staring him down angrily.

“I didn’t say you were talentless, only that there’s room for improvement. Or are you content to peak with your very first work?” He was clearly trying to placate her, holding up his hands. Well, at least one hand. Even through her ire, Emma noticed that one appeared to be a prosthetic. A good one, but not flesh and blood.

She glared at him, jaw tightening painfully. “Peaking? Rough? And all of this from…who? Where’s your bestseller, buddy?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he bristled as he said, “I may not have a bestseller, darling, but my thesis in nonfiction writing won several awards, and I’ve helped some of the best craft their own masterpieces.”

“You probably couldn’t craft a paper airplane,” she spat at him.

“An admittedly difficult task when working with this, Swan,” he snapped, lifting his prosthetic hand.

She flushed crimson but was unwilling to back down. Ignoring the stab of guilt, she said, “Look, I’m sorry about your hand, but I really don’t think this is going to work out.”

She turned abruptly and walked out of his office, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

&&&

Cleo stared sharply at her across the expanse of her desk. “I mean it, Emma. You need to get your shit together and find a way to work with Jones. He’s one of the best in the industry, and he’ll make sure your story is the best it can it be.”

“But, Cleo, he has no respect for my process. And he was…rude.”

She snorted. “He was rude? I could hear you all the way down here.”

Emma glared back at her.

Cleo huffed out a sigh. “I need you to give this another shot. This isn’t your debut novel, the stakes and expectations are higher this time around. I know this project means a lot to you, and it has the potential to do a lot of good. That’s why I want it to be the best version of itself it can possibly be.”

“And you think Jones can help me do that?” She crossed her arms in frustration. She tried really hard to stay away from that diva writer stereotype, but Killian Jones had tested her patience.

“I really do. He might be a pretty-boy, but he’s also brilliant.” Cleo was calm and collected, only the edge in her voice showing a hint of her stress and annoyance.

“He’s still an asshole.”

“And so are you.”

“Geez, thanks.”

“Look, I’m here to publish you and pay you. I don’t owe you pretty words, Emma. Jones doesn’t either. I’m giving you a week to figure something out.”

“Or what?”

Cleo shrugged. “Or I’ll sue you for breach of contract.”

“Oh.” Dimly, Emma had been aware this was an option, but she was gobsmacked at the threat, never really expecting to have to deal with it herself. She took a deep breath, letting all her conflicting emotions settle. “Okay, then.”

“That’s what I thought.” At that, Cleo stood and brusquely gestured to the door.

&&&

With the threat of a lawsuit hanging over her head and her ears ringing from Cleo’s rebuke, Emma stomped most of the way back to her apartment. She nodded at the doorman as she went past, running up the stairs and all but slamming the door in her haste to get home.

What a day.

What a fucking mess of a shit-hell day.

She’d been prepared to not hit it off with her new editor, but to already revile and loathe him entirely? And for him to think so little of her writing–and probably her, if his attempts at flirtation and then his insults were any indication–was beyond the pale.

Honestly, she was aware she probably wasn’t a Shakespeare or an Agatha Christie, but she knew she could write good, entertaining stories that a lot of people liked to read. It might not be the kind of thing that endured for decades or centuries, but it was fun and made a living for her. A living she enjoyed.

She flopped down onto the leather club chair in her living room, one of the few nods to personalization in her entire apartment. She had seen it in a little shop a few blocks from her last apartment and had to have it. It just reminded her so much of what a writer’s haven should look like, and it was so cozy and elegant. She’d bought it with her first royalties check for a mildly ridiculous sum, but she had no regrets.

Mostly, though, her loft apartment in Back Bay was pretty sparse. She had sprung for a nice, spacious place to live, but she didn’t exactly have the personal effects to fill it, which was okay with her. It was just one of those inevitable things that happened when you grew up in the foster system, moving from place to place, never staying long enough in any one of them to accumulate a lot of things.

Emma got up and went to the kitchen, debating between fixing herself some hot cocoa or pouring herself a glass of scotch.

Fuck it, she was going to do both. She was an adult, she could double-fist if she wanted to.

She could almost hear Granny saying, “Cocoa for what ails you and liquor so you don’t bring the ailing to anyone else.” She smiled to herself, remembering the kind, older woman who had taken her in after…after everything had gone to hell.

Emma had been in and out of foster care since she was a baby. Some of the homes she’d been in had been great, others less so. She’d nearly been adopted twice, but it had fallen through both times. And those had been some of the good ones.

And she had no intention of talking to anyone, not even that court-appointed psychologist, about the worst of the homes. That, well…even she didn’t like to think about that.

By the time she aged out of the system, she’d been adept at petty crime. It hadn’t taken long for her to fall in–in more ways than one–with another small-time criminal, Neal. He’d been her first love, her first lot of things.

But he’d also landed her in jail. Framing her for one of his past crimes had gotten him a fresh start and her a felony charge, but luckily–if she could call it luck–she’d been young enough that she had been able to get those records sealed.

After nearly a year in minimum security she’d found herself back in Boston, waiting tables at Granny’s. She was eighteen and a mess, but Mrs. Lucas had seen some spark of potential and had encouraged her first to get her GED and then to put herself through college. She’d even kept a room for her in that old house, had made a place for her in her home.

It was how she’d met her best friend, Ruby, who was still here for her a decade later, even with Granny gone these last four. Emma was glad Granny got to see the pair of them graduate from college, to see Ruby take over the diner. She even got to witness Emma meeting some success as a bail bondsperson.

She smiled into the last of her scotch, remembering Granny’s encouragement and enthusiasm as Emma put together the first draft of her novel. The plates of free grilled cheese (“But I’m going to have to make you pay for the onion rings with as many as you eat, girlie.”), the disapproving looks when she was caught dicking around on Pinterest, and above all, the love and compassion she gave when Emmad had a rough day with a skip or with writing.

Emma wished Granny had lived to see the success of Bonds the Past. Even more, she wished she was here for this second book. It didn’t have a title yet, but she knew Granny would be proud of her.

She sighed, walking over to the bookcase, the one with her little journal full of her notes for this project. This was going to be hard–it would have been difficult even with a supportive editor like Graham. It was going to be doubly so now with someone like Killian Jones.

She knew this book would be good, better than her debut novel. And not just in terms of sales…for her. She was going to write what she knew, was going to strip away that veil of privacy and reserve that she had held onto for so long.

And maybe, just maybe, she could bring some positive attention to the system and what foster kids went through there. Use her newfound fame for good and all that.

Emma ran her hand over her face, daunted at the task ahead.

It was time to give Ruby a call and hole up at the diner and write.

[imaginesebastian]

I Want to Love You

Anonymous asked: can you do an first meet encounter? it can end however you’d like!

A/N: I kinda combined this with the one where someone requested more smut?? Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: swearing, smut, oral (male receiving)

The cool summer nights were one of your favorite things about life at the moment. You made it a habit to come to this park and sit on the swing, sketching a picture out in the dim lighting of the moon. 

It calmed you, being able to watch people as dusk fell over the park and they began packing their things to go home. Soon enough, you were alone in the park and added shading to a drawing of the worn down park bench across from you that you had started a couple days ago. 

The chains that held the swing up creaked while your legs pushed your body back and forth, swaying softly with the wind. 

You heard rushed footsteps, causing you to slam your sketchbook closed and turn your attention to the sidewalk in front of you. 

Your heart was in your throat, suddenly aware of the creepy situation ahead of you. 

The footsteps walked in front of you, tripping over the raised concrete on the sidewalk. You held back a giggle, immediately stepping off the swing set and rushing to the person. 

“Are you okay?” You said, putting your hand on the stranger’s arm while they groaned in pain. 

They rolled over, revealing a pair of bright blue eyes surrounded by a scruffy beard and an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

You noticed a scrape on his cheek, “Oh no, you’re bleeding.” 

He moved his hand up to his face, touching the little bit of blood and inspecting his reddened finger, “Ah, it’s nothing. I’ll be okay. Thank you.” 

You helped him up from the ground and instinctively dusted off his shirt, taking note of the extremely advanced prosthetic arm he had. He chuckled as he noticed your stare, moving your hand to his arm, “I got this shiny bad boy years ago after a train accident.” 

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t-” 

“No, it’s okay. A lot of people assume things and I find it better to be upfront about it.” He smiled warmly, watching you softly run your fingers over the hard metal. It was fascinating to you, you had never seen anything so advanced before. 

You pulled away before it got weird, clearing your throat awkwardly and meeting his baby blues again. “I- I’m (Y/N).” 

“Bucky.” He responded, his teeth shining in a large grin. 

“Can I ask what you were doing running through the park at ten at night?” You questioned suddenly, gripping your sketch book tightly in your hand. 

“It’s easier to run at night, that way I can go home and shower and go straight to bed,” he explained, “I didn’t plan on the whole falling over and scratching myself up part. Or the meeting a cute girl part.” 

You blushed, giggling, “This park comes with a lot of surprises.” 

After a moment, you noticed the scrape was bleeding a bit more, “You should really get that cleaned up.” 

“I’m good.” He said, a tight smile on his face. 

“No, no,” you didn’t think about the words as you said them, “I know a cafe that’s open 24/7. We’ll get you cleaned up there.” You grabbed his hand and led him out of the park, completely unsure of your sudden actions but deciding not to overthink anything. 

Bucky didn’t talk on the way there, as it was a short walk and soon enough the bell at the top of the door rang and you were greeted by the kind old couple who ran the cafe. 

“(Y/N)! Darling back so soon from your adventure?” The older woman exclaimed, 

You laughed, “Not an adventure, just an art session. Bucky here needs a first aid kit, you got one?” 

After your nights at the park you usually came to this little cafe for a small dinner and to finish off whatever you had drawn. They were very welcoming and offered a free slice of pie if you drew one of their grandkids for them. From then on, you grew close to them and enjoyed their company. 

“First aid kit is in the men’s bathroom in the back.” 

“Thank you!” You called out, pulling Bucky with you and opening the door to the men’s bathroom. 

The first aid kit sat under the sink and you pulled it out while Bucky rose an eyebrow. “We’re moving a lot quicker than I expected. I mean, we’re locked in a small room together. . .” 

A laugh left your throat, “Shut up, there’s blood in your beard.” 

Bucky looked at his reflection, shrugging and sitting on the edge of the sink while you fiddled with the alcohol pads. You unfolded the alcohol pad and held Bucky’s head in your hand while you dabbed the pad against the cut. 

He sucked a breath of air between his teeth, closing his eyes but allowing you to continue cleaning his wound. 

You bit your lip, trying to concentrate but your eyes continued to be drawn to his lips. 

You’d never been one to meet and hook up on the same night, but Bucky seemed to be a major exception. You knew so little about him but he seemed so interesting that you were drawn to him immediately. 

You pulled the alcohol pad away, throwing it in the trash and reaching for a band-aid. 

“You’re joking.” Bucky said as you unwrapped the band-aid.

“Can’t have you bleeding all over your face, can we?” You grinned, putting it on his cut. 

He smiled, looking ridiculous with the beige fabric on his cheek. You giggled softly, covering your mouth while his jaw dropped. “Alright, unnecessary laughter. What are you laughing at?”

Although he questioned you, he couldn’t help but chuckle along with you. “I’m sorry,” your voice echoed off the bathroom walls, “you do look hilarious.” 

“Am I still cute?” 

His question threw you slightly off guard, as you didn’t know you were being that obvious about your interest in him. Your cheeks heated up as you tried to come up with an answer, “Of course.” 

Bucky smiled, taking your hand in his, “Now it’s my time to drag you somewhere.” 

“That sounds creepy.” 

“Just go with it.” He said, rolling his eyes and leading you out of the bathroom. You laughed, following him out of the cafe. 

His phone rang, causing both of you to stop pausing while he answered it, “Hello?” 

Your ears perked in an attempt to listen to the other side of the conversation, only to have it muffled. “Right now? Can I bring a friend?” 

Bucky hung up the phone and shrugged his shoulders, “Change of plans, would you like to come to my place?” 

You raised an eyebrow, contemplating it. You didn’t want to leave Bucky, so you wanted to say yes. Don’t overthink, (Y/N), have fun.

“And what will we be doing?” 

“Think of it as a late dinner. I have a lot of roommates so don’t be scared,” he began leading you again, “and I was just gonna take you out to eat but when Bruce is cooking, you know it’s going to be good.” 

“Bruce?” you asked. 

“One of my many roommates.” He explained, keeping held tight of your hand while you walked deeper into the city. 

Eventually, you made it to a very large building. You couldn’t tell which one it was from the bottom, but it seemed a lot bigger than the surrounding buildings and you were immediately curious with what exactly Bucky was doing here. 

He led you to an elevator and pulled out a key card, scanning it over the touch pad and hearing an automated voice, “James. Barnes.” 

“What the fuck?” You said, looking around the fancy elevator and listening to Bucky’s angelic laugh. 

“High security detail.” 

You saw a small logo in the corner of the touch pad, familiarity rushing through your mind while you scanned through your sketchpad looking for the drawing you did of that exactly same logo. 

“Holy fuck we’re in the Avengers tower.” You muttered, your eyes widening as Bucky threw his head back and laughed, “Man, took ya long enough.” 

You smacked his chest, folding your arms across your chest with humor lacing your actions. 

The elevator halted and the doors opened, leading you to a large room and Tony Stark standing in the center with a tablet in his hand. He heard your footsteps and looked up, “Bucky, come on man what the fuck do you have on your face?” 

Bucky looked down, “Band-aid.” He whispered, defeated. 

Tony turned his attention back to the tablet and you marveled in the glorious penthouse you were now in. 

You continued to follow Bucky into a dining room where The Avengers all sat, talking animatedly throughout the table. Steve was the first one to notice you two, standing up immediately to greet you like the gentleman you read about. 

“Hi, you must be Buck’s friend, uhm-” 

“(Y/N).” You said, knowing Bucky didn’t mention your name on the phone call earlier. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Steve and we’re happy to have you here!” He said enthusiastically, making you smile. 

Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “We just met tonight.” 

“Oh?” Steve said, surprise evident in his voice. 

“Yeah, he fell for me. Literally.” You muttered, causing Bucky to laugh loudly. 

Steve raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips while he showed you and Bucky your seats. 

It seemed very unreal, the fact that you were sat across from Natasha and Steve was to the other side of you. When you sat on that park swing earlier tonight, you had no clue you would be in this situation. 

“Alright, it’s rare that we’re all in the same city for this long so I decided to celebrate with a good meal.” Bruce opened the doors of the kitchen and carried out a large bowl of pasta, causing your mouth to water. 

Everyone immediately began digging in, most of them paying no mind to the fact that there was a complete stranger sat beside Bucky. Steve leaned towards you, “I haven’t seen Bucky this smiley in a while.” 

You smiled, “I’m glad I could do that for him.” 

Steve mouthed ‘thank you’, turning back to his food and listening intently to one of Thor’s stories. 

You spoke with anyone who spoke to you, still amazed at the fact you were having dinner with The Avengers all because Bucky Barnes tripped in front of you. 

Bucky squeezed your knee reassuringly when he noticed your words get shaky, allowing more confidence to be brought back to your sentences. 

Everyone had finally finished their food, questions about your sketchbook and how you and Bucky met being thrown around the room. You answered everything with ease, and watched as everyone cleared their plates and left you and Bucky in the room alone. 

“Was that fun?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“That was literally the greatest meal I have ever had in my life.” You responded, watching Bucky’s eyes light up. 

“So, I should head out. It’s after midnight.” You said, not knowing where to go from there. You definitely didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay and feel Bucky’s hands on your waist while he held you close. 

However, he didn’t seem to be making any moves. 

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” Bucky said, watching your raised eyebrow and shaking his head, “no, no. I mean- do you actually want to leave?” 

“Not really.” You whispered, to which Bucky grinned. 

He became serious, “Can I kiss you?” The question was so innocent and spoke so much about how much of a gentleman he was. Ever since the bathroom, you’ve been wanting him to kiss you and thought you were being very obvious about it. The fact that he still asked made your heart melt. 

Without another word, you pressed your lips to his. He responded immediately his hands resting on your hips while you carried yourself to straddle his thighs. 

His flesh hand grazed your skin beneath your shirt, causing your breath to be caught in your throat. Your hands laced through his hair, locking on the back of his head. 

He lifted you from the spot on the chair, carrying you through the room. Never once did his lips leave yours. 

Bucky struggled to navigate the stairs so you hopped off, giggling and following him to his room. 

As soon as the door shut, he brought you in for a kiss again that left you breathless. 

All of your thought processes were thrown out the window, lifting Bucky’s shirt off of his torso and following him to the bed. 

“Fuck, doll. You’re killin’ me here.” He whispered, staring at your body above him. You smirked, “Stay alive long enough to get to the good part.” 

A switched flipped in Bucky, his hands roaming your body and practically ripping your shirt off of your body. 

His teeth nibbled on your neck, a victorious smile on his face when he got a moan to leave your lips. 

You could tell that your night was about to get a whole lot more steamy.

He began to harden against your thigh, your attention immediately drawn to that area. Your hand slid down his body, stopping at the ‘v’ in between his hips. 

Bucky’s breath picked up the lower you got, finally allowing your hand to rub over his clothed member, now as hard as a rock. 

He unhooked your bra and sucked on your chest, your hand now unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them off of his hips. “Are you sure your okay with this?” Bucky asked, concern wiping over his features. 

“Bucky,” you began to sink down his body, trailing kisses along the way, “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t okay.”

Once you made it down to his navel, you sucked softly on the head of his erection, watching with pride while Bucky threw his head back in a moan. You continued to take him deeper into your mouth, sure to pleasure him in anyway you could. 

It was extremely satisfying to have him writhing beneath your touch. 

“If you want to go any farther than this, I suggest you stop.” He said, his voice husky and laced with pleasure. 

With one last lick, you pulled off. He regained his composure and flipped the two of you over. Bucky reached into the drawer next to the bed and handed you the condom package, “Put it on me.” 

You licked your lips, opening the package and feeling Bucky tense beneath you while you slipped the latex over his member.

His hands pulled off your shorts, and you were completely naked beneath him. “Oh god.” He said, rubbing your clit softly while his lips met yours again. 

You grinded against his fingers, moaning into his mouth. “Jesus christ, just fuck me Bucky.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

He slid into your sex, a simultaneous moan leaving both of your mouths while he steadily rocked his hips back and forth. You couldn’t take his slow pace, so you flipped the two of you again, watching Bucky’s shocked expression. 

His chest heaved and you began to bounce up and down quickly, feeling his nails press into your hips. 

Your hands rested on his chest, your lips coming to his again. 

The feeling of his hot skin against yours was enough to have your head spinning. Everything about him was so hot that you couldn’t quite grasp every detail as you wanted to. He drove you crazy.

“Oh god, I’m going to cum babygirl.” He whispered, his mouth straining to get the words out. 

“Do it.” You whispered, as you could feel your orgasm approaching faster than you anticipated. 

He gripped your hips in his hands, thrusting upward and fast as he could. You tensed around him, your mouth forming an ‘o’ as you felt pleasure course through your body.

Bucky was quick to follow, his eyes close and his bottom lip between his teeth while he came. 

You collapsed onto his chest, feeling it heave beneath you while you pressed a kiss to his collarbone.��

“That work out was so much better than a run.” He said, sucking in as much air as he could. 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

[lorcleis]

tag meme: what i’m writing

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.

Tagged by: the trash monarch @sagemb

Okay so like Amy I am working on ten million things at once so I’m just going to list them in the order that they’ll probably end up done.

numero uno: corinthians, corinthians: sinking, and all corinthians-related projects

I love this fucking series with all of my heart but I’ll probably end up finishing it by the time Dwayne The Rock Johnson becomes president. Here’s an excerpt from chapter 11 of Corinthians:

“You watch your language, Valentina,” Josiah said. His voice had an underlying growl to it that betrayed a hot temper. “You raise your voice to me again and I will double your punishment. You will be shoveling waste until the cows come home.”

 “That analogy doesn’t make any sense!” She shouted. Her hair flew everywhere. “We don’t even have cows!”

An excerpt from Corinthians: Sinking: 

They tell the new guy about the regular, but he still fumbles through his first interaction with him, all thumbs at the cash register and stutters when he speaks.

“Lilies, right?” Jack asks. He fidgets with the ends of his apron.

“Lilies.” Dimitri nods and glances at something on his phone. He couldn’t pay less attention to Jack if he tried.

The metal tip of Jack’s prosthetic leg taps against the tile of the florist shop as he reaches into the back for the ever-present bundle of lilies reserved for their ever-present Sunday customer.

Dimitri glances down at Jack’s leg, but knows better than to ask about someone else’s war wounds. Jack notices his glance and bites his lip.

“Strigoi attack,” Jack says. He places the lilies on the counter gingerly. “They like whole limbs now, I guess.”

Dimitri grunts and Jack is suddenly away of how imposing his frame is in the tiny store. He hands Jack a set of bills and takes the lilies, leaving without another word.

An excerpt from Monarchists: 

“You? You’re in class with them?” Sasha pointed towards the trio, who had moved on from braiding Norah’s hair to reading a book Loren had brought with studious sincerity.

“Astounding, I know,” Kailani said dryly. “But they can’t go it on their own. They might make up water, fire, and air, but they still need earth. Rumor has it, they’re searching for a spirit user as well, but none have turned up in this generation yet.”

As Sasha watched them from afar, Norah lifted her head from the book and made eye contact with him. She had an unscrupulous glance, but her face was so mesmerizingly beautiful it was like staring at the sun. Norah smiled, slow and cat-like. Sasha blinked, looking away in embarrassment.

“Don’t get too attached,” Kailani said, looking at Sasha’s expression. “The last one in their little group died in the spring semester. Brigitte was a bitch, but she didn’t deserve to be pulled apart by Strigoi like a rack of baby-back ribs.”

“And you?” Sasha asked.

“What about me?” Kailani answered.

“Do you think you’ll go the same way?” Sasha turned away from Norah’s group sitting on the grass, but could still feel her gaze on him.

“I like to think that I’ll go out in a more spectacular fashion. Maybe sparklers will be involved.” There was a twinkle in Kailani’s eye.

numero dos: paradise

This is half a short film and half a podcast. I have 10 million ideas running around in my head for Paradise and originally wanted to make it a mockumentary short film, but I think I can do it as a podcast as a proof of concept thing, then make that into a short film when I have the resources.

The town of Paradise is shaken by the murder of the town sweetheart, Kitty Westerfield. When an opportunistic journalism student catches wind of the conspiracies surrounding her death, she begins an investigation that might reveal more than she bargained for.

The Paradise cheer squad set up a memorial for her by her locker. It's decorated with pictures from her Instagram, Facebook, and Snapchat. Her favorite flower is a light pink rose and Laura has made sure her locker is full of them. It smells up the entire hallway; people can barely stand it. It's as if Kitty Westerfield is haunting everyone from beyond the grave.

numero tres: wardlaw gardens

This has been in my back pocket for years and years. I sort of want to start shooting scenes from it, but I’m afraid it will fall flat, you know? My original concept was a four-book series, but I’m thinking it might better suit a TV show.

It was the quiet moments right after midnight when he could finally breathe. Bruise preferred a solitary life, which was something most people never understood. So he came here, to the roof. To the only place where he could think.

He narrowed his eyes as the light flickered again, this time in another window. Someone at Wardlaw was a restless as he was.

The world held its breath.

Bruise stood, shaking the darkness of the night off of him. His cigarette was gone and Monet had disappeared, taking the lighter with him. He made a note to buy another pack from the corner store when they were let off for weekends.

“Goodnight,” Bruise said, half to the world around him and half to the light in the distance, ever-flickering.

He began walking back towards the edge of the fire escape, but turned around to take one last look at the distant outline of Wardlaw Gardens.

The manor home was stately and vast, only the main house visible from the roof of Dumfries’s east wing. All lights were off save for one on the top floor at the far end. The curtains shifted to reveal a figure that Bruise could barely make out through the darkness. He could have sworn she put a finger over her lips.

Quiet.

The bell tower in the village chimed lightly, echoing across the surrounding mountainside and breaking Bruise out of his reverie. He descended the fire escape and entered the east wing of Dumfries through a crack in the back door. It was one o’clock in the morning.

Some call the hour after midnight the witching hour.

numero quatro: stygian

Uh, I just really love PJO/HP crossovers??

numero cinque: other shit i found in my google drive

So there was a thing called The Other Few about an aged child saviour of a fantasy realm that portalled to different places and was framed for murder:

“’Hmm?’ All you have to say to that is ‘hmm?’” Walden was becoming increasingly exasperated.

“Time moves more slowly in the Other Realm,” Isa said. “Hollis and I were taken in the late 1800s, but didn’t come back until recently.”

“No thanks to you,” Hollis said.

“Will you ever let that go?” Isa asked.

“They exiled me into the 1980s,” Hollis said. “It was awful.”

“Okay, so you’re time travelers,” Walden said.

“No,” Hollis and Isa said in unison.

“So you’re aliens,” Walden replied.

“No.”

“Alright,” Walden threw his hands into the air. “I give up.”

Isa sighed. “Hollis and I were soldiers. We were chosen when we were children by people from the Other Realm to help carry out a prophecy, but because we lived in the Other Realm so long there were… side effects.”

“Like your friend here’s translucent skin and my immortality,” Hollis said.

“You get to live forever?” Walden asked.

Hollis leveled a blank stare at him. “Yeah, it’s a hoot.”

Something called Mortuaria that only had a character list???:

NARRATOR

The one who narrates.

CECIL PAIL

A calm child of fourteen years. He is very reserved and considers his words carefully before he says them. Ebenezer’s nephew.

EBENEZER CAIRO

The eccentric owner of the funeral home in town. He may be silly at times, but his beliefs are very firm and he is often closed-minded about the most ridiculous things.

CARTER LANG

The funeral home assistant to Ebenezer. He preps all of the bodies for burial. Carter bears the burden of most of the work and does it with grace and a touch of sarcasm.

CONSTANCE BAUDELAIRE

The eldest sister in the Baudelaire coven. She has had to play mother after their father died and their mother succumbed to the darkness. She is strong-willed and always ready for an argument. Constance helps protect the reapers within the funeral home.

MAGDALENA BAUDELAIRE

The middle child of the Baudelaire coven. Maggie is the soft side to everything and a social butterfly, often complimenting Constance’s rougher side.

CARYS AND IVA BAUDELAIRE

The youngest girls in the Baudelaire coven and twins. Carys is handy with potions magic but cannot seem to perform spells on her own. Iva has a wealth of power but rejects the notion of witches.

RHYS IRONS

A well-dressed demon with a Queen’s English accent. He is often dressed in fine suits and pines after Constance.

AMARINTHE KAR

The nephilim librarian and caretaker of the Historic Lindley house. Cecil’s tutor. She’s a spitfire of a woman that gets along better with the elder residents of the town than people her own age.

ADELAIDE AND BRAM PAIL

Cecil’s parents. Seafaring treasure hunters that were lost at sea after searching for the pirate ship Perroux.

THE VERY IMPORTANT MEN

Two men that send Cecil to live with his uncle, claiming to be from the government. There is something inhuman about their very dark hair and very nice suits.

TAXI DRIVER

The man who is hired by the Very Important Men to take Cecil to Ebenezer’s house.

Hell, the precursor to Paradise and definitely a short film that will win me an Oscar:

A prom queen goes missing in the small town of Hell, prompting questions about the mysterious crack in the earth that lay just outside of the city limits.

BETTI (V.O.)

Did you ever stop to think--

UP FROM BLACK

CUT TO: MAIN ROAD

Betti is riding her bike. We see the town sign.

INTERCUT: BEHIND THE HIGH SCHOOL

Betti and Theo are sharing a joint.

BETTI (cont’d)

--that our town is pretty weird?

CUT TO: AN OPEN FIELD

Betti wakes up next to the crack. Aerial shot of the crack.

THEO

Nah. It’s the suburbs.

CUT TO: VARIOUS

Kellianne Hamilton smiles widely at a bake sale. Children play in a playground. Teenagers laugh encouragingly.

Desperate grabs inside of a coat closet. The wicked glint of blood being licked off of teeth. Someone knocks someone else out with the blunt end of a knife handle.

THEO

How bad can it be?

And an amazing script for a movie called Grace Under Pressure about a girl who was cheated on by the lead singer in the band she manages, he’s kicked out, she has to babysit her sister’s genius non-binary kid for the summer, the lead singer winds up dead, and the entire band rally’s around stealing the lead singer’s ashes and sprinkling them all over America on a road trip.

I tage: @objectiveheartmuscle @gigi256 @doubtthestarsarefire and @alyssiamking