I need help with the title of a fic. Iits a SteveBuckyNat fic, its a university fic where Bucky and Nat are dating and Steve is Bucky's bestfriend/roommate. I remember in this fic Nat says "but we're bicycle (or tricycle)" In this one I remember a mention of Steve's instagram and there was a kiss between Nat and Steve after all three of them get drunk, there's pizza too, please help
Hi there! This isn’t ringing any bells for me (unless it’s Pretty Boy with a Bird Tattoo, which is a SteveBuckyNat college AU I keep meaning to read...). When I filtered for SteveBuckyNat + “Alternate Universe - College/University”, there weren’t too many results, so you might try looking through them? Or if somebody who follows knows, feel free to shout it out!
"Tell me how you want me." - Romanogers, pls. You're an amazing writer, btw 8)
“romanogers, 4, 7, 17,18, 22, 25” requested by an anon + “For Romanogers 23 and 47, thanks!” requested by another anon + “Romanogers + Hands on hips. Thrusts from behind +I still feel you inside me + The messier it is, the better” requested by @thoughtsandlife23
This takes place between Civil War and Infinity War because this post has recently made me obsessed with “a little dangerous” Steve.
also I went a little overboard with this so sorry it took so long
4. Whispers in her ear while fucking. + 7. On your knees and looking up. + 17. Hands on hips. Thrusts from behind. + 18. The messier it is, the better. + 22. Feeling him come inside of you. + 23. Be loud. Let the neighbors hear. + 25. Just how wet can you get? + 28. Tell me how you want me. + 38. I still feel you inside me. + 47. When the thrusting does not stop.
(six sexy words, round vi)
She’s barely turned at the sound of the door unlocking when she feels his hands on her, tugging her back and slamming the door shut when he all but throws her against it. She’s vaguely aware of the keycard falling to the floor – the keycard she slipped into his pocket only twenty minutes ago, when she had purposefully bumped into him on the crowded city street – before his lips are slanting over hers, his fingers combing into her hair and gripping, twisting, making her lips part wide in a sharp gasp so he can push his tongue against hers. She can feel every ounce of his frustration simmering just below the surface of his skin, his body taut as it presses her harder against the door, making the wood creak as he kisses and kisses her.
And she can’t help but want to smile, just a little, a strange mix of relief and worry unfurling in her stomach. Because there’s a reason why he’s a little bit unhinged, a reason that she can’t imagine is good, but she’s relieved that he came to her on his own like this, just as she asked. Just as she insisted. He needs a release, a way to take out all of his frustrations before they swallow him whole, yet he had never entirely let go with her, even though he knew she could handle it. Not until she coaxed it out of him, provoked him until all of that tension and helplessness and anger boiled over, bleeding into his every kiss, his every bite and his every thrust, until she was sated and sore.
And afterward, when he’d curled himself around her and kissed every bruise on her that his teeth and fingers left in the throes of pleasure, he finally understood that it was as much of a release for her as it was for him. That, for every second he craved to be in control again, she craved to give it up, to not have to think and anticipate and look over her shoulder, just for a moment.
Just with him.
Before she can ask what happened, what has him shaking, he draws back, just a breath away, and leans his forehead against hers. “Checked in with Wanda,” he murmurs against the corner of her mouth, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, but she doesn’t even flinch. “She’s alright, just a little banged up.”
“You weren’t there for her.”
His hands tighten, jaw ticking in irritation, though she knows it’s at her words and the truth behind them, but not at her. Never her.
“I can’t be. Not when she insists on separating. She’d be safer with us.”
“Maybe,” she breathes against his mouth, lips ghosting over hers in the tease of a kiss. “But there’s also a danger in traveling like that when you’re on the run.”
He knows. Of course he does, and he feels helpless, knowing that there’s no real way to keep her safe, no matter what they choose to do. It gets under his skin, stirs at his composure every single time, but the fact that Wanda had shown up to their rendezvous with more than scratch on her has riled him more so than usual.
So Natasha twists her fingers into his hair, stretches on her toes and whispers, right into his ear: “Tell me how you want me.”
And he knows what she means, because he always does.
Tell me what you need from me. Tell me how to help.
He grasps her face with both hands, tugs her back in and kisses her hard and deep and quick, before yanking back with a heavy exhale, his eyes burning.
“On your knees and looking up,” he says, an answer and a command all at once as his eyes dart down to her cotton sleep shorts, her thin tank top. His lips tug at one corner. “Naked,” he adds, a dangerous sort of glint in his gaze.
She just barely suppresses a smirk. “Obviously.”
His lips tug a little wider, but his expression is still expectant, and his stare is practically palpable against her skin as she shimmies out of her shorts, pulling her panties down with them, and then takes the bottom of her tank top by the hem and pulls it over her head. His throat flexes in a swallow, and she places her hands on his hips as if for balance as she sinks onto her knees.
But when she goes to undo the front of his jeans, he grasps her wrists, pulling them off. He places them back on his hips, then cups her cheek with one hand as he pulls her forward, ever so slightly, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip as he brings her close to where he’s growing hard for her. She can practically see the tension dissolving from his body, every muscle ebbing and easing, falling back into controlled composure as he peers down at her.
Then he smiles – crooked and boyish and so very Steve – and Natasha feels a warmth shoot down her spine, unfurling low in her stomach.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, threading his fingers into her hair, massaging at her scalp, and she very nearly mewls at the sensation, eyelashes fluttering.
“That I can still feel you inside me,” she murmurs, leaning back into his touch as the heat coils and coils inside of her. Staring up into his eyes with that smile on his face, all she can see is the way he moved above her the last time they had been together, knowing they would be leaving each other for a week or so, just to ditch the attention they could feel themselves drawing after being in the same city for so long. She thinks about how he’d worn that same smile, had that same look in his eyes as she writhed under him, nails digging into his back as he kept thrusting in and out of her, even in the peak of her pleasure. She can practically feel him inside of her, stretching her out, filling her deep, pulsing against her sensitive flesh as her orgasm washed over her and tightened around him.
“When I was beneath you, guiding your hips over mine?” He arches an eyebrow as his smile grows ever so slightly, and she feels her nipples tighten, feels her folds grow warmer, wetter. “Or when I was over you, pinning your hands above your head as I took and took and took, no matter how wrung out you felt?”
“Steve,” she breathes, her skin tingling, her stomach flipping.
Even his dirty talk sounds elegant.
And, as if hearing her thoughts, he continues with: “Just how wet can you get from listening to me? From only remembering me inside of you?”
Show me. He may not say the words, but the command is there in his eyes, in the quiet control she finds, and so she reaches between her legs, holding his gaze as she slides her fingers through her wetness – and oh, is she wet. She feels slick, and one stroke of her fingers has her spine curling, has her lips parting wider, wishing it was his fingers instead. He bends, crouching down to her eye level, and then he’s grasping her wrist and drawing her wet fingers to his mouth, closing his lips around them and groaning at the taste of her.
Of course, all this does is make her wetter.
His breaths grow heavier and shorter, his eyes darting over every inch of her bared skin before meeting her gaze again, heady and hungry.
“Later, I’ll fuck you slow and sweet,” he says, voice low, as if speaking any louder might shatter his control right now. “Later, I’ll take my time.”
But now, I’ll be quick and I’ll be rough, he doesn’t say, and she nearly whimpers.
She’s not one to beg, ever. But Steve is her exception.
He always has been.
“Please,” she breathes, not waiting for a response before she’s pulling cupping his face in her hands and drawing his lips to her, tasting herself on his tongue. But he pulls away too quick, too soon, standing straight and shrugging out of his coat, then pulling off his shirt, tossing them to the floor, and she stays kneeling and staring up at him as he starts to walk around her. She starts to turn, to look over her shoulder to hold his gaze, but he arches an eyebrow and she breathes out a laugh and turns forward again, biting her lower lip as she listens to the rustle of his belt coming undone.
Then she feels him settling behind her, feels his chest curling against her back and guiding her forward, until her palms are flat on the floor, bracing her upright as his body fits against hers. It’s always perfect, the way they come together, the way it feels for every part of him to press against every part of her. She can feel the heat radiating off of his skin, feels where his length is pressing against the inside of her thigh, already slick with her arousal. He brings a hand between them, skims his teeth against the back of her neck as his fingers find her tight little bundle of nerves, circling and circling. Her eyelashes flutter closed, her lips parting in a breathy moan.
Until he moves, guiding himself into her, one hand gripping her hip as he slides into her in one smooth, deep thrust.
“Oh.”
Her nails dig into the carpet, her chin tipping forward as he falls into a quick pace inside of her. It’s always so much deeper like this, his thrusts more brutal and his body heavier above hers as he takes and takes. Pleasure coils down her spine in ringlets, the pressure tightening between her legs as her body flutters around him in quick pulses. Already, it feels too much, too quick, and then his hand is on her thigh, pressing her legs wider apart, and she keens out a moan at the way she tightens around him, at the way he slides his fingers up, sliding through her wet sex and finding her throbbing bud.
His thumb is gentle as his pace grows faster, harder, ever ounce of his frustration and helplessness from moments ago being pushed against her with every sharp jut of his hips. She brings a hand out, presses the back of it against her mouth to stifle a sharp cry, but then Steve is tugging her arm away, drawing it back around his neck, and a desperate sound tears from the back of her throat at how the change of angle makes him brush against that sweet spot inside of her.
“Be loud,” he growls, whispering in her ear as he fucks her. “Let the neighbors hear,” he adds, making her inhale sharply, moan loudly, simply at the thought. For two people who need to survive on slipping undetected, Steve craves her every sound, never wanting her to hold back. As if, even while they’re tucked within the walls of this small, shitty motel room in a city they’ll probably forget about in a few months, he wants to it to be known that he’s with her. That he’s hers just as she’s his. He’s impatient for the day they don’t have to hide it from the world, for when he can simply enjoy her presence in front of everyone, and being the stubborn man that he is, he’ll get as close to it as possible, even if it means strangers can hear her coming undone through the thin walls of their room.
She comes with a gasp, tapering off into a stuttered whimper of a moan as her pleasure crashes over her in harsh, smothering waves. She nearly falls forward from the force of it, only heightened when his thrusting doesn’t stop, but then his arm comes around her and holds her against his chest as he sits back against his calves and thrusts up into her. She writhes, neck arching, body bowing, and she can feel her arousal between them, making every slick, messy, but it only makes Steve groan louder, thrust harder. His finger swipes through her wetness and paints it against her skin, against his, as if the messier they are, the better it feels.
And it must, because in seconds, she feels Steve’s body tighten against hers as his teeth bite down on the lobe of her ear, hard, but she doesn’t feel it.
All she feels is him coming inside of her, his warmth unfurling in coils of heat – a sensation that pushes her over that dizzying edge yet again, and then she’s coming undone around him, with him, with his hand in her hair as he twists her head towards his and kisses her messily, desperately, everything between them feeling heady and heavy.
Slowly, slowly, she feels his body easing, practically slumping back as he holds them both upright. She feels weightless, hazy with pleasure, and his kisses slow into something sweeter and softer, until he pulls away and presses his face against her cheek so she can try to catch her breath.
“Better?” she asks, the word coming out slightly slurred.
He hums, massaging his thumb against her scalp where his hand is still tangled in her hair. “Always,” he murmurs, the words warm and rough against her ear, and then he lifts his head to press a kiss against her temple. “Always with you.” Then his lips curve into a smirk. “But I think I still need a little more comfort.”
She eyelashes flutter open as she peers over her shoulder, meeting his twinkling eyes. “You’re that frustrated, huh?” she asks, and his lips twitch into that smile she loves too much.
Title: Rose Colored Memories
Fandom: Arrow
Rating: Mature
Pairings/Characters: Sara Lance/Nyssa Al Ghul
Summary: Sharing a quiet moment.
Timeline: pre-series
Word Count: 788
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Berlanti Productions, DC Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Television.
Betas: Thank you to angelskuuipo and shanachie for looking this over for me.
Author's Note: Happy Belated Birthday @thoughtsandlife23
Author's Note 2: Inspired by this photo prompt at @wordsfrompictures
"Tell me a childhood memory," Nyssa requested, turning her head from where it lay on Sara's stomach to look up at her beloved's beautiful face. "A happy one."
Sara continued to run her fingers through Nyssa's thick, dark hair as she tried to think of a good story to share with the woman who had changed her life.
Sara pulled Nyssa up until they were lying side by side, facing each other, then pulled the blanket up over their shoulders, warding off the chill of the stone room. She took a moment to admire the way the candlelight flickered across Nyssa's bare shoulders before beginning her story.
"This is one of my best memories from my childhood," she began. "There was a park not far from my home and in the winter they would create an ice skating rink once it was cold enough. They rented out ice skates, but being the brat that I was, I made my parents buy me my own."
"You made them?" Nyssa questioned, a teasing lilt to her voice.
"Well, I pestered them until they got them for me for my birthday," Sara clarified. "I wouldn't shut up about it until they caved to save their own sanity."
"Go on," Nyssa encouraged.
"When I was eight, I had this great red coat with a matching hat. I remember feeling so grown up when I wore them. It wasn't some bulky down coat that swallowed me whole, but it was tailored with a black velvety collar with more of the black velvet around my wrists and I loved it.
I loved ice skating as a kid. Flying across the ice or spinning faster and faster until the world blurred around me - I couldn't get enough of it. Every day after school I'd beg my parents to take me to the rink. All that I wanted to do was be out on the ice. The days that it snowed while I was out there were magical."
"Wasn't it freezing?"
"Probably, yeah." Sara shrugged. "But as a kid I barely noticed it. Or maybe I did and I just don't remember. All I remember now is the joy that I felt out on the ice."
"Did you skate competitively?" Nyssa asked.
Sara shook her head. "I would have loved to, but no, we couldn't afford the coaches or private rink time, so I just skated every chance that I got."
"That was a lovely memory, thank you," Nyssa said, pulling Sara down for a kiss.
When they parted, Sara asked, "Did you ever go ice skating as a kid?"
"Does this seem like a place that would have an ice skating rink?" Nyssa retorted with a snort.
"Well, no, but you were taken out into the world growing up, weren't you?"
"Yes," Nyssa hesitantly admitted. "I was educated abroad, but my boarding schools frowned on their students doing anything like having fun."
Sara rolled over until she was lying half on top of Nyssa, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "On our next mission, we should go ice skating."
Nyssa couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her. "And when do you expect us to have time to do something so frivolous as ice skating? You know the rules. We cannot stray from our mission."
Sara flopped onto her back. "I know." She rolled back onto her side to look at Nyssa. "When do we get some time off?"
Nyssa sighed, her fingertip tracing the freckles on Sara's pale cheeks. "There is no 'time off' from the League, Beloved. You know this."
"I do," Sara acknowledged. "I just want to go be a normal couple. Just for a few hours, I want to be out in the world having fun with my girlfriend. Is that too much to ask?"
"To ask? Yes, it is." Nyssa said, apologetically. "It is a lovely dream, though. And now I've ruined the mood and made you sad."
"No, you haven't ruined anything. I just got caught up in the fantasy, that's all."
A wicked glint flickered in Nyssa's eyes as she trailed her fingers down Sara's neck and arm until she could tease a nipple. "And what other fantasies would you care to share with me?"
Sara's breath hitched as Nyssa continued to tease her. "Wouldn't you...like...to know," she panted.
"Oh, I would," Nyssa said, sliding down the bed until she could take Sara's other nipple in her mouth.
Sara's hands fisted in Nyssa's hair. "Why don't I show you instead?"
Nyssa hummed her agreement against Sara's flesh and Sara guided her mouth farther down her body.
These were much better fantasies to indulge in, she thought to herself. And wonderful memories to create.
Nyssa just happens to look over to Sara as she is doing the dishes. The light from the window in front of her is illuminating her blonde hair, making it look as if she has a halo. Her brilliant little bird, so much like a saint in this moment.
Her eyes travel downward, where Sara’s fingers drip as she lifts them out of the soapy water, and Nyssa has to turn away to hide the blush that springs to her face. With thoughts of Sara’s fingers dripping with something else, she thinks Sara might not be so saintly.
As a distraction, she runs her own hands over the books lining the wall in front of her. Internally, she startles when Sara’s voice calls out, closer than she thought she was.
Sara’s wet hands catch her cheeks as she turns and the blonde presses her mouth against Nyssa’s before smirking, “Is that a blush?”
Nyssa’s blush only broadens as she scowls. “You’re like a bloodhound for impure thoughts.”
Sara’s face lights up and she presses Nyssa backwards against the wall, leg between her thighs. “I’ll show you impure.”
Ray Palmer is one of six astronauts sent on a rescue mission of a previous crew on the Europa outpost by Jupiter after their communications stopped suddenly. When they arrive, the first thing they find is the body of the commander, followed soon after by members of the other crew. Eventually, a survivor, Nora Darhk, is found and brought aboard the ship to come back to Earth. Ray, the medic of the crew, takes it upon himself to look after her and starts to form a close bond with her. She can’t remember what happened to her previous crew, but Ray tells her he’s happy she made it out.
He doesn’t notice the star in her eye for weeks, not until the engineer is found with his throat ripped out.
If you have the time: Nyssara + Kisses On The Neck
i think most of my fills for these prompts are just going to be nyssara pre-arrow fuckery because it seems like a long slow burn/long relationship considering 5 years???? just redo arrow but from sara’s perspective give me that shit
There are moments when she loves coming back to Nanda Parbat after training with her father. Where she sees what her father sees in the world. Where she sees her true purpose. It isn’t pretty and ideal like she’d want it to be. Sometimes it burns to watch.
So when she comes back and finds Sara sleeping in her room, Nyssa smiles. Thankful that Sara doesn’t have to go out in the world and do what she has to do. Yet.
Sara rouses easily when she comes back, not alarmed at her presence like she used to be. She wakes up, with a small ruffle of her hair, eyes still half awake as she pads across the room to Nyssa. She strips Nyssa free of her cloak.
Nyssa lets her. All the while stroking Sara’s beautiful blonde hair.
“Welcome home,” Sara greets quietly. She untucks Nyssa’s long sleeve from her trousers, hands warming her body as she unbuttons her pants.
“Thank you, habibti,” Nyssa says. She pulls off her shirt to let Sara pull down her pants. She steps out of them, while Sara waits patiently.
Nyssa catches her eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes through the candlelit room. It makes her heart skip a beat to see Sara stare up at her in awe and wonder. There’s so much tenderness and love. Sara reaches up to stroke her hair and Nyssa closes her eyes, commiting the touch to memory.
“Are you feeling okay?” Sara asks instinctively.
Nyssa smiles, opening her eyes again. “Yes, of course.” She slides her arms around Sara’s waist. Sara wraps her arms around Nyssa’s neck in response.
Sara stares skeptically.
“Honestly,” Nyssa insists. “It’s good to be back here with you.” She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t let Sara see what she sees. Instead, she lifts Sara up into her arms and buries her face in Sara’s neck. She kisses her neck with gentle nibbles of her flesh. It tickles Sara, Nyssa knows that and keeps tickling her sensitive flesh with her lips. Sara giggles against Nyssa and she lets herself be carried back to Nyssa’s bed.
24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?
That would be Sara, much to Nyssa’s annoyance. Nyssa is a professional. She doesn’t like to have distractions when the job is on the line. She often warns Sara to not do that, but Sara does not listen and does it anyway. Nyssa gets back at her though, later in the night, behind closed doors...
