#Writing challenge
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stranded (one-shot)



summary: your car breaks down on the side of the road and a stranger decides to help you out... and you have no choice but to accept his help.
pairing: no outbreak/dark!joel miller x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), DUBCON - please read at own risk / heed warnings!, stockholm syndrome, unprotected p in v, rough sex, manhandling, oral sex (m receiving), orgasm denial, begging, creampie, joel ties you up, spanking, light choking, fingering, age gap (reader is in 30s, joel is in 50s), no use of y/n. word count: 5.1k a/n: and here's yet another story where i'm stepping out of my comfort zone. i've always wanted to write dark!joel, but felt like i couldn't do it justice... but then ali's (@pedgito) hosting a writing challenge (spring fever) and i figured... why not? i chose backwoods horror #1 STRANDED/SIDE OF THE ROAD. please heed the warnings, y'all. this is gonna be very dark and filthy, so if you're not into that sort of thing, that's ok!
You had no idea what you were thinkingâtaking a solo cross country road trip after quitting your job. Maybe you thought that youâd find yourself, find some kind of purpose that was lacking in your life, but instead, youâre stranded on the side of the road. Gas empty, no cell service, and phone already on its last battery.Â
This is where youâre going to dieâyouâre sure of it. Itâs how all horror movies start and despite the sun still high in the sky, youâre increasingly getting worried about what could happen when night falls. You scream at the top of your lungs, the sound echoing through the vast empty void.Â
God, no one would hear you scream for help if you were in real danger and that thought simply frightens you. Your friends had all but praised you for this tripâthis journey to self-discovery and reflection. Your parents, on the other hand, had already been concerned when you said you would be alone on this trip. A woman, traveling the world by herself? Well, thatâs just asking for trouble, they said.Â
And now you understand their concern. You understand their fear about you traveling all alone because of where you are nowâin the middle of fucking nowhere. You should have refilled your gas when you had the chance, should have charged your phone while you were driving. Should have, should have, should have.Â
10%âyour phone reads. You try to send a text to your parents, to send them your location, but every attempted text just comes back with the message in red text and an exclamation point next to it: NOT DELIVERED! You raise your phone in the sky, hoping that maybe youâll get one bar of service, but no luck.Â
The trip had been successful, up until this point. You were in Texas, that you were sure of. But where in Texas? You had no fucking clue.Â
You lean against the side of your carâthe sun glaring down at you and you can feel a thin sheet of sweat on the side of your neck. Why did you think this was even a good idea? Traveling cross country without a planâhow fucking naive.Â
Your battery drains fast and your phone finally shuts off. You let out a quiet sigh of frustration and open the passenger door of your car to toss your useless phone inside. Just as youâre about to climb in, you hear a faint noise of a car engine. Suddenly, you feel hopefulâmaybe you wonât die here after all.
The sudden excitement that you feel overpowers the possibility that what youâre doing is absolutely dangerous. Youâre waving your arms in the air, trying to track down the person in the car whoâs making their way in your direction. Itâs possible that this person whose truck is slowing down as it nears you could very well be a serial killer, but what choice did you have?Â
The truck pulls up behind your car and quickly, you run over to your savior. Your hero.Â
âHi. My carâs dead, my phoneâs dead, and I just need a lift to the next gas station... Or any place where I can use a phone to give someone a call,â you blurt out, breathing heavily.Â
He turns his head slightly in your directionâeyes gazing at your face, then down to your shoulders and the rest of your body that he can see from the driverâs side. Youâre leaning against the opened window of the passenger side of the truck. You donât belong here, he knows that for sure.Â
âNext gas station is in the next town over,â he finally answers.Â
âCould you give me a lift there? I can pay you. Let me just grab my things andââ
âNo need,â he interrupts, voice low. âIâm headinâ in that direction anyway. Get in.â
You grin and Joelâs jaw ticks briefly. God, youâre beautiful and itâs truly been a long time since heâs been withâ
âPromise you wonât kill me?â you laugh, climbing into his truck and interrupting his thoughts.Â
Joel finally takes in the rest of your frame and can immediately feel his length stirring beneath his dark jeans. His hands grip the steering wheel to ease some pressure, but youâre still talking and youâre laughing and it shoots straight to the center of his pants. It must be his lucky day.Â
âIf I were to kill you, I donât think Iâd be confessing that, darlinâ,â he answers���the corners of his lips lift slightly. Oh, you had no idea what you just got into by climbing into his truck.Â
âRight,â you reply. âThatâs a good point.â You look at himâtaking note of his damp hair thatâs slicked away from his face, his broad frame, salt and pepper patchy beard. You realize that he must be in his fifties, but you canât help but notice how handsome he is. Thatâs a good sign, you think. He wonât hurt you. Heâs going to drop you off in the next town and hopefully, youâll be able to head back home in the morning.Â
âIâm guessing you live around here?â you ask, feeling the truck move back onto the main street. You glance out the window, watching your car become smaller and smaller as Joel drives further away from it.Â
âYeah,â he answers. âGuessinâ you ainât from around here.â
âThat obvious?âÂ
He just nods. Joel needs to focus on the road ahead of him. He has to make it seem like heâs not a threat, like heâs not just about to take you directly to his home. His secluded home.Â
You introduce yourself formally, telling him your name and turning your body to face him. âWhatâs your name?â
âJoel.â
âYouâre a man of few words, arenât you?â you smile in his direction and Joel glances at you from the corner of his eyes.Â
âNot much to say.â
âWell, how long is the drive to the next town? If you donât have music, Iâm gonna end up talking. I donât usually like it when itâs too quiet on a drive andââ
âItâs about fifteen minutes,â he interrupts. âRadio is busted.âÂ
âSo talking it is then.â
âNo use in talkinâ if we ainât gonna be seeinâ each other after this.âÂ
âI guess youâre right,â you answer with a sigh. You try to remain quiet, fidgeting with your hands as you stare out the window. Every few seconds or so, you glance over at him and you canât fully read his expression. Heâs so stoic that thereâs a part of you that feels like an inconvenience to him. Maybe he should have just kept on driving.Â
âHow long were you stranded for?â Joel asks.Â
âAbout a couple of hours. Couldnât get reception to call someone.â
âYeah, phones donât work out here.â Joel shrugs. âYou eat anythinâ yet?âÂ
You shake your head. âSkipped breakfast this morning to get on the road.â
âMy place is just a couple of minutes away,â Joel says. âI need to grab a few things. Got some food and water for you,â he offers.Â
You smile and reach out to rest a hand on his forearm. Itâs an innocent gesture, but it makes Joel shift in the driverâs seat. Your touch is so soft, so gentle and he flexes his arm underneath your fingertips. âYouâre sweet, Joel. That sounds great. I am starving.âÂ
Joel bites back a smirk. Heâs got you right where he wants you.Â
Your hand drops from his arm and thereâs a subtle frown that settles on his lips before he pulls off the main road. Within minutes, Joel pulls up to his secluded home. When he shuts off the car, he looks over at you and youâre still smiling.Â
âThis is a cute place, Joel,â you tell him, climbing out of the truck.Â
He follows you and rounds the truck until heâs standing behind you. His fingers itch to reach out to touch youâespecially when you raise your arms over your head to stretch, the ends of your shirt lifting just above the waistband of your denim shorts. He wants to touch every inch of you and he lets out a quiet grunt when you accidentally fall back against him.Â
âSorry,â you say, looking over at him from over your shoulder.Â
âSâfine,â Joel mumbles and then walks past you to walk towards his front door. He unlocks it and opens it for you, watching you step across the threshold as you look around with curiosity.Â
âItâs very dark in here,â you point out, walking further into his home. You see a light switch on the wall and flip it on, illuminating his entire home. Surprisingly, Joelâs large hand encompasses your wrist in a tight grip. You let out a quiet gasp and turn around to look up at himâeyes wide, lips slightly parted.Â
âYou always like to make yourself comfortable in a strangerâs home?â he asks with a threatening tone.Â
âSâsorry,â you whisper, trying to pull your wrist away from his grip but he doesnât budge. His grip just tightens. âJoel, youâre hurting me.â
âPretty little thing,â he mumbles, stepping closer to you. âItâs like you were waitinâ fâme out there,â Joel says quietly.Â
âJoelââ
âShh.â Joel brings a finger up to your lips and his eyes drift down, moving his thumb to brush against you. âShh, baby.âÂ
âI think I want to leave now,â you answer. âI think I just want to head into town andââ
âOh darlinâ,â he grins. âAinât no town for at least another fifty or some miles.âÂ
âBâBut you saidââ
âGuilty,â Joel interrupts, turning you so that your back presses against the wall. He cages you in, hand still gripping your wrist as the other comes up to rest gently over your throat. âMâsorry I lied to ya.âÂ
Your eyes widen in horror, the realization finally hitting you like a freight train. You had spent most of the drive admiring himâhis broad frame, his quiet and mysterious nature, his large hands that gripped the steering wheel, his husky southern accentâthat you ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach.Â
This was a bad idea.Â
Getting into his truck was a bad fucking idea.Â
âI just want to go home,â you whisper. âPlease just let me go home andââ
âShh,â he repeats. Joel steps closer to you, his nose brushing against your own. âGonna keep you here all to myself. Been a while since I had a little plaything like yourself.âÂ
You shake your head. âPlease, Iâll give you all the money I have back in my car.â
âDonât want your money. Want you.âÂ
âJoelââ
âLove the way my name comes out of your mouth, darlinâ. Say it again.â
You shake your head, closing your mouth shut. You know youâre in danger, but youâre not sure why you feel a familiar wetness pool between your legs. Your body is responding to himâto this stranger⌠this handsome fucking stranger who can easily strangle you if he wanted to.Â
âSay. It. Again,â he repeats.
âJoel,â you whisper.Â
âGood girl,â Joel grins proudly. He drops his hand from your throat and releases his grip around your wrist. He stares into your eyes, searching for any hesitation or any inclination that youâre going to run and leave. He sees your eyes flicker to the front door and he narrows his eyesâhis large hand once more coming up to splay against your throat. Joel applies just a bit of pressure and he watches your eyes go wide again. âWouldnât think about it, if I were you.âÂ
You beg with your eyesâapologetic and pleading for him to just let you go. âIâll be good,â you mumble against his grip. âI promise. IâIâll be good.â
âWeâre gonna have a lot of fun,â Joel nods, releasing his grip around your throat. âAnd I bet if I were to reach between your legs, Iâd feel just how fuckinâ wet you are fâme, wonât I?â
You shake your head in defiance. âNâNoâŚâÂ
Joel lets out a chuckle. âMmm, that so?â He tugs on the waistband of your denim shorts and pulls you to him. Heâs so rough and thereâs an excitement that courses through your veins. He tugs down your shorts and panties down your legs, looking down at your white lacy thong with a grin. He can see a blotch of wetness and brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply as he lets out a contented sigh. âI bet you taste fuckinâ good too,â he whispers.Â
You suddenly feel self-conscious and your hands immediately move to try and tug down the end of your shirt to cover your lower half. Joel just shakes his head and grabs your wrists to pin them above your head against the wall. You squirm against his grip and he kicks your legs apart, stepping in front of you to keep them spread open. His free hand comes down and immediately runs the pads of his fingers across the length of your sexâyour body betrays you because you let out a quiet whimper as you arch your back against his touch.Â
âWet,â he points out. âYou like this, donât you?âÂ
You shake your head.Â
âLiar,â he chuckles. Joel wastes no time in sliding two of his thick fingers past your foldsâyour warm, tight, and so fucking wet that a large grin spreads across his lips.Â
You squirm against him at the sudden and rough intrusion, eyes gazing up at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust and more than likely sinister thoughts, but you canât help but notice his grin and the cute fucking dimple that appears on his cheek. You shouldnât like this, but your body is yearning for more. Yearning for him.Â
Joelâs thick fingers plunge into you repeatedlyâhis other hand gripping your wrists so tight above your head that youâre sure thereâs going to be bruises. You shut your eyes tightly, keeping your lips in a thin line and forcing yourself to stay quiet because you know that if you make a sound, itâs only going to fuel him further.Â
His eyes stare deeply at you and youâre so wet that Joelâs fingers pump into you with ease. He can see you struggling against his grip and he leans closer, lips near your ear as he whispers huskily. âLemme hear you, baby.âÂ
You shake your head in defiance, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. You suck in a breath when his thumb brushes against your clit and a quietâalmost inaudibleâmoan escapes your lips.Â
âAh, darlinâ,â Joel grins, gently nipping at your earlobe. His grip around your wrists loosen just slightly and heâs distracted, yearning to pull more sounds out of you and it gives you just the right moment to push him away. You miss his fingers immediately, a loud squelch echoing the walls when his fingers slip out of you.Â
With as much strength as you can muster, you shove him so hard that he stumbles backwards with a grunt. You look around haphazardly, eyes wide, heart beating out of your chest. Youâre very well aware that your lower half is bare, but you think maybe you can make a run for itâyou just need to grab his keys, run out the door into his truck and drive away.Â
You glance over your shoulder and Joel chuckles. He fucking laughs at your poor attempt at running away because he takes three strides in your direction and takes a fistful of your hair. You let out a loud yelp and heâs already quick to bend you over the back of his couchâthe edge of it digging into your lower abdomen.
Youâre already trying to squirm away, but his grip in your hair tightens and pain rushes through you. Youâre about to beg him to stop, to beg him to let you go, but you feel his free hand connect with your backside. The slap reverberates through your entire being and the sound of his hand coming in contact with your ass echoes through his quiet home.Â
âYou just got here, baby,â he growlsâhe doesnât let up, your skin already reddening with each spank. âYou canât leave me yet.â
âIâIââ you mumble and your body reacts automatically, pushing back into him. âPlease!âÂ
âMâgonna have to tie you up, I think,â Joel grins. âJust to make sure you donât pull that shit again.â
Your ass is beginning to sting and you try to scramble away, but Joel pulls you upright against him. His large hands move to your hips, fingertips digging into you as he uses your body to rub his bulge against you.Â
âI think youâre gonna feel real good around me,â he whispers into your hair, hand sliding over your abdomen and down between your legs. âYouâre actinâ like you ainât enjoyinâ this, but youâre so fuckinâ wet fâme.âÂ
He begins to circle your clit with the pads of his fingers and it causes your back to arch against him, hands darting out to rest on the edge of the couch. A loud moan finally escapes your lips and Joel lets out a low growl at the soundâhe wants to hear more of it, craves more of it.Â
âFrom the way youâre squirminâ,â he continues, âMakes me wonder if youâve been neglected.âÂ
You shake your headâlying. Â
âOh? Got a boyfriend back home, hm?âÂ
You shake your head again.
âPoor little thing,â Joel mumbles, head dipping down to the side of your neck as he presses his soft lips against you. It causes a shiver to run through youâhis soft lips and his rough beard. âDonât worry, baby. Iâm here now. Iâll take care of ya.â

Youâre an absolute mess by the time Joelâs done with you. Youâre lying on his mattress, hands bound by rope and attached to the headboard. Youâre completely bare for him and heâs brought you to the edge of orgasm too many times to count that youâre practically begging for some release.Â
His hands are surprisingly gentle when he settles himself back between your legs and it causes you to flinch. His fingertips brush against your hardened nipples, dark bruises already forming around it from his love bitesâhe liked to call it.Â
âYouâre soakinâ my sheets, honey,â he grins.Â
âThen let me fucking come!â you retaliate with a huff. Your eyes go wide the minute it leaves your mouth and youâre already trying to scramble away from him, despite being all tied up.Â
Joel laughs again. âYouâre cute when youâre angry, baby⌠but letâs not forget whoâs in charge here.âÂ
He finally pulls the ends of his shirt over his head and you lift your own head off the pillow to get a good look at him. Thereâs no way this fucking man is in his fiftiesâyou shake your head of the thoughts that begin to fill your mind. He has you here held captive and youâre sure that heâs going to kill you once heâs gotten what he needed.Â
But you canât help it.Â
Joelâs fucking gorgeous.Â
Is this what Stockholm syndrome is? Attracted to your captor? Whatever the fuck it is, youâre squirming impatiently. Thereâs a dull throb between your legs, an ache, a need for him to give you what you need.Â
And he smiles. The same fucking dimple that appeared earlier that day is now in full display because Joel knows heâs got you right where he wants you.Â
âGonna be a good girl fâme? No more fightinâ back?â Joel begins, reaching down to tug his boxers down his strong legs. Once the fabric is gone from his body, your eyes widen once more at the sheer size of him. Girthy. Leaking at the tip. Youâre not sure if itâd fit inside of you and Joel notices a flicker of uncertainty flash across your features. âWeâll make it fit, baby. Donât you worry.â
You whimper quietly in response, feeling him brush his rounded tip against your opening. You try to wiggle your hips down, yearning for more, but he just pulls back and shakes his head.Â
âPlease,â you plead. You bat your eyes at him, gazing at him under the rim of your eyelashes. Itâs a poor attempt at begging, at looking innocent because you look anything but that.Â
Joel just lets a small smile line his lips before he pulls away and mounts your upper half. You clear your throatâthe size of him this close almost threatening.Â
âDonât be gettinâ shy on me now,â he growls lowly. âBeen pleasuring you for a while now, so itâs only fair that you return the favor.âÂ
âIâI havenât come yet. Please just let me come and Iâll do anythingââ
Joel clicks his tongue and runs the tip of his manhood across your mouth, smirking at the sight of his precome now on your lips. âYou ainât the one in charge here.â He pushes his tip past your lips and lets out a low groan. One hand moves to grip the headboard ahead of him as his other hand keeps a steady grip around the base of his length. âOpen wider fâme,â he whispers.Â
You have no choice but to obeyâparting your lips wider and feeling more of his manhood slide into your mouth. You can feel the corners of your mouth stretch due to his girth. It isnât long before he pushes further into your mouth, feeling him hit the back of your throat and you gag almost instantly. Tears sting your eyes and he only gives you a few seconds to breathe before he pushes back into you.Â
You squeeze your legs together, trying to alleviate some pressure that has been building and building between your legs and the pit of your stomach. You glance up in his direction only to see Joel with his head tilted back, chest and neck exposed, and his eyes completely shut. A quiet groan escapes his lips as he begins to move his hips forward and backwardâyou swirl your tongue around him, hollow your cheeks and it causes him to moan loudly.Â
And fuck, itâs a beautiful sound to come out of him.Â
Heâs moaning. Heâs deep in his own pleasure.Â
And itâs all because of you.Â
By the time he pulls out of your mouth, Joelâs eyes snap open to look down at you. Lips swollen, tears streaking down the corner of your eyes. Youâre so distracted by your desire to come that you donât realize what could possibly happen once heâs done with you.Â
Youâre going to die.Â
Joel is going to fucking kill you.Â
And this cross country road trip you had originally planned was a stupid fucking idea.Â
Joel sees a look of fear flash across your features and it only makes him smile, makes his cock jerk at the sight of you. He moves down your body and settles himself between your legs again.Â
âGonna fill you up now,â Joel nods. âAnd youâre gonna lie there and take it like a good girl.âÂ
You nod.Â
His hand comes up to grip your chin roughly, staring into your eyes. âSay it.âÂ
âIâIâll be good. Iâll take it like a good girl andââ
Without warning, Joel pushes fully into you in one stroke. You feel your body jerk upwards at the sudden intrusion and youâre lucky that youâre so wet because while he slides in so easily, you canât help but feel the painful stretch to give way to his size. Your hands try to wiggle out of the bondage, but the rope just digs further into your skinâitâs like he expertly tied you in a way that the more you struggle, the tighter it gets.Â
Joelâs hand moves from your chin to cup your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple as he remains still for a moment. âFeel so good,â he whispers, head dipping lower to brush his nose against yours. He can hear you panting heavily, lips parted slightly. âLike you were made fâme.âÂ
Then, Joel pulls out to his tip only to slam himself back into you. He repeats this movement multiple times and your moansâthe ones that youâve tried so desperately to hold backâfinally escape your lips and mix in with the sounds of his skin slapping against yours.Â
The bed rocks against the wallâhis thrusts are so rough and youâre sure that your entire body is going to ache for the next few days.Â
That is if youâre still alive by then. Â
One hand moves to your hip as the other moves to wrap around your neck. He applies a bit of pressure to cut off your oxygen and you gasp, eyes wide as you stare up at him.Â
Begging.Â
Pleading.Â
Not for him to stopâŚÂ
âŚbut for more.Â
Joel grins at that and continues his thrusts, the sensation of your walls sliding along his length only urging him closer and closer to release. He can feel the tightness in the pit of his stomach begin to unravel and he pulls out, not yet wanting to be done with you.Â
When Joel does pull out of you, he releases his grip around your throat and hears you take one deep breath. Youâre breathing heavily and he looks between your legsâso fucking wet, so swollen and he taps your clit gently with the tip of his manhood only to see you squirm.Â
Youâre sensitive, he thinks to himself with a grin.Â
âJoel,â you whisper. At this rate, you donât care if you die. Having him bring you on the edge of an orgasm only to stop is worse, youâre sure of it.Â
âGonna keep you here forever,â Joel says with a dark gaze. âYouâre mine now. You understand?âÂ
You clear your throat and nod slowlyâanything to get him to make you come. âYâYes, yours.âÂ
âDoesnât sound too convincing.âÂ
âFuck, Joel! Please,â you beg. âI donât care what you do to me, please just let me comeâŚâÂ
Joel chucklesâdark, sinister. He leans down and lightly pecks your lips before he climbs off the bed to look at you from top to bottom. âLike I said, you ainât the one in charge here.âÂ
Your eyes stare at him and you notice the way his manhood stands fully erect, glistening with your arousal. He follows your gaze and smirks, reaching down to tug on it. âThis what you want?âÂ
You nod. âPlease.âÂ
âSo if I untie you, you gonna be a good girl and obey?â Joel contemplates, still stroking the base of his length. His hand doesnât feel as good as being inside of you and he almost loses his resolve.Â
But he doesnât.Â
Joelâs patient.Â
âYâYes, please,â you plead once more.Â
âLove hearinâ you beg, darlinâ,â he grins. Joel slowly reaches over and begins to untie the rope around your wrists but he makes sure that his attention is focused on you. He needs to make sure that youâre not going to run again.Â
Once the rope is finally undone, you roll your wrists and touch the bruises around it. You flinch and then look up at himâeyes still pleading.Â
âOne wrong move and Iâm tyinâ you up again. You hear me?â Joel growls, seeing you move to sit up. You nod in agreement and he tugs on your ankle, pulling you to the edge of the bed with such force that you let you a quiet yelp.Â
Joel flips you onto your abdomen and grabs your hips, lifting you up so that youâre now on all fours on his mattress. He comes up behind you and slides into you with warningâagain.Â
A loud moan escapes your lips and you fall forwardsâcheek resting against his mattress, eyes fully shut tight, and your hands gripping the sheets so tightly that your knuckles turn white.Â
âFeel even tighter this way,â Joel points out with a grunt.Â
Your toes curl at his rough assault against you. Itâs like heâs possessed, so territorial and so animalistic that his thrusts drive you further into the mattress. You wanted this, but you canât help the pain that shoots through you at his size. Joelâs by far the biggest youâve ever had and it wasnât like you had a healthy sex life before this.Â
âFuck!â You scream, now trying to scramble away from him because itâs too much. Heâs edged you for too long that youâre sure you canât even get thereâyour body is humming and you can feel the familiar sensation in the pit of your stomach. Youâre close and Joel knows.Â
He laughs and grips your hips, pulling back onto him with such force that you arch your back. Joel grabs your arms and pins them at your lower back as he pulls your body forward and backward against him. He glances down and sees just how wet you areâthe hair at his base completely damp from your arousal.Â
âYou wanted to come⌠then fuckinâ come,â Joel groans, pulling you up against his chest. He grunts into your ear as he keeps your arms pinned at your lower back. His other hand reaches around and dips lower to begin circling your clit against the pads of his fingertips.Â
You moan so loud that it echoes throughout his home. Your head tilts back against his shoulder and he drags his teeth across the side of your neckâboth your bodies now covered in a thin sheet of sweat.Â
âJâJoel, Iâ,â a loud sob escapes your lips when you finally reach your orgasm. Your body shakes against his own and his thrusts donât let upâstill hammering into you from behind and using your slickness and tightened walls to bring himself closer to his own release.Â
âFuck,â he groans against you, releasing your arms and pinning you back onto the mattress. His hips sling against your ownâJoel is literally fucking you into the mattress and youâre already so fucking sensitive that you try to move away.Â
Fuck him. If he wanted to deny you of your orgasm, you can do the same to him.Â
But itâs no use. Joelâs so much stronger and his large hands grip your hips so tightly that you feel pain from it.Â
âS��cute,â he says in between thrusts. âThinkinâ you can run away.â Joel grunts lowly, chasing his own orgasm. âCan promise you one thing, babyâŚâ He slams into you once more and releases his warm seed into youâpaints your tight and wet walls with his come. He leans forward, pushing further into you as his tip kisses your cervix. âYou ainât ever leavinâ me.âÂ
He presses soft kisses along your shoulder before he pulls out, watching with a smirk to see his come trickle out of you and down your legs.Â
âYouâre stranded, darlinâ. Ainât no one cominâ to save you,â Joel grins. âAnd I ainât even done with you yet.â
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character#ppcu fandom#ppcu fanfiction#ppcu fanfic#pedro pascal character fanfiction#joel miller#no outbrea#no outbreak!joel miller#dark!joel miller#dark!joel x reader#dark!joel x female reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#dark!joel x fem!reader#dark!joel smut#joel miller smut#springfever25#writing challenge#story: stranded
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this was so gorgeous đ
that kiss was INCREDIBLE đ¤
Supposed Distraction

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader
Summary: Itâs Buckyâs birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.
Prompt 1: âI think we need to talk.â
Prompt 2: âI donât owe you an explanation.â
Prompt 3: âKiss me.â
Word Count: 7.6k
Warnings: friends to lovers; reader is embarrassed and rather terrible at attempting to distract Bucky; Bucky is smug; Bucky is worried; Sam and Steve are idiots; feels; pining; tension; Bucky is a sweetheart
Authorâs Note: This is another entry for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge by @elixirfromthestars ⥠I hope youâre not getting tired of me participating, my dear, but I couldnât help it. Especially since you were the one inspiring me to write this about college!bucky. I'll have to thank you for that!! Hope you enjoy! âĄ
Masterlist
You always knock four times.
Itâs instinctive at this point, muscle memory more than conscious thought. You donât even remember when or how it started, but it's always fours knocks.
The door swings open within seconds, revealing Buckyâs easy and bright grin. He leans against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, hair slightly tousled, perhaps from running his hands through it. God, he looks great.
âHey, doll,â he greets, voice warm. âYouâre early.â
You arch a brow, stepping past him when he shifts to let you in. âItâs your birthday, Buck. What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone, huh?â
Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. âTold you, itâs not a big deal.â
ââCourse it is, Buck,â you argue, almost indignant at the thought. Because if anyone deserves a day where people get to celebrate him, itâs James Buchanan Barnes.
But he doesnât make much of his birthday. He doesnât like attention when he hasnât earned it.
Itâs why he loves the mound, standing there under stadium lights with all eyes on him, but loathes things like this - birthdays, personal praise, anything that forces him into a spotlight just for existing. You suppose thatâs just part of who he is.
You saw him earlier, in university. You shared one class today. He walked in a few minutes late, baseball cap pulled low, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.
You had been waiting for him, barely able to contain your excitement as you nearly launched yourself at him in the hallway with a cheerful happy birthday, Bucky!
He had only blinked, slightly startled at your enthusiasm before huffing out a laugh when you crushed him in a tight hug. But he hadnât complained, only chuckled softly, winding his arms around you and pressing his hands to your back, waiting for you to be the first to pull away again.
You told him he'd receive his present later the day with a grin and Bucky only rolled his eyes with a fond smile, letting you have your moment.
But what Bucky doesnât know is that there is a surprise party awaiting him later, planned by you and your shared group of friends - because somebody has to make sure that today doesnât pass like it is just another day.
Samâs apartment is the only logical choice, given that his roommate dropped out and no one had rushed to fill the space yet. That means lots of room, plus an open invitation to make a mess.
The only issue is that Samâs apartment is directly across the hall from Bucky and Steveâs.
Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until itâs time.
Not that you had much say in the matter. The moment the question came up about who would be the one distracting him that long, every pair of eyes landed on you.
You are his best friend, but - and thatâs how you see it - so is everyone else. Still, they seemed to believe that you could hold his attention for long enough, that you could keep him engaged enough not to notice the shuffle of footsteps and suspicious voices beyond his door. That it would be you who he doesnât mind having around, lingering in his space.
Honestly, you didnât argue.
There is not a reason as to why you should. Any excuse to spend time with Bucky is a good one.
After all, you love the guy. But thatâs a problem for another day.
You drop your bag on the worn-out armchair by the window, the same spot you always claim when you are here.
Buckyâs jacket is slung over the back of the chair, and the second your bag lands on it, the scent of his cologne drifts up - clean, something woodsy, something him. It distracts you for a second, but then you turn to face him again.
He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans after closing the door again.
âWhereâs Steve?â you ask casually, like you donât already know he is across the hall, making sure everything is set up for the surprise. But you donât know what he told Bucky.
âHe said somethinâ about running some drills with the rookies, helping out the coach, or whatever,â Bucky answers, tilting his head in that unconcerned way. He slowly makes his way toward you. âGuess one of them nearly took his own damn head off trying to hit a curveball.â
One of your brows lifts amused. âAnd Steveâs the guy to fix that?â
Bucky smirks. âWell, yâknow how he is. Someone fucks up a throw, suddenly heâs gotta be the one to teach âem how to do it right.â He shakes his head, like the whole thing is ridiculous.
âYeah, sounds like Steve,â you state, trying to suppress a knowing smile.
You lean your hip against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to keep it casual. The apartment is small, with the kitchen bleeding into the living space, a single couch, and a coffee table taking up a lot of the room. You love it.
âSo, what do you feel like doing?â You tip your head toward him. âYouâre the birthday boy, you get to decide.â
Bucky scoffs, lips curling, finding your antics amusing. But then, he actually seems to consider it. His hands slip from his pockets, arms crossing as he leans back slightly against the table. His gaze falls to the window. Sunlight spills in, casting golden lines across the floor and making your hair gleam.
âYou wanna go get some ice cream or somethinâ?â he suggests. âItâs warm out.â
You blink, caught off guard. Bucky isnât usually the one to propose going out. It takes a little coaxing most days, a push to get him moving and leave his apartment to meet your group of friends somewhere outside. You wonder what he would have said if anyone else were the one distracting him.
But you canât take him up on it. Because you canât let him leave and potentially find out.
âUh-no,â you say, a little too quickly, a little too firmly.
Buckyâs brows lift, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. âNo?â He huffs a laugh, shifting his weight onto one foot, arms still folded. His voice takes on that slow, teasing drawl. âYou just asked me what I wanna do, doll. Thought I got to decide? Yâknow, birthday and all that.â
You just started this distracting thing and you are already messing up. Great.
You scramble for a way to walk it back, to keep him here without making it obvious. âYeah, you know, I just-â You glance around as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the room. âWhy donât we stay inside?â
Bucky watches you, eyes narrowing just slightly, trying to puzzle you out. He doesnât look suspicious. But there is a curiosity in it.
âWhy?â he drags the word out, tilting his head. âSomething wrong with ice cream? We could also go get some tacos maybe-â
âNo! Nothingâs wrong with ice cream.â You force a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. âI just figured we could chill here for a bit.â You bite your lip, then continue. âWe could bake you a cake?â
You would love to face-palm yourself right now.
Why would you even say that?
There will be plenty of cake at the party. Cake thatâs already been ordered, picked out, baked yourself, and waiting across the hall. And yet, here you are, offering something completely unnecessary, completely ridiculous.
God, you are terrible at this.
Buckyâs blue eyes are on you, considering, lips parting, about to say something.
Panic rises.
âOr not,â you blurt, stepping forward too fast, too sudden, hands coming up in a vague, dismissive gesture. âYeah, maybe not. Thatâs dumb. Forget I said anything.â
You shift where you stand, fingers twitching at your sides. You donât get nervous around Bucky - at least, not like this. But something hot and uncomfortable starts to creep up the back of your neck.
A slow smirk pulls at Buckyâs mouth as he watches you with so much amusement in his eyes, enjoying whatever the hell this is turning into.
âYou alright over there, doll?â he asks, voice warm, teasing.
You scoff, rolling your eyes, trying to keep your cool. âYeah, Iâm fine.â
âYou sure?â He tilts his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. âCause youâre actinâ a little funny.â
You open your mouth, a retort or something like it ready, but Bucky suddenly leans in just a fraction, gaze sweeping over your face like he is searching for something. And yeah shit, you need to shut this down. Now. Or youâll be a hot mess on the floor.
âJust forget it.â You shrug and then move away from him, toward the fridge, suddenly very interested in whateverâs inside. âYou want something to drink?â
You donât look back at him immediately, donât give him a chance to see the way you feel your face warm up. Instead, you grab two small bottles of orange juice, shoving one in his direction as a distraction.
Bucky takes it easily, but that amused smirk does not waver a tiny bit. He is still watching you.
Bucky is no idiot. And if youâre not careful, heâs going to catch on fast.
You twist the cap of the bottle a little forcefully, the plastic groaning in your grip. The cold of it seeps into your palm, but itâs not enough to steady the way your heart is beating a little too fast. Taking a sip of the juice, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.
He has always been observant. Even more so when it comes to you. You wish, just this once, that he'd be a little more dense.
âYou gonna tell me whatâs up with you today?â he asks, voice colored with curiosity, dipping just enough into concern that you flinch internally.
âI donât owe you an explanation.â
Itâs defensive, but all it does is amuse him. His lips curve, his brows shoot high, the lines on his forehead creasing in exaggerated surprise.
Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. âThat how weâre playinâ it, huh?â
You shrug, taking another sip of your juice, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact. But you know it does not deter him.
Bucky makes a thoughtful noise, shifting his weight. âYâknow,â he drones out, tone lazy but eyes sharp and smirk sly. âUsually when people get all cagey like this, it means theyâre hidinâ something.â
You shoot him a hopefully flat look. âWow, Barnes. Thatâs some real detective work. You want to get a notepad? Maybe a magnifying glass?â
His smirk widens. He seems thoroughly entertained. You donât like it.
âDepends,â he teases, leaning in just a fraction. âDo I need âem?â
Your pulse spikes. Bastard.
With an obvious eye roll that unfortunately lacks the conviction you tried to portray, you cross the room, shoulders set, and let yourself drop into the armchair where your bag still rests with a heavy thud. The cushions soften the impact. Trying to feign the usual comfort you feel sitting here, you tuck one leg under the other, leaning back. Your hands tighten around the still cold bottle of juice.
Bucky doesnât move right away. He is still standing by the counter, bottle in hand, eyes never leaving you.
âDo you want to watch something?â you ask, reaching for the remote, already trying to steer this back into safe waters.
Bucky exhales through his nose, humor lining the corners of his eyes. His stance is easy and relaxed, but he looks at you like he knows something is off.
âIs this me deciding?â he muses, voice smooth. âOr are you just gonna tell me no again?â
There is no accusation in his tone, just that familiar Brooklyn drawl that makes everything sound like an inside joke.
He finally moves, dragging his body toward the couch. He doesnât plop down like you did. He settles himself with intent and leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his entire focus trained on you like you are the most interesting thing in the room.
You swallow.
âYouâll get to decide,â you promise, trying for nonchalance.
Bucky glances at the dark TV screen, then back at you.
âNah,â he claims. âLetâs talk.â
Your stomach drops.
Bucky never lets things go when he is curious. You see the spark in his eyes, the glint of amusement, the way the corners of his mouth twitch with that smirk. He knows you are acting weird. Maybe he doesnât know why, but he sure as hell knows something is up and he is going to dig.
You inhale deeply, fighting the urge to groan. But all you do is force a casual shrug, stretching your arms over your head before letting them drop back into your lap. âWhat do you want to talk about?â
Your fingers fidget with the label on the bottle, a nervous little movement you donât mean to make. Buckyâs gaze flickers down to your hands and you freeze, immediately stilling them, letting the bottle rest in your lap and shoving your hands between your thighs.
His eyes snap back to yours, lips curving up.
âYou,â he says simply.
You roll your eyes, feigning playful annoyance, because if you donât, you might actually combust on the spot. âOh, come on,â you scoff.
For the next few minutes, you actually manage to let a conversation drift to normal things. The familiar back-and-forth. You talk about classes, you being annoyed at that one professor who has a habit of trailing off mid-lecture, forgetting what he is actually supposed to talk about. Bucky tells you about his brutal morning training session that left half the team groaning like old men.
You bring up his next baseball game, the one you wonât be able to make because of an assignment, and Bucky whines.
He doesnât just complain a little but rather goes on about it for minutes on end. Arms flailing, huffing dramatically, groaning like you just told him his dog died.
âYou could just skip,â he protests, lounging back into the couch.
âI canât just skip, Bucky.â
âBut I need my lucky charm,â he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.
You roll your eyes but there is warmth rising in your chest. âIâm sorry, Buck. But I did come to all your games last month.â
âYeah, which is why you owe me,â Bucky retorts, sitting up again, gesturing with his hands. âI hit a homer 'cause you were there. What if I suck without you?â
âIâm sure youâll survive,â you laugh, but Bucky grumbles under his breath, not quite over it.
It starts to feel normal. Easy. You begin to believe that you might actually pull this off. That you can keep him here, keep him occupied, long enough for your friends across the hall to finish setting up.
But then a loud thump echoes from the hallway.
Your spine goes rigid.
Buckyâs head snaps up, his grin replaced with a furrowed brow.
Another thud.
Yeah, so, that was that.
You fumble for your phone and type out a quick text to Sam.
Y: What are you guys doing out there?
The reply comes almost immediately.
S: Just keep Barnes inside.
You would love to curse loudly right now. Because thank you for nothing, Sam.
Bucky is already standing.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask, standing up as well, your voice perhaps a little sharper than usual.
Bucky glances at you briefly. There is a tiny bit of concern in his eyes. âThereâs something goinâ on out there.â He gestures toward the door. âThink I should check. Might be Miss Nelly.â
Something clenches in your gut.
Miss Nelly, the sweet older woman who lives next door to him and Steve. The one they always help carry groceries up the stairs. The one who has trouble with her hip sometimes. If Bucky thinks she might have fallen, or perhaps tried to carry something on her own, of course, he wants to check.
But that is not what is happening out there.
You rush to step between him and the door. âLet me check.â
Bucky shakes his head. âYou wait here, doll. Iâll be back in a sec-â
But you donât let him finish.
You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.
Yes, that was perhaps a little rude. Yes, that will probably only make him more suspicious. Yes, you could have come up with something better. But you certainly did not have the time to think about what exactly.
Right outside, Sam and Steve are standing there - in front of the open door to Sam's apartment where a chair lays with its backside on the floor - wide-eyed, looking about as guilty as two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
You would have laughed at the sight if not for the fact that you just slammed Buckyâs own apartment door basically in his face without an explanation.
âWhat the hell are you guys doing?â you hiss, voice low, exasperated.
Sam lifts his hands in a calm down gesture. âListen-â
âNo, you listen,â you snap, whisper-shouting, barely resisting the urge to grab them by their collars and shake them. âHeâs two seconds away from walking out that door.â
Steve grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. âWe, uh, we miscalculated.â
âMiscalculated?â you repeat, eyes narrowing.
They both exchange a glance.
You sigh in frustration. âWhereâs Nat?â
âOut with Bruce getting drinks,â Steve answers, folding his arms. âWanda, Clint, and Laura are inside, decorating.â
âLook,â Sam starts, raising a brow. âWeâre bustinâ our asses for this dickhead, and youâre the one who came up with the whole thing in the first place.â
âThatâs not-â
âSo you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some moreâ A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. âI donât know - offer him a good time.â
Your eyes narrow, hands on your hips. âSam.â
Steve sighs, shaking his head, but there is an unmistakable smirk tugging at his lips.
You glare at them both, spinning on your heel before they can make this worse, yanking the door open and stepping back inside the apartment.
Bucky is exactly where you left him.
Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Lips parted slightly, caught between confusion and suspicion.
He is wearing that what the hell was that expression.
You swallow and shut the door more forcefully than necessary, the sound echoing slightly.
Bucky doesnât move. Doesnât blink. Just fixes you with a stare so focused, so piecing, seemingly able to look right through you. It makes you shift where you stand, suddenly hyper-aware of every nervous tick in your body.
âAlright,â he starts slowly, carefully, eyes falling to the door before turning back to you. âWhatâs goinâ on?â
âNot Miss Nelly,â you quip, attempting a light and assuring tone.
It does not work.
Bucky still doesnât blink. His jaw works. He doesnât buy a damn thing youâre trying to sell him.
âNo, doll.â His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. âWhatâs going on with you?â
You try to press down the lump in your throat.
âYouâre actinâ real weird.â His words arenât harsh, not even accusing. Just observant.
He cocks his head slightly.
Why did the others think you could withstand the way his eyes root you to the spot without flopping down to the ground as a puddle.
You are so screwed.
You push yourself out of the conversation, walking over to the armchair again and trying to find something to keep you busy while plopping down.
âItâs nothing, Bucky.â
Your fingers curl around the juice bottle, bringing it to your lips, but the cold liquid doesnât do much to cool the heat crawling up your spine. Your thumb works at the label, picking at the paper until it peels away in small, curling strips.
Bucky blows out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face before slowly making his way over to you.
Crouching in front of you, he braces his forearms on his knees, his eyes intently locked onto you.
The sudden closeness forces you to suck in a breath and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hands.
His expression shifts again, humor creeping into the smirk on his mouth. âDoll,â he starts, voice light, amused. His hands slide up to rest on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. âDid you plan somethinâ for me?â
Shit.
Your next inhale is a little hesitant. The air thickens. âNo.â It sounds too stiff.
Bucky raises an eyebrow. He is smirking so wide. Enjoying this so much, the way you squirm in your seat before him.
You push forward, shaking your head. âNo, Buck. I did not.â
âYou sure?â He almost laughs.
âYes, I just-â You are floundering, drowning in your own words. How can you save this now?
âIâm nervous.â Well, at least thatâs not a lie.
Buckyâs expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you.
A gentle crease in his brows forms. âWhy are you nervous, sweetheart?â His voice is softer now, lower.
And guilt hits you.
How do you get out of this?
But, hell, he is so close, too close. His eyes are so blue, too blue. His gaze is so intense, too intense. You are feeling hot, too hot - your brain isnât working, itâs overheating, and your mouth is suddenly moving.
âBecause.â Shut up, shut up, shut up. âBecause I think we need to talk.â
Oh, for fuckâs sake.
The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second.
Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.
You feel yourself start to sweat. Where is this going? Why canât you stop this? Why did you even start it?
Buckyâs face drops to a frown so deep, lines are forming. A hand of his moves, palm landing lightly on your knee.
âWe can talk, doll.â His voice is even softer now, barely above a murmur. âIs something wrong? You alright?â
You just stare at him.
Your heart is hammering.
What the hell are you doing?
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your fingers keep worrying at the torn label, peeling off strips that crumple beneath your fingertips. Itâs the only thing you want to focus on right now with Buckyâs proximity and his intense gaze.
But then his hands replace the bottle and he grasps your fingers, wrapping around them and stilling their fidgeting.
Something electric rushes through your veins so quickly, you couldnât catch it if you tried.
This is getting way too serious.
Too intimate in a way that sends your pulse skittering up your throat.
You feel like a deer caught in headlights, your body tensing up, lungs forgetting how to work properly. Because this is veering dangerously off course, heading straight for a conversation youâre not sure youâre ready to have. You never thought youâd ever be ready.
But you started this. You walked straight into it with your own words, and there is no backing out now. So you might as well be honest now.
No time like the present.
Bucky must feel the way your hands begin to tremble in his hold, because he adjusts again, shifting closer, his knees pressing against the base of your chair. His thumbs trace over the backs of your hands. His frown deepens.
Why does he have to be so worried? It would make things so much easier if he remained casual and easy. But really, thatâs how Bucky always is. Worrying so fast when it comes to you. You canât really blame this on him now, can you?
His voice drops lower, soft as a whisper. âWhat is it, sweetheart?â His eyes are full and searching. âTalk to me.â
Air hitches, stalling between your ribs before pushing forward in a rather trembling exhale. Your lungs barely feel full. Your eyes dart away from his, searching the room, the floor, anywhere but him.
âDid I upset you? Is it something I did-â
âNo!â you rush out, hastily. âNo, you didnât do anything, Buck.â God, now he even goes that far. This is bad.
Bucky softens a tiny fraction, but he keeps sweeping his eyes over your face, latching on the details, trying to study you, trying to read what this is about. âYou can tell me, doll. Always. Whatever it is,â he coos so sweetly, and it makes you want to cry.
How do you even start this?
You open your mouth. Youâre certainly not ready to climb the whole mountain, but perhaps you can try a small hill.
âDo you-â You swallow, trying to sound as if you are simply reminiscing. âDo you remember that time after your game last year when it started pouring the second we left the stadium?â
Bucky blinks at the sudden turn. Confusion enters his features but the worry only deepens. âWhat?â
You push forward, gaze fixed on the arm of your chair as if it might give you the courage you need. âYou gave me your jersey, even though I already had a jacket and you were the one soaking wet-â
Buckyâs brows pull further together, his head shaking slowly, not knowing what to do with your words. âDoll-â
âYou walked me all the way back to my apartment.â Your voice turns quieter as if you are speaking more to yourself than him. Perhaps you are. Saying those things out loud makes them seem so much more important. âAnd then you got sick for three days.â
His hands squeeze yours gently. âI mean- Yeah, I remember.â Confusion also settles in his tone. âBut whatâs that got to do with-â
âI donât know,â you cut in quickly. âI just-â You exhale a deep sigh. âI think about that a lot.â
Bucky says your name like it is something delicate. Something that might slip away if he is not careful.
âLook at me, please.â
You try, but itâs hard.
It means staring into those impossibly blue eyes that see too much, that strip you bare without even trying, that try to coax something out of you, you didnât even plan on letting go.
But you force yourself to lift your gaze and it is worse than you expected.
He is watching you with an intensity that makes you stop breathing. His stormy eyes are so full of concern, so desperate to understand what is going on in your head, searching every inch of your face.
His lips are parted slightly. His breathing is sharper. Uneven.
âWhatâs going on, hm?â he coaxes, so softly, so full of patience you donât deserve. âWhatâs this about? You still feelinâ guilty?â
Your heart plummets like a stone.
âDoll, thereâs no need to, alright?â His hands squeeze yours, grounding, reassuring. âWe talked about this.â
God, why does he have to be so good?
His voice is so warm. Warm like sunlight, like home. It makes the sting behind your eyes grow stronger.
You donât want to cry.
You donât want to feel this way. Donât want to ruin his fucking birthday like this. This is getting so out of hand right now, but what should you do? You are so tangled up in trying to figure out what to say, things you are too much of a coward to finally admit out loud.
Bucky notices your struggles. He sees them. Plain on your face. His thumbs brush over your skin in careful strokes. âAnd you took such good care of me.â His tone lightens, trying to pull you out of whatever hole youâre sinking into. âRemember that part?â
You nod, swallowing and swallowing but the clump of emotions stays stuck in your throat. âYeah.â Your voice comes out flat, like you are detached from it. âI do. Sorry for bringing it up.â
Buckyâs lips press together, and then he sighs so deeply, his chest rises and falls profoundly.
âDoll,â he murmurs, straightening up, arms beside you tensing as though he is holding himself back from doing something. âThatâs not what you wanted to talk about.â
Heâs right.
âDarlinâ, please,â he urges, and god, the way that word falls from his lips makes you shudder. His voice is barely above a whisper now, full of something genuine, something tender, something that makes him sound like he wishes you would just talk to him, and it makes you want to shrink down to something he canât see anymore. âWhat is it?â
You could lie. Again.
You could laugh it off, steer the conversation away, keep pretending.
You could drag this out further until the others are ready, leaving him worried and slightly upset.
You could tell him the truth about the party.
Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.
Drawing in a breath, you straighten slightly. Your hands, still held in his, still shaking, squeeze back. His eyes never waver from your face, tracing the contours of your features.
You clear your throat, but it doesnât help much. âUhm,â you croak. âI- I wanted- I need to tell you something.â
His fingers twitch around yours. His features fall into a deep concentration. He doesnât rush you. Just watches. Waits.
And god, his eyes are pools you never learned to swim in.
You look away, at the wall behind him. âIâve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, I guess. But-â You inhale a quivering breath. âBut I was afraid. Because I donât know how youâll react.â
Bucky doesnât move. Doesnât blink. His chest rises and falls deeply, almost mechanically. There is something almost spellbound in the way he stares at you, completely locked in, completely yours. The only sign that he has heard you is the subtle press of his fingers against yours.
His head dips in a nod for you to go on.
You wet your lips. âI, uhm-â
But then something catches your attention.
The door to Buckyâs and Steveâs apartment opens.
Painstakingly slow.
You stiffen.
Bucky is still so enamored with what you were saying, he doesnât seem to notice at first. His back is to the door.
You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable.
Steve and Sam.
They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.
Sam motions at you wildly, gesturing at Bucky, at himself, at the hallway, mouthing something like distract him! Keep him busy.
They almost make it, but Bucky catches the small reaction of you, the surprise. His senses are too tuned in to every little thing about you and with his brows knit together, he shifts to glance over his shoulder.
You donât think about anything.
Your hands rip from his, and before he can turn fully, before he can see those two idiots, you grab his face.
Bucky jolts, startled, his breath hitching audibly. His skin is warm beneath your palms, the sharp angle of his jaw fitting perfectly against your hands. His wide eyes snap back to you, dumbfounded, searching.
He blinks at you. Then blinks again. Then simply stares.
His lips part slightly, breath brushing over your skin.
Your heart slams against your ribs.
This is close. Too close. Closer than youâve ever been. Well, but not closer than youâve let yourself imagine. But having him here in reality is something else entirely.
Sam throws you a thumbs up over Buckyâs head and a wiggle of his brows and the both of them disappear from sight into the hallway.
But you just made this worse.
And you are still holding his face between your hands.
Buckyâs lashes flicker, but he doesnât pull away. Doesnât fight it. Just stares at you like youâve done something earth-shattering, like youâve just rewritten every unspoken rule between you in a single, desperate motion.
Your pulse is a drum against your throat.
You see Buckyâs pulse thunder in his neck.
But he doesnât move. You donât move either.
He doesnât breathe. You donât know if you do.
He watches you. You watch him back.
âDoll?â Bucky practically breathes the question.
You swallow hard. Opening your mouth doesnât help with finding words, so you shut it again. Slowly, you pull your hands away from his face.
But Bucky still doesnât move.
His breath is still broken, his lips still parted, his brows still slightly drawn, stuck somewhere between surprise and something so deep, youâd be falling endlessly.
He is leaning in just the slightest bit, as though his body hasnât quite caught up with his mind, not even realizing he is doing it.
And you hate the way your chest aches at the look in his eyes.
There is so much all at once and the more you stare, the harder it gets.
âIâm sorry,â you mumble, dropping your gaze.
But there is movement in your peripheral.
Steve and Sam are creeping back out of the hallway, lugging something that looks like Buckyâs speaker system from his room.
And god help you, they are still moving at a snailâs pace, their motions so exaggerated, so painfully slow and obvious that you want to scream. You grit your teeth.
Fortunately, Bucky is still just staring at you, stunned.
The two are just about to reach the door, so close to getting through this ridiculous charade, when Samâs end of the box bumps against the shoe shelf.
The sound isnât loud, but itâs enough. Enough for Buckyâs head to instinctively turn toward the noise. Enough for his body to shift just slightly.
Your brain short-circuits.
Like completely.
Totally.
Lacking any sense.
Not only do you pull his face back.
You pull it in.
âKiss me,â you blurt, and itâs not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - itâs desperate, panicked.
Buckyâs whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else.
Another bump.
Youâre not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency.
Bucky freezes.
And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.
Every muscle in his body turns to stone. His hands flex before going rigid, floating in the air. His breath stalls. His spine goes straight, and the grunt he lets out - so low and gravelly, caught deep in his throat - reverberates into your mouth.
But behind him, Steve and Sam go as still. Dead silent.
You can feel them watching, their eyes practically bulging out of their skulls.
For a full few seconds, nothing happens.
But then, there is a shift. You donât see it, but you know it. The way their disbelief turns into something smug - something amused and downright delighted. You feel the way Samâs mouth probably stretches into that toothy and knowing, cocky-ass grin. You feel the way Steve simply looks happy.
You donât pull away.
Instead, you wave one frantic hand behind Buckyâs back, motioning wildly, trying to get them to move.
You open an eye to see them still staring, Steve blinking rapidly, Sam grinning like a fool, nudging Steve.
But then, finally, they start creeping out of the room again.
They are gone now.
Bucky still isnât moving.
Heâs not breathing.
Heâs not reacting.
And the tension stretches so tight, you swear the air could snap in half.
Because this isnât just a distraction anymore.
This isnât just a cover-up.
Your lips are still on Buckyâs.
Your hands are still gripping his face.
And his are trembling where they hover near your knees, as if he wants to touch you, wants to move, but his brain is still struggling to catch up with what is happening.
Then the tension snaps.
Bucky exhales against you.
Itâs not just a breath - itâs a surrender. A sharp and shuddering exhale that stirs against your lips, warm and tentative, as if he is trying to feel what is happening, trying to understand the shape of this moment.
His hands flex and twitch against your legs, but he is hesitant, as if waiting for something, waiting for you to pull back, waiting for this to be some kind of mistake.
But you donât pull back.
You donât want to pull back.
And thatâs when he melts.
He sinks into the kiss, his body softening, folding inward toward you. His fingers slide up your legs, brushing tenderly against the fabric of your pants before settling on your hips, cautious, like he doesnât want to break the moment, doesnât want to take too much.
Then, his lips move. Itâs a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.
He makes a sound - low and unsure, a hum deep in his throat that vibrates against your lips. His movements are careful, almost disbelieving. Like he is afraid this will disappear if he lets himself want it too much.
But then something changes.
Your nails lightly run over his neck, thumbs over his jawline.
And you feel the exact second the hesitation snaps.
He pulls you in.
His hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you forward to the edge of the seat, into his chest, his grip growing needy, desperate. He seems to have been starving for this, like something in him has just broken loose.
The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.
His lips part, just for a moment, and then he dares to press in a little more, tilting his head, fitting his mouth more firmly against yours.
He makes another sound - this time rougher, needier - a groan that slips through the space between you.
You can feel the want in the way he kisses you, in the way he angles his head to take more, to taste more, and damn if it does not overwhelm you.
The way his fingers tighten their hold, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, needing to feel your warmth.
And the way he breathes you in, each exhale shaky, each inhale sharper, like he is drunk on this, on you.
Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck, and the second you pull just so slightly, he makes a sound.
A gravelly noise that shoots straight through you, heat curling at the base of your spine.
He is kissing you like he canât help it anymore. As if he has been waiting for this exact moment, for you, for so long that heâs past the point of fighting it.
You thought heâd pull away. You thought heâd startle and demand an explanation, eyes sharp with suspicion, voice laced with confusion. But he doesnât.
His lips only press more firmly against yours, his nose sweeping against your cheek, his chest rising and falling unevenly, breathing erratic as if he is just as lost in this as you are.
Your heart is hammering so violently in your chest, you think he must hear it, must feel it where your body is pressed to his. Your hands are slightly trembling, sliding to curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him. Because you have to hold on. You have to anchor before you fall, before you slip too deep into the intoxicating pull of him and lose all sense of self.
But maybe you already have.
Because he is kissing you as though heâs afraid this is a dream, testing the edges of reality with every careful, exploring movement of his tongue and lips.
He tastes like something warm, something safe, something like the orange juice you two have been drinking, something wholly Bucky. Every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours, is stealing a coherent thought from your mind.
This was supposed to be a distraction. This was supposed to be a lie.
But hell, itâs not.
Itâs everything youâve ever wished for.
When you pull away, both breathless and panting, his forehead stays against yours.
Your pulse is so fast, so fluttering, and you know he can feel it, the way it thrums in your chest, in your throat, in the slight tremor of your fingers still curled loosely in his shirt.
His hot and shuddering exhale fans over your lips and itâs maddening how much you want to taste them again, how much you want to fall right back into him.
You open your eyes.
His are already on you, so close, so intent, so devastatingly blue that they donât help at all in trying to regain a healthy breathing rate. There is something in them, something soft and devoted, something awed, like he canât quite believe you are real, that this is real.
A shiver works its way down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its way and Bucky sees it. He feels it. His grin widens, slow and boyish almost, something that makes him look young and light, like something is lifted off his shoulders.
Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars.
It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide.
âThat the present you were talkinâ about earlier?â he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.
You huff a laugh, shaking your head. Smiling. Grinning. Like a fool. God, you canât stop. Itâs lifting your cheeks and making you feel giddy in a way you havenât felt in so long.
âNo,â you whisper back, voice airy.
âDonât matter,â Buckyâs voice is full of affection, of something certain. His hands slide up, one cupping your jaw, thumb skimming over your cheek, the other finding the nape of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair. Holding you there. Holding you close. âBest damn present Iâve ever gotten.â
His tone is so sincere, so full of adoration, that your breath turns upside down, and you canât do anything but feel the way butterflies are dancing in your stomach.
Heat floods your face and Buckyâs fingers flex against your skin, his smile turning impossibly brighter.
His eyes are shining with something you donât think youâve ever seen in them before. Itâs breathtaking. Itâs promising. Itâs worshipful.
Itâs everything.
You guess you owe him a little bit of an explanation.
There is guilt pooling in the hesitation before you speak. âBuck?â you start, voice quiet.
âYeah, baby?â he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.
His voice is so full of warmth, so soft, so fond. He is smiling at you and his eyes are sparkling as if youâve just handed him the world. He is kneeling in front of you, patient and content, as though heâs got all the time in the world if it means spending it with you.
Something dizzying rushes through your veins, sparking at the base of your spine. You have to take a moment, a single, shaky pause to shove the giddiness down for later, to not let it explore the wide landscape of your heart and mind.
You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, still at the edge of the armchair. Your chest almost brushing against Buckyâs. âI, uh- I do have something planned for you.â
Bucky is beaming. His amusement spills over into something so brilliant and blinding. His entire face lights up, so open, so full of adoration that it makes a feeling of pure bliss explode in your chest, sending delightful shivers down to your toes and hell, you donât think you can handle it.
âOh, do you?â he muses, dragging the words out slow and teasing. There is something beneath the syrupy sweetness. Something like mischief. His brows raise, eyes glinting, his lips twitch, and you know he is about to be a menace.
Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. âWould that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?â
You blink at him.
Buckyâs grin turns wolfish and he bites his lip to suppress a laugh.
âYou were actinâ all off from the beginning, doll. Knew somethinâ was up,â he states, voice a little softer, until he turns on his playful teasing voice again. âFlawless execution, sweetheart. Didnât notice a damn thing.â
Groaning loudly, you press your hands to your face and Bucky lets the laugh out. Itâs full-bodied and wholehearted. His chest shakes, his shoulders lift, his body tilts into it. And itâs such a good sound, such a lovely sound, so rich and free. It makes your own lips curl despite the frustration of the ruined surprise.
Bucky reaches up to gently pry your hands away from your face. His grip lingers, thumbs tracing over your knuckles, his touch so easy and natural.
His expression gives way to something soft. He bites his lip again, before bringing your hands up and kissing them softly, twinkling bright blue eyes trained on you and the deep flush that spreads along your cheeks.
Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.
âBut oh baby! Your smile.. Felt like warm sunshine after a heavy storm.. Overdose of it, is still not enough for me..â
- Zankhana
#elixirscinema#elixirfromthestars âĄ#writing challenge#bucky mcu#college!reader#bucky marvel#marvel bucky barnes#college!bucky#bucky barnes one shot#bucky x you#bucky barnes x reader onshot#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x reader#bucky#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky fic#bucky barnes#college bucky#college au#College!Athlete!Bucky
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IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR AGAINNNNNNN!!!! HAPPY HOLIIIII!!!!
For those who don't know, holi is the festival of colours in India (and Mauritius, Fiji, Guyana and so on), and we celebrate it by having water fights and colour fights and if you're old enough, đindulgingđ (no, i'm not lying, look it up, it's called "bhaang")
So, in that spirit, i've come up with a fun lil' challenge, along the veins of what I did in 2021, but with a slight change.
The twist? It has to be along the lines of â¨ď¸bhaangâ¨ď¸. So it could be literal intoxication (doesn't have to be bhaang per se, could be any intoxicant of your choice lmao, even sex pollen tbh), it could be symbolic (like letting go, freedom, less inhibitions), could have a humorous angle to it, or could even be a topic of discussion! The world is your oyster!
Now I write specifically for Pedro Pascal, but honestly, your muse can be anyone, I'll leave that up to you. It can be a drabble, an HC, a moodboard, a ficlet, a dialogue, illustration, a gif/gifset; honestly i'm just hyped to see what y'all come up with! (If this fails i'm going to delete this post, and let's forget this ever happened)
Deadline: 30th April, 2025 (negotiable and extendable, lmao) (also WOW in time for 4/20. Almost.)
Following tags: lexi's writing challenge, lexi's holi day 2025, holi 2025
Tagging for better reach (but honestly NOOO pressure whatsover) : @holacia3 @slimybeth69 @emerald-evans @harpers-ramblings @letsgobarbs @ghotifishwrites @wethairjoel @ranveer--singh @jolapeno @jtargaryen18 @navybrat817 @imdarkinme @ozarkthedog @beefrobeefcal @schnarfer @galaxyedging @donutloverxo @nerdieforpedro @nekoannie-chan @stargazingfangirl18 @abeyyaaar @secretelephanttattoo @strang3lov3 @dilf-docs anyone who wants to participate! I am DYINGGG to see what y'all come up with!!
âĄâĄâĄâĄââĄâĄâĄâĄââĄâĄâĄâĄââĄâĄâĄâĄââĄâĄâĄâĄ
#holi 2025#lexi's writing challenge#lexi's holi day 2025#pedro pascal#lexi recs#joel miller#writing challenge#holi#desiblr#desi girl#desi tumblr#chris evans#bucky barnes#sebastian stan
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Any future
Fandom: MCU Pairing/starring: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader Word count: 974 Content: Friends to lovers, mention of injury, guilt, pining, physical pain. A/N: Found Missyâs Writing Challenge and thought it could be helpful in revitalizing my desire to write fanfics. Thanks for making a great challenge, @saiyanprincessswanie . I went with the prompt: âI look at the future and all I see is you.â
Any future
Youâve worked with them for more than a year now, the Avengers.
You had been starstruck in the beginning but that had quickly faded as reality crashed into your idyllic world: working with heroes, seeing the backside of the medal was not pretty: people got hurt, some died if you didnât do your job right...nothing could take that pain away and once youâd been close to throwing the towel in the ring and walking away from it all. It was only because of your teammates that you hadnât quit.
You tried to keep them happy too, tried to pick them up on their rough days...but thereâs always one who seem to be harder to cheer up than the rest: Bucky. He walks with a perpetual rain cloud over his head, barely cracking a smile to his friends Steve or Sam.
Your heart aches for him.
He, more than anyone else, has a lot to atone for and despite intensive support from the team and therapy too...nothing seems to work. You know he avoids the public, abstains from reading the newspapers or checking the internet because more often than not, there will be someone questioning his intent. If he is good. If he really still is the Winter Soldier.
Youâve tried talking with him too. Heâs friendly. Hell, it even seems like he enjoys your company as much as he can so you grab every chance you have to cheer him up. Make him feel loved. Because you do...you love him. Itâs not just the sympathy talking or a motherly desire to coddle him. You love his intellect, his quiet thoughtfulness.
More than once youâve gotten him a book with crosswords or Sudoku puzzles only to find engrossed in it for the following days. Or we would silently join you when you watched movies especially fantasy like Lord of the Rings or the Princess Bride (that one did make him crack a smile more than once). He reads a lot, trying, as Sam says, to finish the so called âlistâ which on the other hand is ever growing partially because you add to it.
But in spite of your efforts and Buckyâs quiet acceptance of your presence in his life...heâs a mystery. Impossible to read.
---
It had been a tough mission and you hadnât gotten away unscathed: a broken leg. You try to follow the orders of the doctors but even with the most impressive technology at the doctorâs hands there are some things that only time can fix and so youâre grounded, forced to stay home from the next mission.
You hadnât seen the fellow Avengers off that morning, deciding instead to stay in bed and pout. But eventually it becomes too boring and your leg is aching too much: you need a distraction.
Grabbing the crutches, you imp your way to the kitchen in your sleepwear, knowing youâre home alone with Friday and it wouldnât care even if you were naked. Sleepmuzzed hair, booty short, tank-top.
You get as far as getting the mug out of the cabinet before you lose grip on the crutch and it falls to the ground with a clatter and stubbing your toe on your good foot.
âFuck!â you growl.
âIâll get it,â a baritone voice behind you offers, causing you to scream in fear because that it not Friday.
Spinning around, you lose your balance as you become tangled with the crutches. Youâd have fallen hard if it wasnât for the owner of the voice catching you.
Bucky.
Heâs strong, effortlessly putting you back on your foot but not letting go as you cling to him. He smells of metal and something spicy, you realize now that youâre so close to him.
âYouâre home?â you deduce brainlessly.
He smiles softly. âDidnât feel right to leave you behind in your state. Seems I was right.â
âGuess youâre good at reading the future.â
Something shifts in his eyes that you canât explain but itâs gone just as quickly. âYou okay?â
Suddenly aware of the proximity, you stabilize yourself on your good leg and pull apart. âYeah...just...clumsy like this.â
âThen allow me?â
You nod, assuming heâd get the crutches for you. Instead, he lifts you effortlessly and carry you over to the couch where he settle you down. On his way back to the kitchen, he calls over his shoulder:
âYou take it with milk, right?â
Baffled that he knows your coffee preferences, you agree.
Moments later heâs sharing the couch with you, each nursing a cup of coffee and with a plate of buttered scones on the coffee table.
âYouâre wrong, by the way,â he suddenly says, breaking the cozy silence.
âIn what?â
He isnât looking at you, but studying the blackness of his coffee. âAbout me and the future. Iâm terrible at it...or you wouldnât have gotten hurt.â
âAre you...are you blaming yourself for that?â you ask, shocked.
He really shouldnât be. Those sort of things happen and he wasnât even close by where you got pinned: an explosive had been triggered by the Hydra agents and the debris had caught you.
âJames?â
He still wonât meet your eyes. Just shrugs.
You put your cup down, starting to be more annoyed than confused. âJames Buchanan Barnes. Look at me.â
Finally, though slowly, he does as you demand and you are overwhelmed by the sea of emotions that meet you.
âTalk to me...please...â you whisper.
âI look at the future and all I see is you,â he manages to press out, âit used to be...nothing. Greyness. Now thereâs light.â
You reach for him and he puts down his cup before carefully crawling over to straddle you. It hurts your leg, but itâs worth it when you can press your forehead against his. And by the time he tilts your chin up and kisses you slowly, nothing else matters.
#fanfiction#mcu#Missy's Writing Challenge#writing challenge#bucky x reader#Bucky Barnes#james buchanan barnes#x fem!reader#x reader#fanfic#writing#marvel#friends to lovers
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Missyâs Writing Challenge
Welcome to Missyâs Writing Challenge. Iâm grateful for everyoneâs support. I want to thank every single one of my followers on my blog. Whether you follow me for my work or for my weekly reading lists I thank you. Without your support, I wouldnât be here.
(Thank you @late-to-the-party-81 for the header!!)
Rules:
This challenge is for Chris Evans & Sebastian Stan Characters Only
Tag your fic as #Missy's Writing Challenge and tag me in your work
You must be over 18 years old to participate
Mark all stories appropriately. (Fluff, Smut, Dark, Non/Con, etc)
It can be a drabble or one-shot whichever you prefer
Reader Insert only
Minimum words 500, No max, Please use the keep reading feature if itâs longer than 500 words
You can choose any AU, Trope, or Prompt. No need to send an ask.
No incest, No underage, No pedo, No toilet/bathroom fics, No DDLG & No RPF.
Will take late submissions
Due date: June 30, 2025
All stories will be reblogged. I will add all fanfics to a Masterlist for easy access.
If I havenât reblogged your work for a week Tumblr might have eaten the notification so please send me a message.
Here are some characters, tropes, auâs & prompts to choose from. Choose whichever one you like or how many you like.
Chris Evan Characters:
Andy Barber
Ari Levinson
Cole Turner
Curtis Everett
Frank Adler
Jack O'Malley
Jake Jensen
Johnny Storm
Lloyd Hansen
Mr. Freezy
Ransom Drysdale
Steve Rogers
Sebastian Stan Characters:
Bucky Barnes
Chris (Destroyer)
Chris Beck
Frank (Endings, Beginnings)
God the bounty hunter
Jefferson/The Mad Hatter
Lee Bodecker
Mickey (Monday)
Nick Fowler
Scott Huffman
AUâs:
Alpha/Beta/Omega
Arranged Marriage
Mob Boss
Biker
Bodyguard
CEO
Roomate
Royalty
Soulmates
Sugar Daddy
Vikings
Tropes:
Annoying Neighbor
Arranged Marriage
Dadâs Best Friend
Enemies to Lovers
Evil Twin
Exâs hook-up
Forbidden Love
Friends to Lovers
Idiots in Love
Only One Bed
Sex pollen
Writing Prompts:
"I wasnât planning on falling for you. But here we are."
"If you keep looking at me like that, Iâm gonna kiss you."
"You make me want to be better, even when I donât know how."
"I love how you say my name when youâre breathless."
"I didn't believe in soulmates before I met you."
âItâs always been you.â
âYou look cute wearing my clothes.â
âI look at the future and all I see is you.â
âI will always find my way back to you.â
âFor the first time, in a long time, I feel like I have something to protect.â
âI owe my life to you.â
"I wish I could just hold you one more time."
âI was manipulated into believing I was unworthy of your love.â
"I could spend forever right here, tracing every inch of you."
"You made me believe in love."
âI would move mountains for you.â
"You can keep pretending you hate me, but I see it in your eyes. Youâre mineâeven if you wonât admit it."
"After everything Iâve done for you, this is how you treat me? I canât believe how ungrateful you are!"
"I canât believe youâd think that about me after everything Iâve done for you. Do you really think Iâm that kind of person?"
"Do you still love me, or am I just convenient?"
#saiyanprincessswanie#missy's writing challenge#fanfic writing challenge#writing challenge#chris evans#sebastian stan#4200 followers#April is my birthday month
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Your fingers curled around your sleeves. Youâd always loved storiesâtelling them, shaping them, making people feel something. But here, now, surrounded by people who had real adventures, it felt⌠small. Like a game.
âI just⌠talk,â you said, voice quieter. âThatâs all. I just overhear stories and I just tell them to the little kids.â
âWell, Iâll be damned. You gotta have some other ideas in your head to make something like that happen.â
npt: @operationroots, @pandora-writes-one-piece , @hannahbarberra162 , @cinnamoonblue
(luv y'all)
WIP checkpoint!
reblog this with the last 3 sentences you wrote from your current WIP
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the last prayer
bucky barnes x deity reader (he/him, third person)
this is my entry for @elixirfromthestars âs cinema writing contest! itâs probably quite an out there prompt but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!! (dialogue prompt used: âitâs okay, iâve got you nowâ)
synopsis: a decade has passed since the initial capture of james âbuckyâ barnes, who after so long is finally running out of time to save his humanity. which is why for some reason he makes the absurd choice to pray, and unbeknownst to him, wakes something dark and ancient.
warnings: torture, violence, hints to murder, angst (itâs bucky, very expected). itâs not super religious, reader is like a god the way loki or thor is buttt thereâs a few more mechanics to it involving worship and dormancy.
wordcount: 2,869
there is no god.
not within hydraâs snare, not within the depths of torture and brainwashing that has now spanned across years.
hope has long since been abandoned, if there is a hell, this is it, there is surely nowhere worse than this.
so bucky doesnât know why in the heat of it all, while clutching at the tethers heâs been desperately hanging onto, the fragments of who he was - is, where they try to pull him apart once more, that he suddenly decides to hopelessly pray.
he does it silently in his head, viewing himself opaquely from behind a looking glass as they beckon him to become a machine. it is clear that soon, he will be buried within his own body, that something mechanical will take over to do terrible, terrible things. bucky knows by now that there is no light at the end of this tunnel, only blood, only death, caused by hands that are somehow attached to him.
he isnât ready for when they finally break him.
there is no answer, the assumption can only be correct as they strap him down tighter into that blasted chair and try to forcibly fry his mind. electricity fizzles and crackles all throughout his head, it will forever burn, even when heâs not in the chair he feels it, a phantom pressure seeping beyond his socket, that is hard to discern if itâs real or false.
the harsh truth echoes all around him, reverberates in his bones.
no one is coming to save bucky barnes.
well, bucky barnes died falling from that train, he died the second hydra sunk their claws in. he is continuously dying as they slowly dissect whatever is left, they are in real time, attempting to convert him into an object, into a machine without autonomy or control.
they are trying to take away what is innately human. his thoughts, his feelings, they will be scrapped and forged into programming, orders and targets.
so yes, it is very obvious by now that no one is coming to rescue him from this.
what he isnât aware of, is how wrong he actually is. this time bucky has not been ignored, something has noticed the anguish plaguing him, and it listens with rapt attention. it hangs achingly on every word, every cry, that echoes from him.
it is heard by a previously dormant god stirring awake from the depths, for the very first time in centuries. he wakes up nestled between dusty and crumpled ruins, what mightâve been an altar in his name, there are no scriptures or scrolls, it seems that he has been forgotten until now. a deity who slumbered without a single follower or believer for an untold amount of years, suddenly awoken by the most desperate and profoundly broken plea heâd ever heard.
there is barely time to look around, for the environment to sink in. why had his final resting place been here? why was he forgotten? who was his last devotee? a million questions flood his long, awaiting, buzzing body. a fizzle creeps inside his gut the longer he waits, the more he lingers and doesnât attend to that sharp, hopeless call.
the god doesnât falter, he brushes any tiredness away, this is his first follower in a long time, and they need him.
the scene that greets him does not aid his protectiveness, it only trebles it. it is no wonder the call had seemed wrenching, what is being done is unfathomable, a contraption which from just one look seems sickening. restraining a man, holding him so tightly in place, and the thing lodged against the eye is horrific.
whatever the plate attached to the right side of the face is, itâs certainly alive, spitting live sparks and light straight against skin. the person in the chair is biting down so hard that heâs surprised the otherâs teeth arenât cracking under the fierce pressure of their jaw locking. despite his callerâs mouth being firmly shut, the screams pouring out are barely muffled, theyâre guttural, raw, and they make the godâs stomach twist even more.
it is nothing like he has ever seen before, and he has seen countless of lives, of mortals, their squabbles and war, their arguments and their loves. this surely cannot be the doing of humankind, it is too cruel, how can someone mutilate another in such a way?
but his eyes are not deceiving, there are humans in white coats roaming all around, ignoring the one so obviously in excruciating pain. they are used to it, that realisation alone makes his blood boil.
he cannot withstand it a moment longer, any previous silent acknowledgement to not meddle with mortals unwinds far from him. it doesnât matter anymore, there is no religion in his name, it is just him and this one small devotee, soaked in pain and suffering.
so when he finally steps out of the shadows, now visible to the human eye, he doesnât bother with politeness or pleasantries, those were already revoked at this point. there is no forgiveness, gentleness or compassion in the way he squanders the crowd surrounding the caller. it is a mess of screams, thick black clouds swamp the room, none of what occurs can be seen, but it undoubtedly violent, twisted, and permanent.
he just hopes if the soldier in the chair was watching, the smoke obscured it enough. to the godâs horror, the machine is still on, whirring and humming hauntingly. he doesnât know what it is, what it does, but he strides towards it with panic anyway, and frantically rips it all off, searching for injury with furrowed brows.
âitâs okay, iâve got you now.â he means it, this stranger is just that, a stranger, someone he does not know, yet the urge to take care of the other is overwhelming. âcan you speak? what is your name?â
the voice that answers him is gravelly, spoken by a spent and tired man, âmâbucky, my name, itâsâŚitâs bucky.â
it is clear that bucky is delirious, stuck in a heady haze from whatever just occurred, because it takes him a few seconds to register the mass of people are gone, that the thing speaking to him isnât human, that heâs being touched by someone who might once again hurt him. it isnât a surprise that he flinches, and then tries to scramble away, itâs like his entire body gets dunked in total fear.
the god moves back immediately, unable to help the frown overcoming his face, the last thing he wanted was to scare this bucky. thinking quickly, he changes tactics and crouches lower to the ground, akin to approaching a spooked animal, his hulking body looks awkward with trying to appear small. âyou called for me. i will not hurt you.â
buckyâs steel eyes flash with confusion, then uncertainty, then anger. âthatâs not funny. i donât know who you are, but just get it over with, donât fucking play with me.â
a part of him wants to huff, to scowl at the way a mortal is talking to him, but he canât really find it within himself to care enough about it. this human is unique, an enigma that doesnât even know itself. instead of frustration, he sinks deeper into patience for this new follower.
slowly, he reaches towards the soldier, watching carefully for any jerky movements or instinctual reactions, when all he finds is wary glances at his hand, he continues, softly pressing the pads of his fingers against buckyâs ear that is lightly bleeding. it is miraculous what gods can do, how much magic they have within just their very fingertips, in the next moment, the trickle of blood is gone.
it looks like there was no injury to begin with. he repeats the action around the manâs head, and even around the shoulder which is deeply scarred and yet seemingly still deeply painful and sore. after the deity is done, he leans back, intently watching buckyâs face.
his brows are furrowed, lips parted, he appears to be a breath away from an argument or accusation. his muscles are pulled taut, ineffably tense, the metal of his left arm creaks. âyouâre fucking kidding me. there is a godâŚand it took you this long?â it comes out flat and the laugh that leaves bucky is humourless, a bark thatâs full of venom.
he doesnât know what to say, there isnât much to be said. despite the words spoken, there is not just hatred in buckyâs eyes, thereâs also relief, but it seems neatly tucked away behind anger. âthereâs multiple actually,â he awkwardly stops that sentence at the look on buckyâs face, half disbelieving and the other half pissed off. âiâve just been dormant.â
the man borders on a scowl, âwhat do you mean dormant?â there seems to be more movement in his body now, enough so that he squirms to get out the chair, but immediately falls to his knees when he does, the deity is there to catch him, keeping him relatively upright. bucky huffs at the touch, his body still a little slack, the god shudders from the heat radiating off the human and pulls back enough to give him space. its been a long time since he's felt any warmth.
âi havenât had anyone pray to me for a long time. so, i was dormant, asleep, unable to wake up until someone woke me. you did.â it's a clipped admission, like he is covering up how raw the reality actually is.
thereâs a pause, a breath of confusion, âi did?â
he nods back to bucky, âyou did." he then hesitantly adds, "i am sorry that i couldnât come sooner.â there is a guilt that claws at his chest, bubbling up straight to his throat, where he is unable to swallow, âbut iâm here now, and no one will hurt you, not while iâm here.â
he guides bucky far away from the chair, and then uses his magic to take them somewhere even farther, absent from the effects of time and humanity. it is extremely void-like, an ocean of ink that spans an unfathomable distance, yet it is not cold. more than anything it is comfortable, peaceful, if you focus hard enough you can hear the distant tweets of birds or the hustle and bustle of brooklyn.
atleast thatâs what bucky hears, itâs a place designed to be safe, reminiscent of home. âwhy save me? couldâve just left me there.â
âi wouldnât have.â its the truth, âand you needed me. you called for me.â
the skepticism finally washes off buckyâs face, he is probably too tired to keep his guard up, heâs been doing that for years. this place has the sounds of brooklyn, when he closes his eyes, he swears he can hear his maâs voice, gentle, coaxing in his ears to rest. heâs been solely burning on reserves that havenât existed, fighting against a force that was bound to always beat him, until a god decided to fight in his corner, which is still incredibly hard to wrap his muddled head around.
âyou should rest.â the god speaks again, gaze flickering to bucky with an emotion the soldier canât decipher. he settles down on his knees, huge body furling against the ground, and he watches bucky absentmindedly.
there is still that strange expression coated on the godâs face, almost like the start of a goodbye, close to fond and sad.
âwhere do i slee-â before bucky can even finish, there is a bed conjured right in front of him, obscenely big compared to the cramped bed he used to sleep in, the apartment in brooklyn he shared with steve, with chipped walls and its slightly stale air. this bed would cost a fortune, he feels odd even stepping towards it. the question of how it appeared lingers on his tongue, but heâs too exhausted to question it, a god is right next to him, he doesnât have the capacity to think about what a god canât do.
he still hesitates to clamber into itâs mountainous duvet and circle of fluffy pillows. even though the deity healed parts of him, there is still an awful ache that weighs him down, itâs like any sort of pain is clinging to him, whether itâs imaginary or not. subconsciously it feels like a trick, it canât be safe can it? heâs not safe from hydra anywhere, they will always find him, he is just property-
ârest.â the god repeats, firmly, but almost faltering. âyouâre not needed yet, iâll wake you up when itâs time.â
âhey now-â
bucky doesnât even have time to question that sentence, the moment his body sags onto the bed, it feels like coming home. there are inklings of steve, his ma, his siblings, brooklyn, everywhere and everyone he has ever loved, he hears them faintly, he smells them distantly. it is enough to lull him to sleep almost instantaneously, so even though he wanted to narrow his eyes and demand what that statement meant, he cannot.
his eyes droop as he melts into the duvet, it is warm, comfortable, such a contrast compared to the agonising frost of cryo. there is a semblance of peace that nestles into his worn bones, itâs the first time in a long time that he can breathe, exist, without an abnormal amount of pain. in this odd bed, in an incomprehensible realm, bucky slips into a soft slumber.
bucky barnes has a larger purpose, he cannot just go back to brooklyn, he is needed, decades in the future. he will wake up to find his best friend was presumed dead and yet was somehow found, buried in a block of ice. somehow him and steve will have survived, and they will find each other again. both of their families will be mostly long gone, as well as everyone they ever knew, but they will have each other.
and bucky barnes will have avoided the reality where he got moulded into a killing machine, ruined beyond comprehension that he forgot who he was entirely. there is still a lot of work to do in this version, the man is still traumatised, may forever be wounded by what was done to him, and there is no guarantee in the future that hydra wonât get him again and finish the job, but atleast for now, he is alright. he is asleep.
the god will watch over, and will also be alone for around 60 years. no one will pray to him, he is quite sure of it, whatever happened with bucky was purely accidental, but he is glad it happened. his larger purpose is making sure bucky gets where heâs needed, and then after that? well, it will likely be dormancy, and this time, permanently. it is something heâll need to make peace with, not now, but eventually.
after a few years, he momentarily departs from bucky, triple checking that the man is still comfortable and sleeping, and then heads to where he woke up.
it is still abandoned, desolate, it is in all, a sad sight. he meticulously checks everything, each compartment and nook is empty, ransacked. his gut twists with the realisation that they removed him from history, there isnât a singular scroll or scripture. there is an urge to cry that wells within his chest, he has officially failed in his godhood, but it is fine, it has to be fine.
it may be hours or days that he spends wallowing in those ruins, raking over it what feels like a million times, committing the pathetic structure into memory, as if it might change for the better, or maybe because he wonât see it again. he has no plans to depart from bucky once more, there is no one else to visit, so he leans down, right next barren altar and presses a featherlight kiss to the cracked, carved stone. it is a goodbye for all those he failed, and all those who once followed him.
when he returns, bucky is still sleeping, but he has fidgeted with his metal arm glinting and gleaming. it is still strange to see, he doesnât know whether to scorn it or admire it on the man knowing the way it got there mustâve been from a deep tragedy. there is a big chance he will never get the opportunity to ask how he got it, and a small pit of sadness swells within him.
despite it all, bucky is a vision, face messily framed by a brown mane, long eyelashes, slightly parted lips and his scratchy stubble. the scars on him are far from grotesque, they paint a picture so vivid he is unsure if he can look away. this man has survived, and in the future some day he will live again.
he has never been quite so attached to a singular mortal before. it could be because itâs the last one he might ever see, but thatâs already false. there is something undeniably magnetising about this man, so, he finds himself quite lucky to be the one to watch over him for the next few decades.
it is a privilege to guard bucky barnes, he concludes.
divider creds: @strangergraphics-archive
author's notes (it turned into a huge rant be warned): if im entirely honest its been hard to write what ive wanted to write recently, partly because i felt obligated to cater to a wider audience. i put a lot of pressure on myself because i thought people wouldn't really read if i wrote a reader that was trans or used he/him. i am trying to get out of that mindset, and attempting to write whatever id like to, i think its just the people pleasing side of me being a little too incessant. this however was a step to writing what i wanted, and for that reason im really happy with it.
this is turning into an authorâs ramble, if youâre curious on what happens to the god/what the god looks like in my mind, hereâs the answer: some of the canon mcu events still did happen, the initial plan for the god was to watch over bucky for around 60 years, but bucky may have been needed by fate sooner. in any case, no matter when bucky wakes up, the god is expecting to go dormant, except i like to think that bucky doesnât necessarily worship this god, but definitely remembers him, thinks of him in hard times, and in doing so the god stays alive, and dutifully (and excitedly) watches buckyâs life. he very predictably falls in love with bucky, but never takes action. the next time these two actually see each other would be after thanosâ snap, and when bucky blips, he ends up in the godâs realm. i imagine this time that bucky would refuse to sleep, insisting on knowing whatâs going on in the world while he technically doesnât exist anymore.
it would be such an interesting dynamic imo, bucky reuniting with this old god that saved him, knowing that heâs actually not forever dead because otherwise heâd be somewhere different, so he knows sometime in the future the avengers figure out how to undo the snap, and in the meantime he sets it as his goal to befriend this giant god who he only briefly got to speak to in what feels like a past life. i think by the end of it, when bucky gets snapped back, the god promises to visit bucky properly, because after five years of talking and keeping each other company, theyâre quite close. this deity loves bucky fiercely, and bucky is probably a little taken aback when he realises, but eventually tries to show reciprocation.
can you imagine the faces of the avengers when one day this GIANT humanoid thing is walking behind bucky like a scary dog and theyâre like tf is that??? are we just going to ignore that eldritch being hello???
that brings me to what i picture this god to look like personally, everyoneâs interpretations upon reading will be different which i love!! i see him as huge in height, potentially multiple arms, shadow-like in the sense heâs pure black, his skin almost looks like a void, im imagining white eyes (perhaps multiple), and heâs both sharp and soft.
one last thing, iâd like to thank my one mootie for giving me the motivation to start writing more, you know who you are beloved!! (not tagging because iâm not sure if a he/him reader is your cup of tea but i wanted to do an end credits dedication to you mwah mwah đ!!)
i said one last thing but i lied, im hoping i can maybe do one more entry for this challenge, itâs a great motivator and the prompts are simply amazing!! thank you so much EVERYONE who reads this at any point in time, it means the world to me <3
also song that helped to keep inspiring the fic was âabout youâ by the 1975
#elixirscinema#angst#marvel#bucky barnes fic#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes au#james buchanan barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x trans reader#transmasc reader#trans reader#he/him#he/him reader#queer fanfiction#bucky barnes x male reader#writing challenge#mcu imagine#marvel mcu#mcu fanfiction#marvel fanfiction
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Random days writing challenge for all the blocked writers out there. Feel free to interact. Reblog this when you post your own work.
#writing#writer#writers#writerscommunity#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writers and poets#writing challenge#writing prompt#prompt
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writing game: post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line.
Even if sheâs still so damnably hungry for a flavor she canât bear to name.
Thank you for the tag, @iron-sparrow ! It's so exciting to see what you write!
15 words, 15 tags!
@ffxivtribehydrae | @shroudkeeper | @neoma-eltanin | @umbralsound-xiv | @tallbluelady | @iron-sparrow (ahaha now you have to do two) | @fair-fae | @chordialy | @wandererxiv | @whiskey-rose | @verysmallcyborg | @oneiroy | @ahollowgrave | @uldahstreetrat | @sayurifellfrost | @riftdancing
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This is so cool and beautifully written, well done đđđ
Random Writing Challenge
Write a Bad Batch story that is only 26 sentences long.
The twist??
Each sentence has to start with the next letter of the alphabet!
Rules:
The story must be 26 sentences longâno more, no less!!
Each sentence must start with the next letter of the alphabet starting with A (Clarification: the first word in the sentence must start with the next letter of the alphabetâŚ)
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#ao3#archive of our own#fanfic#blorbo#comfort character#fanfiction#writer#writers#writing#writeblr#whump#angst#whumpblr#fandom#fandoms#meme#memes#comfort characters#humor#comedy#funny#writing challenge#writing inspo#writing inspiration
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WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST
Welcome to Whumptober 2024 â Seventh Time's a Charm!
Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
This yearâs AO3 Collection can be found here.
This year's playlist can be found here.
The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.
And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.
Weâre very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!
Best of luck and happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)
Whumptober 2024 Prompt List
No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK
Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.â (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)
No. 2: TRUST ISSUES
Amusement Park | Role Reversal | âYou got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.â (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)
No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE
Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."
No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS
Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | âYou're still alive in my head.â (Billy Lockett, More)
No. 5: SUNBURN
Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)
No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED
Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."
No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES
Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."
No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION
Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)
No. 9: OBSESSION
Broken Window | Bruises | âFrame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.â (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)
No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD
Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."
No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE
Convenience Store | Loneliness | âLeave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.â (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)
No. 12: STARVATION
Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."
No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY
Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)
No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD
Hunting Gear | Blackmail | âBecause I want you to know what it feels like to be hauntedâ (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)
No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA
Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"
No. 16: NECROSIS
Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."
No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO
Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."
No. 18: REVENGE
Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | âI see what's mine and take it.â (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)
No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL
Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)
No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST
Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."
No. 21: BODY HORROR
Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | âLet the bedsheet soak up the tears.â (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)
No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES
Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."
No. 23: FORCED CHOICE
Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."
No. 24: RADIATION POISONING
Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | âI never knew daylight could be so violent.â (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)
No. 25: SURGERY
Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."
No. 26: NIGHTMARES
Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | âI'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.â (Poe, Haunted)
No. 27: VOICELESS
Laboratory | Muzzled | âI have no mouth and I must scream.â
No. 28: DENIAL
CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."
No. 29: FATIGUE
Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"
No. 30: RECOVERY
Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"
No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP
Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)
Alternatives List:
Body Swap
Communication Barrier
Finding Old Messages
Forgotten
Friendly Fire
Motion Sickness
No-Holds-Barred Beatdown
Regret
Secrets Revealed
Shivering
Survivor's Guilt
Time Loop
Used As Bait
Venom
Vermin
Event Info & Rules
WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way youâd like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you donât have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is âflame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an âold flameâ - an old relationship. Itâs truly down to you!
In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.
Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you donât have to do ALL the prompts if you donât want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:
#whumptober2024 âŚ..(the event tag)
#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, âŚ..(theme number)
#bruises, #stabbing, âŚ..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)
#altprompt âŚ..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)
#fandom or #OC, âŚ..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)
#medium âŚ..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)
#teeth, #etc âŚ..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add âtwâ in front but only use the word/trigger itself)
#nsfwhump âŚ..(only for nsfw content)
#your own tags go here
PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]
Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.
Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.
Frequently Asked Questions
Please read this before you send an ask!
TIMELINE
July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. Itâs up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.
PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION
Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this yearâs prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? Weâll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And youâre not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if youâre writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, itâs okay if that fic isnât finished by the time October ends, youâll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though itâs only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.
PROMPTS
Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you donât like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a characterâs mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as youâd like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you donât have to produce 31 separate works.
WORKS
Q: Whatâs whump? Hurting a character, whether thatâs physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if itâs whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic âwhumpee,â OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything weâre not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, itâs fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.
POSTING
Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You donât even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if itâs not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldnât it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We wonât be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a dayâs themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. Weâll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, thatâs fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! Weâve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (donât out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).
Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!
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you know a fic is good when it has this

#writing#writer#writeblr#writers#ao3#archive of our own#fanfic#fanfiction#blorbo#fictional characters#comfort character#tropes#trope#prompt#prompts#angst#whump#whumpblr#fandom#fandoms#writing inspo#writing inspiration#writing challenge#meme#memes
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*taps mic*
Fuck NaNoWriMo
It's always been a shit way to write a book. Slamming through fifty thousand words in a month leads to burnout and a garbage draft you'll spend more time unfucking than if you'd actually just paced yourself.
I'm proposing Novel Outline November
Start with your idea on November 1st.
Write something for your novel every day. The only unacceptable amount is 0.
Attempt to complete the plot in 50K words. Stick with that as a limiting factor so you focus on what's most important to your story.
When it's done it's done! Everyone is a winner!
You will
Develop good writing habits
Challenge yourself to write long form
Create a base that can be expanded into commercial fiction (70-100K) or genre fiction (100-110K)
Happy writing!
#writeblr#wishborn#amwriting#writing#writers on tumblr#original writing#nanowrimo#fuck nanowrimo#writing advice#writing tips#writing challenge
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*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If youâd like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and weâll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).
#ao3#archive of our own#writer#writers#writing#writeblr#fanfic#fanfiction#fandom#fandoms#writing challenge#writing inspo#writing inspiration#poll#polls#tumblr polls#tumblr poll#incognito polls#poll time#fun polls#random polls
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