#i'm sorry that so many of these are marvel. it will happen again

[ledesaid]

Almost Complete - Shazam without Achilles

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AU - Billy receives the news, not all his sponsors agreed that he was to be the new champion of magic.

Solomon was happy to guide him with his advice. ▲ Hercules was convinced that he would be a great lion when he grew up a little. ▲ Atlas was very kind and is willing to bear some of the weight of the new champion. ▲ Zeus had given his approval in consensus with the choice of the wizard. ▲ Mercury really enjoyed feeling the strength of speed through Billy again. ▲ Achilles, yes, this Achilles... He didn't want him fighting for justice or fighting in general. He was completely against a child throwing himself against evil, injustice, pain, and many more things that Solomon hushed up so as not to worry Billy. ▲ It was non-negotiable, Achilles would not give his gift until Billy was an adult or understood the magnitude of what it meant not to have it.

Then...

Yes. There was something that didn't come in the demigod package instructions or even in the warnings...

Billy receives an echo of all the damage he recibes in his divine form.

And boy... does it hurt!

Billy has paraded through all kinds of injuries. Black eyes, some broken or bruised bone and he is proud of having recovered from all of them.

Although...

People are too scared about his integrity.

So, there was only one alternative left, you know, that's why he left the orphanage and all his previous foster homes.

He had gotten used to the whole system and was at a dead end at the same time. But he didn't want to give rise to misunderstandings... Misunderstandings that would generate a barrage of abuse reports... heavens.

That wasn't heroic.

"What happened to you, Billy?"

"Sorry, I fell again..."

Billy doesn't want them to get involved. He wants to be a hero and is willing to bear that weight. That's why he took what little he had and escaped.

So he is opting for a word-based approach. Talking is better than hitting. Solomon always whispers it and, given his situation, he tries to hold on as much as he can.

But sometimes... one cannot choose.

Hal: Cap, are you okay?

Marvel: Yes! It's just going to leave me an ugly bruise. Do you know... Do you know how to heal a rib at home?

Hal: We'll fix it in the Watchtower, Cap. Can you still fight?

Billy knows he should say no. The blow broke a couple of ribs, he has felt a tingling sensation, the magic has healed the blow... But the echo of the damage will leave him with a broken rib.

Another blow in the same place and it could be much worse... Going to a hospital and returning to the system... Goodbye Captain... Goodbye freedom... Hello endless persecution.

Marvel: Yes, throw it at me, I'll send it to jail with one hit.

Hal: That's the spirit, Cap!

With the end of the day, Captain Marvel delivered the final blow.

But the one who really took it was Billy.

As usual, the infirmary in the Watchtower did not detect any damage in his adult form... But they didn't know what awaited him in Fawcett.

Marvel: Batman, sir, I need to take a couple of weeks off. I have an urgent matter to attend to and it cannot be postponed.

Batman: I'm going to send the notice, so we can support you in your city. Thanks for today, Captain.

Marvel: Thank you very much too Batman, I don't know what I would do without you.

Batman: Captain... Are you sure you're not hurt?

Billy: I-I have the resistance of Achilles, remember? I mean! Of course, I'm not hurt, Mr. Batman!

Billy narrowly escapes and prepares. It's time.

That terrible moment in his superhero career...

The curtain must fall.

Billy has already thought about it. The magnitude of the injury...

He must transform as close as possible to the hospital. If he can walk, he will go to his hideout and if he can't, he will have to surrender. Escaping will be terrible, but he would think about that when the time came.

It takes a while, pronouncing that word is so easy... But now it brings a bitter taste.

Sha... Sha...

Billy sits down. It will hurt less if he is sitting when it happens.

Billy: Shazam...

Billy faints next to an alley. It's the last thing he sees before waking up in the hospital.

He wears an oxygen mask.

His head hurts... Had he also hit there?

There were several devices connected, oh, and a social worker next to his bed.

He rejoined the Watchtower three weeks later. Batman had many questions, and Captain Marvel did what he does best: he escaped.

[dickytwister]

wip roundup

i was tagged by @adelaidedrubman THANK U MWAH

rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! tag as many people as you have wips.

below the cut bc i have so many that is why i am not tagging as many people OUGH gonna do the same thing where titles in italics are nsfw fics so beware!!

original

august; tarot august; coda

far cry 5

elliot/tristan priest!elliot/herald!rowen kinktober day 12-13 😩💦crisp bend over (or the one where elliot refuses to do just that) "i called you at 2am because i need you"

psych

flufftober alt3; shassie but i still know your birthday sorry about the blood in your mouth shules smut 🤯🤯‼️‼️ psych angst; script SHARING BODY HEAT POW 💥 POW 💥 POW 💥

marvel

the most pathetic man you've ever seen is getting raw dogged in a wendy's parking lot at 3am tease havent made emmanuel suffer in a while so its happening now 👍👍 BIRTHDAY FIC FOR THE BIRTHDAY BLORBO can't stop thinking abt bucky and jasper in the shower bestie mens tits <3 carter and joaquin stuff because i am !!! insane phone calls stinky little rat character study huuuuh cock and balls carter/joaquin first time (draft) we repress our gay feelings for our childhood best friend here sir deep fried ben affleck smoking meme earth let us die sugar-coated im fag?🧍‍♂️

tagging @perseus-veil @quickhacked @reaperkiller @the-universe-in-our-mind @stacispratt and whoever wants to do this owo it's super fun!!

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

[fanfictiongirlie]

Marvel: I Have A Proposal For You

Parings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Description:

Reader has no luck with me her own age, they're useless and never put the effort in to make her cum, Steve offers to help her.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin

Words: 4,521

So I'm in a bit of a writing rut on my series, so I thought I'd write a quick little smut with Stevie rather than stress over my series. Hope you enjoy <3

Completed One Shot

You huff loudly as you walk into the Avengers kitchen at 1am, you didn't expect anyone to be awake, but of course with so many people living under one incredibly large roof, there was. Steve sat inside at the kitchen breakfast bar, drinking his small glass of whiskey. 

"I hate men" You snap, huffing again as you lean against a counter, you hadn't said it specifically to Steve, you just needed to get it out, you had been thinking it for a while. A hour to be exact. 

Steve watched as you walked into the kitchen, he noticed your annoyed demeanor and stands up, walking closer to you. 

"What's up?" He asked, his blue eyes on you, worried something bad had happened. 

"Men" You mutter "Well, specifically men my age, they're useless...I went out tonight, ready to party and have some fun, and went home with this guy, he didn't even make me cum! But when he was finished, he just rolled over and went to sleep!" You ranted, your thoughts thinking over the events of the night again, this was the last time you'd ever have a one night stand with a random man. They were useless. 

Steve stood listening intently as you ranted, a small smirk forming on his lips as you continued vented. 

"He just rolled over and went to sleep? Just like that?" He asked, he was leaning against the opposite kitchen counter now, his arms crossed over his chest, his muscles maybe distracting you just a little. 

"Just like that!" You yell, you then notice the small redness over Steve's cheeks. "Oh...Steve, I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear about my pathetic sex life" You say, feeling a little guilty. 

Steve chuckles at your words, he took a step closer to you. 

"It's okay. I don't mind listening to you rant. So, tell me more. This guy, how old is he exactly?"

"My age...well, twenty-three, so a year older than me" You answer, rolling your eyes at the thought of the guy again. At least he didn't finish inside of you...you kept telling yourself. 

"And he didn't even make you finish, that's a little rude" Steve sighed, that smirk forming on his lips again. 

"I'm telling ya, men my age are useless" You huff pushing yourself off the counter and taking a few steps away from the area. "Guess I'll go to bed, sort it out myself"

Steve notices the disappointment on your face as he watched you move. He couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance, not just at the way that guy had treated you, but at the thought of you having to 'sort it out' by yourself. 

"Wait a second" The words formed in his mouth before his brain even finishing thinking them. A idea coming to his head. You stop walking and turn to look at him. 

"Yes?" You ask. Steve then pushes off the kitchen counter he was leaning on and walks over to you, standing an arms length away from you. His eyes fixated on yours as he stood in front of you. 

"Can I ask you a question?"

You smile up at him and nod. "Of course"

Steve stood another step closer to you, shorting the distance between you both, he held your gaze as he asked his question on his mind. 

"If there was a way to...'solve' this problem of yours right now, would that be something that would interest you?" He asks, his voice low and husky. The breath within you was suddenly caught in your throat. You looked him up and down quickly, wondering if you were dreaming...your crush on the older man was something you'd had for a while, not that anyone knew. He was a lot older than you, so naturally you never thought he'd like you. 

"And...how would you 'solve' my problem?" You ask cooly. Steve obviously noticed your lingering gaze, he could see the flicker of curiosity within your eyes as you looked at him. His heart rate picked up a bit as he watched your reaction, your cheeks had a slight red tint to them, and your tongue darted out to lick your lips, your eyes never straying from his. He leaned in a bit closer to you as he spoke quietly to you. 

"Well, I have an idea" 

"Yes?" You ask breathlessly. 

Steve continued to observe your face, noticing the slight change in your breath as you spoke. He leaned in a little closer, stepping closer, your bodies almost touching now. 

"You said that the guy you were with didn't...make you finish, right?" He asked, his voice soft and low as he spoke. 

"He didn't" You answer quietly as you look up at him, his eyes sparkling down as he looks at you. You lick your lips again, your body feeling weaker and weaker as he spoke. You could guess what he meant, you hoped you were right in your thoughts. The feeling in your lower stomach was strong, the need and want for him growing. 

"So you're all...pent up and unsatisfied, right?" Steve asks, he noticed your slight irritation at the fact that the guy didn't make you feel good. He felt annoyed on your behalf, but quickly he pushed that thought aside. You nodded, your eyes still on his, though you felt as if your eyes had a glaze of lust over them with how you were feeling right now. 

"And you don't want to have to 'take care' of it yourself, right?" He asks, his voice lower and lower with every word. 

"No" You answered quietly. 

He held your gaze for a moment longer before speaker, his voice becoming a bit more huskier. 

"In that case...I have a proposal for you" 

"Yes?" You asked, your body tingling as you thought about the things he could do to your body. He took another step closer, if that were possible, you were touching now, hips to hips. He looked down at you, a hint of a smirk on his face. 

"I can...'assist' you with taking care of that problem, if you'd like"

"I'd really, really like that" You whisper, Steve had lowered himself slightly, so your faces were close now. Close enough that if you just moved forward slightly, you'd be touching noses. You could smell his cologne he was so close, it only added to your current state. 

"Then I'd be happy to 'assist' you, sweetheart" 

"Please" You almost whimpered. You cursed to yourself in your mind for sounding so pathetic. Steve smirked and gently raised a hand placing it under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him more intently.  

"So eager...I like that" He whispers, the breath from his words touching your lips in a way that makes you feel almost feral, ready to take him, let him have you however he wishes. The urge to please him bubbles up inside you, and usually you'd maybe feel embarrassed, but not today, not with Steve. You nodded pathetically, his fingers still having a hold on your chin as you move. 

"Please Steve, I am"

"Don't worry...I'll make you feel good, I'll take care of you"

"We...we should go to one of our rooms" You whisper, hating yourself for breaking the wonderful moment between the two of you, but having another Avenger walk in on you was not on your bucket list. He nodded in agreement, his eyes roaming over your face, he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close, leading you towards the hallway. 

"Let's go to mine"

"Okay" You say softly, letting him lead you completely. Steve kept his arm around your waist as he led you down the hall to his room. As he pushes the door open, he guides you inside, closing the door and locking it afterwards. 

"Fuck, can't believe we're doing this" You whisper, almost in awe at one of your fantasies coming true. Steve couldn't help but chuckle at your comment. He led you over to the bed, guiding you to sit down before standing in front of you. You looked up at him, enjoying the sight of him. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I promise I'll make you feel good" He says with a sweet smile. You nodded, and returned the smile hoping he'd understand you were willing to put your entire trust onto him. He must of because he smile widened and he began to unbutton his shirt, he pulled it off his body, revealing the muscles underneath.

"Wow" You whispered out-loud. You looked up over his body, your mouth watered at the slightly of his muscles and naked torso. He chuckled softly and began unbuttoning his trousers as well, keeping his eyes on your face as he dropped them down to the ground. He down stood in front of you with just his boxers covering his skin. 

"You like what you see?" He asks, and your eyes were no longer on his, now looking at the large bulge in front of your face, trapping within the confinements of his boxers. 

"God...yes...so much" You say with a slight smirk, you moved your hands from your lap and onto his hips, your fingers hooking just under his boxers. You heard Steve's breath hitch as you touched his skin. 

"Someone's eager..." He teased, his voice a bit hoarse. 

"Shut up" You answered as you slowly pulled his boxers down his toned legs. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Eager and rude" He said, still teasing you. 

"You have no idea" You mutter, you were eager, for him. You pulled his boxers all the way down, his already hard cock bounced free from his boxers and slapped against his stomach. His boxers were now pooled down at his feet, and his cock stood to attention in front of your face, your stomach fluttered at the sight, he was large...Larger than you'd had before, but not only did he have ample length, he was thick...You could imagine how full you'd feel with it inside of you, you squeezed your legs together, feeling excited. 

"God Steve, you're beautiful" 

"Beautiful huh? You think I'm beautiful?" He asked, his voice a bit huskier than before. 

"So much, god, I know this was originally about me finishing...But can I put my mouth on you?" You ask, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him. Your eyes flicker up to his momentarily as you ask your question. 

"Go ahead sweetheart" He answers, his cheeks were flushed a little red now. It was enough to make you feel giddy. You moved your hands first, taking his hardness in your hand, it was just larger than both of your hands wrapped around it. You left one hand wrapped around his cock, close to the base as you moved forward, licking his head experimentally. Steve's breathing got heavier as you completely wetted the head of his cock. 

Closing your eyes you really got into it, taking his tip into your mouth, moaning softly at his taste, he tasted clean, fresh, unlike so many men you had been with. You expertly moved your hand up and down his length whilst taking as much of his cock into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck. Your eyes were wet, small tears were streaming down your cheeks, he must of noticed because one of his hands moved to wipe them. Steve was moaning loudly now, he had moved one hand to your head, softly holding you, guiding you but not forcing you down. You would of smiled if your mouth wasn't busy, even in moments like this, he was ever the man with the manners. 

You moved your mouth a little faster, your jaw had started to ache slightly, but you didn't stop, until his hand moved down to your throat, stopping your movements, you pulled off from him and looked up at him through your wet eyelashes. 

"Why'd you stop me?"

"I didn't want to come before you darling" He whispers.

"Oh" You say quietly, he was perfect "Let me level the playing field and we'll continue" You smirk, standing up from the bed, you lift the dress you were wearing off your body, throwing it somewhere random in the room. Steve lets out a low breath as he watched you. You watched as he swallowed, his eyes fixed on your body. 

"Damn, you're just...wow" 

Your smirk only continues to plaster over you face as you take your underwear off, leaving you completely bare to him. He couldn't take his eyes off you, his eyes traveled up and down your body, taking in every inch of your naked form. 

"You're absolutely perfect, sweetheart. You're so goddamn beautiful"

"Kiss me" You whisper, interrupting his rambles. Steve heard your whispered request and immediately he leaned down so he was level with you. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you against him, and pressed forward pressing his lips to yours. His lips explored your mouth hungrily, his tongue parting your lips and sliding against yours as he kissed you. 

You sighed happily into the kiss, smiling against his lips, your naked bodies pressed together whilst you snaked your hands up from his shoulders into his luscious blonde hair. He let out a quiet moan into your mouth, he let his hands wander your body, exploring every inch and curve of your skin as he continued to kiss you with fervor. 

"God, I can't take it...need you" You mumbled against his lips. 

"I need you too, sweetheart. I need you so damn badly"

You moved your hands from his hair down to his hips, holding him as you walked backwards, guiding him to follow you, when the back of your legs hit the bed, you fell down onto it, smirking up at him. Steve followed you, hovering his body over yours. His lips move onto your body, whilst his hands held onto your hips as his lips worshiped you. 

He continued to trail kisses down your body, his lips moved over your skin so delicately, exploring and worshiping every inch of you. He took his time, wanting to make sure you savored the sensation, letting his hands also roam across your body, caressing and touching you in all the right places. 

"Mmmm Steve...oh...that's so nice" 

He carried on kissing you and touching you, listening closely to every small noise and whimper you would let out. He paused for a moment to look up at you, a smirk on his face. 

"You that that, sweetheart? Like my hands on you, my mouth on you?"

"So much" You whimper quietly as you look down at him. 

He smiled as you answered him, obviously enjoying the effect he was having on you, the way you were responding to him, the way you were reacting to his touch. He continued to kiss and gently suck at the skin of your breasts, as one hand moved to touch your nipple, playing with it in between his fingertips. 

"You're so beautiful, you know that? So goddamn beautiful..." He mumbled against your skin. 

"Steve, I need you...need more" You begged, your senses were overwhelmed with a need for him. You shivered as he moved one hand down your body, his fingertips trailing against your skin as he moved, his eyes were still locked on yours as he mouths your skin, his fingers moved down in between your legs finally touching you were you needed it most. 

He expertly moved his fingers in between your wet folds, dragging your wetness from your hole up to your clit, he slowly circled two fingers over your clit as his lips moved up to your collarbone, sucking a small mark into your skin. You moaned loudly, moving your hands to grip his arms as you spread your legs further for him. 

Steve knew exactly where you needed him to touch, and he was more than happy to provide it. He moved two fingers away from your clit, and you were ready to whine at the lost of contact, but he soon made up for it by pressing those two fingers inside of your wet hole, you gripped his arms tighter feeling your body shudder slightly at the new feeling, his fingers were thick, and felt amazing within you. You grind your hips against his fingers slightly, only grinding harder as his thumb pressed against your clit, the little bundle of nerves shooting electric throughout your body. 

"Oh...wow...Steve...jeez, you're good with your fingers" You moan out in a whisper. 

He chuckled, his lips still on the skin of your chest, he smirked, obviously feeling a bit proud of his skills with his fingers. 

"You like that, huh? Like how I'm making you feel with my fingers?"

"Yesss!" You whined as he pumped his fingers faster into you. His fingers didn't slow as he kissed lower, his lips trailing down your torso and down past your stomach. He continued to kiss you, moving his mouth lower and lower, his goal becoming more and more clear as he approached where his thumb was. 

"Oh! Yes! Steve!" You whined loudly, feeling your body close to it's edge. You body shuddered hard as his mouth replaced his thumb against your clit, he sucked hard and kept his fingers moving at a fast pace, you body shook as he brought you to your finishing point, you came hard around his fingers and over his face, he didn't slow his movements, moaning softly against your wet skin as you grind against him. Your body shook in the aftermath of your pleasure, your legs closing around him. 

Steve looked up and smirked, his free hand moved to hold down your leg, making sure you kept them spread. You body trembled against him, you were still shaking slightly. 

"Don't close those legs, sweetheart. I'm not done with you yet"

"Fuck, I hope not"

He chuckled again, moving his lips back to your clit, he licked down towards his fingers, opening them slightly to slide his tongue inside of you, alongside his fingers. You moaned loudly, moving one of your hands to his hair, holding his head for support whilst your other arm flew to rest over your eyes, your mouth was wide open, strings of loud whimpers and moans never faulting as they left your lips. 

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I'm nowhere near finished with you. I plan on taking my time with you" He says, his lips moving against your hole as his fingers move slowly inside and out, his tongue darting out every few words as he spoke, tasting your hole. 

"God...I'm yours" You whisper as your body shivers with excitement. You had forgotten about that loser of a guy from earlier in the evening. 

"Damn right you are. You're mine sweetheart. All mine" He spoke quietly, his eyes shut as he dives back in, his fingers began moving again at a past which made you feel dizzy. His mouth was over your clit as he sucked and licked, moaning as he tasted you. 

"Steve....oh...oh...oh my god" You moaned, becoming a moaning mess underneath him. You were shaking with pleasure as he made you come again, and again. You had a daze of happiness washing over you body as he crawled back up to you, he smirked and brought his lips down to yours, moving his wet lips against yours, you tasted yourself on him, not caring one bit. He moved one hand to cup your cheek, holding you so softly it made you feel fuzzy inside. You moved your hands to the back of his neck, holding him against you as you kissed. 

As you kissed Steve's hips rutted gently against your hip, his hard cock leaving a wet stripe of precum over your leg, you smiled into the kiss causing him to pull away and cock his head at you. 

"What's so funny?" He asks. 

"Nothing...What's...uhh your favourite position?" You asked, feeling a little bashful at the question, but after what he did to your body, you felt like he deserved his favourite position. 

"You really wanna know?" He asks, his cheeks flushing red slightly. 

"Please?"

"Well, my favourite position is usually missionary. Just being able to look at your face and see your eyes whilst I'm on top of you..." He said, almost bashfully. 

"Oh Steve, you sweetheart" You say, a soft giggle on your lips. 

Steve felt a smile on his face, he was so damn attracted to you. 

"What? Seeing your face as I'm on top of you watching your eyes as they close and your expression changes...it's quite a sight" He explains. 

"Well then, why don't we make it a reality" You say softly. 

"I was hoping you'd say that, sweetheart" He chuckles, moving slightly so he hovered over your body completely, his arms rested by the sides of your face and his cock trapped in between your stomachs. You moved your legs slightly, spreading them so he had space to slot in between them. Steve positioned himself a little, his eyes were all over your body, taking in your form as he moved a hand down to his cock, taking himself he lined himself up to your hole. 

He didn't push in yet, choosing to drag the head of his cock up and down your wet pussy a few times, causing you both to moan softly, he moved down to press his lips to yours, kissing you softly, almost savoring the touch and taste of your lips on his as he slowly pushed his cock inside of you. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt. It wasn't an awful pain, it was one you almost welcomed, the slight twinge of pain adding to your pleasure. 

"You okay, sweetheart?" He asks, his lips still on your as he spoke, neither of your eyes opened anymore. 

"So good, keep going" You answer, your legs were pressed to his hips, holding onto him as he finally pushed his entire hard cock inside of you. You had never felt so full, but feeling his entire length was beyond amazing, he was thick, thick enough that you could feel the veins of his cock against the walls of your pussy. You clenched around him a few times, causing him to groan loudly as he kissed you, you used the moment of his groan to slide your tongue into his mouth, losing yourself into him. You nodded slightly, hoping he'd know what you had meant. You needed him to move, needed him to pound into you like there was no tomorrow. 

Steve understood your meaning, his lips stopped moving against yours slightly as he concentrated on moving his hips, he slowly dragged himself out of you, leaving just the tip, the feeling alone causing him to feel close to his edge, he then moved his cock fully back into you, a few times, just to make sure you were both completely covered in wetness. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails digging slightly into his skin as his hips began moving. Slowly at first, but soon he picked up the pace. 

Steve's lips moved away from yours, kissing had been forgotten regardless, you both held your open mouths together, swallowing one another's moans rather than kiss. His lips moved to your neck, resting there as he slammed his hips into yours. The only noises in the room are those of both your moans and the loud slapping of his hips against yours. 

"Steve...m'close" You whine, your legs beginning to shake. Steve, who was sucking yet another mark into your skin moved one hand in between your bodies, moving it down so he could press to fingers to your clit, he messily moved against the bundle of nerves, helping to push you over the edge. 

You moaned loudly, gripping onto his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you body, even with closed eyes your vision went fuzzy and spotted with black dots, you giggled softly as you came down from the high, Steve had slowed his thrusts, his face lifted to look at you, a large smirk on his lips. 

"You good, sweetheart?" 

"So good" You say with a light giggle, feeling over the moon with pleasure, your legs went slack against the bed, they jolted slightly with every thrust of Steve's cock. Steve's thrusts started becoming faster, his fingers no longer on your clit, which you were thankful for, feeling close to overstimulating, both of his large hands were on you hips as he held you tightly, his fingers leaving little imprints on your skin as he used your hips to thrust into you harder. Your hands were lazily on his shoulders, you moved them over his chest, feeling his muscles in your post haze state. 

"Come Stevie, come inside of me" You whisper, your voice trailing off slightly into another moan, his cock still stretching you perfectly. 

"Are...Are you sure, sweetheart?" He asks, his hips slamming into you messily. 

"Yes, wanna feel you" You whispered, clenching your pussy against him. 

"Fu..fuck" He groaned, you giggled slightly at hearing Captain America swear, you clenched your pussy again as he thrusted into you, his movements becoming messy and sloppy as he became closer to his edge. "Gon...gonna come...fuck!" He moaned loudly, slamming his hips into you once more, letting your pussy cover his cock completely as he buries himself into you, spilling his seed deep within you, he drops his head down to your chest, his sweaty forehead connecting with the skin in between your breasts. You move your hands to his hair, holding him as he lays there, obviously catching his breath. 

"Wow" You whispered. 

"Yeah, wow" He replied, his voice quiet as he pressed a kiss to your skin. 

After a few moments, Steve slowly removed himself from you, both of you wincing from the overstimulation, he then leaves the bedroom, only emerging from the bathroom when he had a wet flannel in hand. Steve smiled sweetly down to you as he washed your lower body of his seed, he kissed along your lower stomach as he did so. 

"You did so good" He whispers. 

"I did?" You ask, smirking down at him. 

"So good, I'm glad you liked my idea" He grinned, it took you a moment to realise what idea he was talking about, suddenly remembering the real reason this had happened between you both. 

"Yeah, well I think I'll be coming to you from now on, rather than a useless guy my own age" You answer with a smirk. 

"Good, because I meant it when I said you were mine" He answers, moving forward to kiss your lips. 

And finally you ended the night how you had wanted, in the arms of a man who knew how to make you feel good. And the fact that it was Steve's arms you were in, well that was just a bonus. 

(I do not consent my works to be posted anywhere else, by anyone other than myself.)

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

[localboobsenjoyer]

As a new resident of the neighborhood, you wanted to start fresh. So you decided to show some manners and go door to door to greet and introduce yourself to everyone. The first family on your list was the Astors, a rich couple that lived on the same floor as you. After you ring the bell, you are greeted by a marvelous vision. A beautiful lady in a black crop top and the shortest shorts possible. You were about to introduce yourself, but your attention was grabbed by how fucking horny she seemed. In particular, you could see her rock-hard nipples poking through the thin fabric of her top. After an indefinably long silence, you both managed to shake off the embarrassment and introduce yourselves. Despite her seemingly slight uncomfortable your talk was going quite well. Then, all of a sudden, she closed her eyes, and her face assumed an expression between pain and pleasure. At the same time, you felt something hit your chest: it was her top. Her formerly perfect but average breasts had ballooned in size so much that they snapped her top and were now naked for you to see. They were now massive and super perky, almost fake-looking, as if some massive implants had magically appeared inside.

"Sorry," she said without trying to cover herself up. "This happens a lot when I'm horny. You see, my husband is away for a work trip, and I have no one to help me. Can we fuck?" Before you could even think of an answer, your body gave one since you were now super hard. What followed was probably the best sex you have ever had. You went on and on so much that you basically fainted and ended up sleeping there. When you woke up, you were alone in her bed. After confirming that this wasn't a dream, you approached the door to look for Mrs. Astor. Before you reach it, however, your host opens it, revealing that, despite all the sex you had last night, she was still horny, as you could deduce from her tits, which were even bigger than before. This time, they were even bigger than before and covered most of her torso. They sagged a little, but this didn't make them any less attractive. These were the boobs of a mom, and you wouldn't be surprised if they were full of milk.

"Ready for round 2?" she asked, coquettishly. Once again, your body's answer was faster than your brain, and once again, you enjoyed many hours of sex that was even better than last night.

[gffa]

I haven't read any STEVE/BUCKY FIC in the last five years or so (Endgame really burned me hard), BUT I can at least offer what I read up to that point! Most of my recs are from around when Captain America: The Winter Soldier first came out (some from before, so there's a few speculation fics) and then I was ready semi-regularly up through Inifinity War, so these may be a bit dated but also the fandom had some ABSOLUTE BANGER fics from that era! I mostly read from about 2014 to 2019 and I can't say how well many of these held up, but I know my tastes haven't changed that much, so there should hopefully be something for anyone interested here! Anyway, I think I'm finally Not As Mad As I Once Was enough to read fic again/celebrate the 10th anniversary of TWS, but also let's be clear. I will forever hold a grudge about what Marvel did with Steve and Bucky post-TWS, that was bullshit from start to finish. ESPECIALLY the finish, oh my god okay so I'm still Actually That Mad and-- NO, OKAY, HAVE SOME FIC RECS BEFORE I MELT DOWN AGAIN.

CAPTAIN AMERICA FIC RECS YOU'LL FIND HERE:

STEVE/BUCKY SHIP FICS

STEVE/BUCKY - PRE-THE WINTER SOLDIER SPECULATION

STEVE/BUCKY - POST-THE WINTER SOLDIER

STEVE/BUCKY - POST-INFINITY WAR

STEVE & BUCKY-CENTRIC FICS (WITH A LITTLE OF EVERYONE ELSE, TOO)

STEVE&BUCKY&CAST - POST-THE WINTER SOLDIER

CAPTAIN AMERICA: STEVE/BUCKY FIC RECS: ✦ Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Take Me In by victoria_p (musesfool), steve rogers/bucky barnes + natasha romanoff, reunion fic, 4.1k Bucky finds himself, and then he finds Steve. ✦ you got blood on your hands (and i know it’s mine) by nighimpossible, steve rogers/bucky barnes + natasha romanoff + brief mention of sam wilson/natasha romanoff, suicidal ideation, 2.9k Bucky refuses to see Steve after his deprogramming. ✦ take all you can carry by havisham, steve/bucky & cast, 2.4k    Bucky Barnes reassembles himself to a reasonable degree and makes romantic overtures to one Steve Rogers. It’s happened before and will happen again. ✦ I’d Know That Face Anywhere by Shay081793, steve/bucky, NSFW, divergent timeline, 2.7k The 107th never got captured. Instead, Bucky Barnes is in the audience when that clown "Captain America" performs to rally the troops, and holy shit, that clown is Steve Rogers. ✦ and we are finally home by springsoldier (ladydaredevil), sam & bucky + steve/bucky + implied sam/natasha + implied bucky/natasha, 7.3k The Winter Soldier shows up in Sam's kitchen, one morning. He deals with it. (Natasha helps. Steve would, if they let him.) ✦ Capture the Flag by Shiny_n_new, steve/bucky + sam, dark au, 9.4k wip Bucky has always been willing to do Captain America’s dirty work. This was no different. Sometimes, the day isn’t won by high ideals or bravery or compassion. Sometimes, it’s won by monsters. ✦ Memories are Made of This by eleveninches, steve/bucky & natasha & sam, 13.2k Nearly a year after turning himself into SHIELD and the Avengers, Bucky struggles to find himself in the 21st century. Unfortunately, no one told him about the aliens.

✦ but hey, you’re all right by beardsley, steve/bucky + other marvel characters, 5.5k Yes, this is the story where the Winter Soldier is a Russian mail-order bride. Everything goes about as well as you’d expect. ✦ I Left Myself in 1943 (Who the hell is Bucky?) by originalblue, steve/bucky + sam + natasha + other marvel characters, 21k You have a mission, but your mind is being split in two, and there's a man on the bridge, and you know him. You don't know why, but you know him. ✦ sam deserves better than these assholes by lazulisong, steve/bucky + sam + natasha + other marvel characters, 18k IM SORRY BUT SAM WILSON STARING IN BAFFLED WONDER AT STEVE AND BUCKY AND HOW WEIRD THEY ARE ABOUT EACH OTHER ✦ broken pieces (the rough edges remix) by legete, steve/bucky, 2.1k It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong, but sometimes Bucky prefers the nightmares that actually happened. ✦ Talk Dirty to Me by PeetaPan, steve/bucky, NSFW, wall sex, 2.5k Steve spends months tracking Bucky down, and when he eventually find him, it’s in a nightclub in Europe. ✦ the body adrift by Febricant, steve/bucky + sam, mildy nsfw, 4.2k Steve has no drawings of Bucky from before. Those are all gone, destroyed in the war or by his own hand; it wouldn’t do for anyone to see how easily the details came from memory, how often Bucky was in his thoughts. ✦ Tony Stark and the Illegal Cross-Country Road Trip from Hell by ActionAddiction, steve/bucky + tony + sam + clint + natasha + fury, 21.8k wip A stir-crazy genius, a secretly sentimental assassin, two soldiers lost in time, and an undercover archer without an identity zigzag across the continental United States in Fury’s stolen van. Or: How Bucky Met Steve (Again)

✦ Didn’t know I was lonely till I saw your face by gunboots, steve/bucky + bucky/natasha + sam + bruce + tony + xavier, 2.9k There are words on paper, actors in movies, and a grand story that fills a whole corner of a museum defined by history. There are words, there are pictures, there are movies, but they’re limited, fragmented. They can’t do justice to the sniper that Captain America trusted, the man that grew into a boy in the streets of Brooklyn with his best friend at his side. The man that could be James Buchanan Barnes leaves a legacy that is barely defined. The man that Steve Rogers says he is. ✦ the inaccuracy of historical wartime dramas by Mici (noharlembeat), steve/bucky + sam + natasha, 3k (or: Steve has feelings, and shouldn’t ever watch television) ✦ The Shape I’m In by radialarch, steve/bucky, 2.6k [AU where Bucky never fell.] They win the war. Steve and Bucky come home and deal with their feelings. ✦ дорогой by smilebackwards, steve/bucky + other marvel characters, canon divergence, 1.8k “Are you goddamn kidding me?” Fury asks when Steve shows up to the rendezvous point in Fredericksberg with the Winter Soldier. ✦ have you ever thought just maybe by Desdemon, steve/bucky + tony/pepper + other marvel characters, humor, 4.4k “JARVIS,” Tony called thoughtfully. “Yes, sir?” “Those young people are in love,” he said. ✦ Use Your Damn Words by wilddragonflying, steve/bucky, NSFW, omegaverse, 4.2k There’s murmuring, indistinct voices, all around him; all he catches, at first, are the occasional words. “—mated.” “—no difference—“ “—make him forget—“ That’s when Bucky starts fighting. ✦ It’s an Adequate Life, Bucky Barnes by what_alchemy, steve/bucky, it’s a wonderful life fusion, 10.2k This is a world without Bucky Barnes.

✦ and it starts just where the light exists by caughtinanocean, steve/bucky, mildly nsfw, 3.4k In which Bucky can’t admit the things he needs, but Steve knows them anyway, and Steve and Bucky are definitely a couple, even if they don’t know it. ✦ tango till they’re sore by sciencemyfiction, steve/bucky, nsfw, 4k Four shorts about Steve and Bucky, and romance, and sex, and dominance, and grief, and forgiveness. ✦ Permission by derekstilinski, steve/bucky + other marvel characters, 2.5k After Bucky’s captured by SHIELD, they put him in a holding cell, and strip him of everything but his clothes. He’s dirty, damaged, and Steve can’t just watch him like that, protocol or not. ✦ Milkshakes & Penguin Suits by TheLocket, steve/bucky, fluff, 2.9k At the latest Stark party, Steve and Bucky share a milkshake — and spend the evening together. ✦ Practical Mathematics by Grey_Bard, steve/bucky + steve/peggy + steve/peggy/bucky + tony, 1.7k After a hard shift saving the world, Stark - in his infinite wisdom - has decided to bond with Steve by talking about his favorite subject. Well, third favorite, after building things and smart-mouthing people. Steve is pretty sure none of his experiences really count. Tony is starting to wonder what Steve’s definition of “is” is. ✦ how happy must be angels thus employed by lanyon , steve/bucky + clint/coulson, mildly nsfw, humor, 2k It begins entirely accidentally. Clint walks in on Bucky and Steve in a compromising position and then Bucky escalates by tapping a private line between Clint and Phil. Also known as The One With The Cock-Blocking Competition (and it’s all fun and games until Phil and Steve find out.) ✦ Fate by grumpyowls, steve/bucky + peggy, 2.1k Bucky finds a drawing and it turns out to mean something more than he thought.

✦ One More Time by DevBasaa, steve/bucky, pre-serum, ~1k Steve’s clueless and Bucky’s not yet ready to acknowledge these feelings. But that doesn’t stop him from having them. Set before Bucky ships out, but after Steve receives his A1. ✦ Bucky and Bear by fromgoodbones, steve/bucky, fluffy, ~1k Steve gets Bucky a cat. ✦ Size Isn’t A Problem by bondboy68, steve/bucky, NSFW, 1.8k It’s the first time Bucky has seen Steve naked in some seventy-odd years, and things have definitely changed.

STEVE/BUCKY - PRE-THE WINTER SOLDIER SPECULATION:

✦ devil’s gonna follow me (wherever I go) by Lyaka, steve/bucky & natasha & cast, the winter soldier speculation, 63k The man who used to be Bucky Barnes lined up his shot. His finger twitched, only once, very precisely. Help me, the bullet sang. Ninety-eight floors below him, the bullet glanced off a vibranium shield with a musical ping. And Steve Rogers looked up. ✦ And it felt like a kiss by orphan_account, steve /bucky & natasha & sam, the winter soldier spoilers, ~1k We can’t stop feeling Winter Soldier feelings. And neither can Bucky or Steve. ✦ testament by paxlux, steve/bucky + other marvel characters, the winter soldier speculation fic, 10.6k His memory runs backwards in crooked bright flashes, hard as the noise flare of an assault rifle. ✦ persistence of memory by hollimichele, steve/bucky/natasha, NSFW, the winter soldier speculation, 11.5k It’s a nondescript sort of a Wednesday morning when the Winter Soldier walks into SHIELD headquarters, bold as brass, and announces his intention to surrender. ✦ To Be Modified As Necessary by ignipes, steve/bucky & bucky/natasha & clint/natasha & thor/jane & avengers, the winter soldier speculation, 5.9k They only need ten rules to ensure (relatively) peaceful cohabitation. ✦ lights at two dollars a strand by legete, steve/bucky + tony, the winter soldier speculation, 1.4k They don’t mean to decorate for Christmas. It just sorta…happens.

STEVE/BUCKY - POST-THE WINTER SOLDIER: ✦ Out of the Dead Land by orphan_account, steve/bucky + sam + natasha + nick fury + other marvel characters, nsfw in one scene at the end, 62.7k Someone is building machines that look and act like people. Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier tries to be Bucky Barnes. ✦ this is a back alley by saintsideways, steve/bucky & natasha & sam, the winter soldier spoilers, 14.2k Here is the only thing you know: the body remembers. ✦ your blue-eyed boys by Feather (lalaietha), steve/bucky & cast, 123.3k Steve has no plan. Not because he hadn't tried to make one. He'd tried to make lots of plans. Plan, adapt, plan again, tried to think of every contingency. [post-Winter Soldier recovery fic] ✦ The man on the bridge by boopboop, steve/bucky & tony/pepper & clint/natasha & cast, 107.5k Steve Rogers turning up at Tony's door with an amnesiac assassin - who may or may not have some of Tony's personally designed hardware attached where his arm should be - well that's just far too interesting to turn away, even if Tony is trying to avoid all things S.H.I.E.L.D these days. ✦ Soft Spot for the Hell Raisin’ Boy by ifeelbetter, sam & bucky + steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, (some) humor, 1.9k The Winter Soldier takes an interest in Sam Wilson. Bucky Barnes wants to tell him how to be Steve Rogers’s best friend. ✦ Reconstruction Site by EmilianaDarling, steve/bucky + sam, the winter soldier spoilers, 7.6k He is the Winter Soldier. He is James Buchanan Barnes. He’s not one and he’s not the other, and he’s not sure if that makes him anything worth saving. In which the Winter Soldier leads Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson on a wild goose chase through Eastern Europe so that he can learn more about the man who actually thinks he can be saved.

✦ hold me tight by hollimichele, bucky/steve + sam + natasha, nsfw, the winter soldier spoilers, 11.1k In the old days, before the war, Steve got cold at night. That was all it was, at first. ✦ A Bullet in the Barrel (of your best guy’s gun) by lc2l, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, canon divergence (sort of), violence, 6k You return to the concrete hole in the ground where the mission is not dead and not in the sewers and is looking at you. “Bucky,” says Rogers, Steve (deceased). ✦ Sleeperhold by Argyle, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 3.2k He’s hardwired to disappear. ✦ lost my fear of falling by ftmsteverogers, steve/bucky + natasha + sam, 1.8k “It’s been two weeks,” Natasha says, pressing a coffee cup into Steve’s hand. “How long are we going to do this?” Steve watches the steam curl into question marks above his cup. “I know he’s still in there,” he says, and that’s that. ✦ but the fires are coming by stitchingatthecircuitboard, steve/bucky + bucky & natasha, the winter soldier spoilers, 4k He does not remember, except that is better than being made to forget, again, and again, and again. He does not go to Brooklyn. ✦ we did not make ourselves by M_Leigh, steve/bucky + sam + natasha + tony, the winter soldier spoilers, 25.1k It is like steel, the determination inside of you that tells you you will achieve this, that you will find him. Nothing will stop you. You are two sides of the same coin, you and he: he cannot escape you forever. Bucky runs. Steve follows. ✦ measured my life in cooking lessons by FoxGlade, steve/bucky + clint + avengers, fluff, the winter soldier spoilers, 4k He knocks on Clint’s door, sharp and loud, and half a minute later Clint is standing there in boxers and a baggy Army Rangers shirt. “Morning,” Steve says shortly, before Clint can say anything. “You up to teaching me how to make those French toasts? I think I need to talk.” Clint yawns and stretches. Something in his back makes a loud cracking sound and Steve winces. “Yeah, I’m up,” he mumbles, then squints. “This is going to be a long cooking lesson, isn’t it?” “I found Bucky sitting outside the tower on the street when I went out for a jog and he remembered me but I’m pretty sure that’s all he remembers.” Clint just waves a hand and heads for the kitchen, Steve shuffling in his wake.

✦ and we are finally home by lastembers, sam & bucky + steve/bucky + sam/natasha, 7.3k The Winter Soldier shows up in Sam’s kitchen, one morning. He deals with it. (Natasha helps. Steve would, if they let him.) ✦ Circling Back by chaya, steve/bucky + sam + natasha + tony, the winter soldier spoilers, 59.6k Steve looks for Bucky, Bucky finds Steve, Steve tries desperately to put Bucky back together. Bucky tries desperately to let him. ✦ your favorite ghost by augustbird, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 21k It’s harder than Steve ever expected to bring Bucky home. ✦ Green-Eyed Monster by storiesfortravellers, steve/bucky + steve & tony + steve & sam + bucky & natasha, humor, 1.9k The Winter Soldier has joined the team and is slowly recovering, but he goes into a jealous rage whenever he sees that Steve is close friends with Tony, Sam, or Natasha. Past Steve/Bucky. ✦ Castor and Pollux by StringTheori, howard stark & steve + steve/bucky, mild the winter soldier spoilers, 2.9k A fic where Howard is emotionally constipated, a terrible human being, catches someone doing something, and brushes off friendships because he can. ✦ Find My Way by Brenda, steve/bucky + oc pov, the winter soldier spoilers, 4.6k Well, someone had to write the post-Winter Soldier fic where Bucky gets a decent meal and some homemade apple pie, right?

✦ Parallel Constructions by freshbakedlady, steve/bucky + sam + natasha, the winter soldier spoilers, 13.6k In the absence of orders, the man wearing the face of Bucky Barnes must figure out who he will be. The answer, mostly, is “somebody Steve Rogers can love.” Nothing so easy should ever take this much work. ✦ five people bucky barnes never was. by rhllors, steve/bucky + bucky/natasha, the winter soldier spoilers, 1.9k Five lives that never came to pass. ✦ no heart to recall by KiaraSayre, steve/bucky & sam & natasha & tony, the winter soldier spoilers, 15.3k He’s been in Steve Rogers’s company for less than twenty-four hours and he’s already losing sight of his mission. ✦ Bring Us Back a Souvenir by newredshoes, steve/bucky & sam & bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 1.5k Even with all his hair hacked off, he doesn’t look like a Bucky, Sam thinks. Maybe as some sort of stupid joke, like naming your most vicious dog Sweetpea. Steve’s told him the stories, and he’s seen the old newsreels; he knows what this Barnes guy used to be like. But it’s not like knowing what to look for is going to magically make some spark rise to the top. This isn’t an excavation. ✦ i will be your ground by misprinting, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 4.7k A character study. The subject: Bucky’s hair. (Also, a Bucky comes in from the cold fic.) ✦ Debts by vestigialwords, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, ~1k Steve’s life is a collection of debts, and the balance does not work out in his favor. ✦ Five times Steve kissed Bucky by paragon, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 16.5k (+ once, finally, it was the other way around) ✦ Run Until the Road Runs Out by ignipes, steve/bucky + sam & bucky + natasha, the winter soldier spoilers, 5.2k Sam’s along for this ride because he’s not about to let Steve Rogers go it alone, but Steve’s not the only one who needs a friend.

✦ And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me by ifeelbetter, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 4.4k The Captain woke quickly and tested the chain before he saw the Soldier. All the tension in his body evaporated once he met the Soldier’s eyes and he slumped downward, back up against the wall. “Oh, thank god,” he said. He repeated it twice, quiet. Like a secret. ✦ Your Mind Rings by Amberly, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 1.2k You aren’t Bucky. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore, either, but you’re not Bucky ✦ tabula rasa by dance_at_bougival, steve/bucky + natasha + sam, the winter soldier spoilers, 10.3k Bucky Barnes screamed himself hoarse on that table and screamed falling off that train. He screamed when they programmed him and screamed and screamed until he isn’t Bucky Barnes anymore, not really. He is still screaming, a trapped rat running around a labyrinthine machine, clawing at the doors and running into dead ends. He has been screaming for seventy years. ✦ The Age’s Most Uncertain Hour by dewinter, steve/bucky + peggy, the winter soldier spoilers, 1.8k Five times the Winter Soldier remembered (and then forgot). ✦ The Steven G. Rogers Guide to What You Missed the Last Few Years by what_alchemy, steve/bucky, humor, 5.1k Steve’s got the hang of this 21st century thing. ✦ All the First Times by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse), steve/bucky + other marvel characters, the winter soldier spoilers, 9.6k Bucky starts over and finds new ways to survive. ✦ Me Against Your Memory (It’s a Two-Step Recovery Process) by thisiswhatthewatergaveme, steve/bucky + steve & natasha + steve & sam + natasha & sam, the winter soldier spoilers, 56.5k wip The Soldier needs answers. It’s the only mission he has left. And the mission is all he has.

✦ Make It Up as We Go Along by hannahrhen, steve/bucky + natasha + sam, mildly nsfw, the winter soldier spoilers, 1.6k Steve’s a terrible liar when he opens his mouth. ✦ What’s in a name by Ark, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 3.4k Steve doesn’t resist. He is dipped back: a dance. “Bucky,” says Steve. The severely serene surface does not stir. “You will answer the questions I ask.” The Soldier’s voice is Bucky’s but the accent is all wrong. His face is Bucky’s, perfect, and all wrong. ✦ Drawn From Life by littlerhymes, steve/bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 2.5k “I remember,” Bucky says, but that’s not entirely true. Set after The Winter Soldier.

STEVE/BUCKY - POST-INFINITY WAR: ✦ Coming Back by Emotionallyunstabl, entire cast (some steve/bucky), infinity war spoilers, 1.9k    Fixing Avengers: Infinity War. ✦ How ya been, Buck? by dvorahbee, steve/bucky, NSFW, infinity war spoilers, 2.3k    A fix-it for Bucky and Steve’s reunion because I wasn’t too happy with that half-assed reunion we had. ✦ hold some dirt with those hands by magdaliny, steve/bucky & cast, infinity war spoilers, 3k    It had sent him to his knees. ✦ To Never Have Loved At All by hitlikehammers, steve/bucky & cast, infinity war spoilers, 2.8k    Steve will say they had work to do, and a universe to put to rights. They had people to find and hearts to unbreak. They had a mission. There was no time for any of them to mourn. Steve, as it turns out, says a lot of things that are mostly bullshit.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: STEVE&BUCKY GEN FIC RECS: ✦ This, You Protect by owlet, steve & bucky & everyone else, humor, 64.3k The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect ✦ By Choice or By Habit by Sholio, steve & bucky & natasha & clint & tony, 6.4k He is useful. He holds onto that. He is useful and a useful tool will not be thrown away. (For illumynare’s request: How about something with Bucky realizing the Avengers actually think of him as a person? And off I went to the utterly shameless h/c place.) ✦ 5 (+1) Times Bucky Was Already a Supersoldier by chaya, steve & bucky, 1k Erskine made it plain for Steve - the serum makes you stronger, faster, harder to kill, and it amplifies your existing qualities. Barnes, though, didn’t get any such heads up. ✦ Thaw by danveresque, steve & bucky & sam & natasha, 7.5k The Winter Soldier tries to find Bucky Barnes. ✦ Brothers In Arms by copperbadge, steve & bucky & sam & sam & tony & pepper & clint + background tony/pepper, 11.4k Bucky Barnes gets a tune-up, a new pet, and a home. ✦ You Know How I Feel, aka, The Adventures of Bucky and Muffy the Dinosaur by ifeelbetter, bucky & avengers, fluff, 4.5k Bucky saved a tiny dinosaur and took her home to Avengers Tower and on the way remembered how to laugh and sleep in soft beds. ✦ Strawberries in Wintertime by Sholio, steve & bucky & sam & natasha & sharon, 3.2k Or, how Sam’s apartment turns into a hangout for superheroes, spies, and rogue assassins. ✦ This Lonely Hour Before Daybreak by cheesethesecond, steve & bucky + sam + natasha, 2.9k Steve knew there would be good days and bad days. That’s how this sort of thing worked. Except sometimes, the bad days go like this.

✦ Almond, Clavicle, Orchid by kvikindi, steve & bucky & sam & natasha, 4.5k You say, “I don’t know what I am.” “It’s okay not to know,” Steve tells you. His face is very careful. But you know. You know that it’s not okay. ✦ you can’t fly on dinosaurs, bucky by scorpionbythesea, steve & bucky & clint, humor, 1.2k Based off the tumblr post by embracingthemadness and the tag that followed: steve and bucky making up random stories from their past and convincing the other avengers that it actually happened (◡‿◡✿) #there’s no way you guys fought nazi dinosaurs ✦ Fly on the Wings of Love by Omnicat, steve & bucky & sam & natasha & tony & clint + some background pairings, domesticity, 13.2k The Wings: Bucky just wants to show his appreciation for everything Sam has done for Steve. Of course, Tony Stark’s middle name is ‘needlessly difficult’. The Love: Bucky tries to set Natasha up with Sam. He’s a bit late for that party, but he managed to find Steve’s shield and replace Sam’s wings: he’ll come up with something for her. ✦ Swap by sparkles_stars, steve & bucky + avengers, body swap, 1.2k Steve and Bucky switch bodies. Nothing of substance happens from that moment on. ✦ Escape by Sholio, steve & bucky, 2.4k Missing scene for Captain America: The First Avenger – freeing the prisoners was just the start of getting away. ✦ think of it as personality dialysis by KiaraSayre, bucky & darcy, humor, 1.4k “I strangled someone with a shoelace once,” Barnes says. “Does that count as expressing myself through clothes?” “Uh, no.”

✦ Name, Rank, and Serial Number by forthegreatergood, steve & bucky + other marvel characters, 1.5k A Nazi peeling off his skin and declaring himself beyond human doesn’t even get a rise out of him anymore, but Bucky doesn’t think he could stand it if Steve ripped off his face, too. ✦ The Dawn of That Last Great Day by ignipes, steve & bucky + avengers + minor pairing references, the winter soldier speculation fic, 13.8k The Winter Soldier has a mission: kill Captain America. ✦ All The Leaves Are Brown (And the sky is gray) by AvocadoLove, bucky & tony + some tony/pepper + very mildly implied steve/bucky, 17.4k The Winter Soldier's mission is nearly complete. Howard and Maria Stark are dead, leaving him to dispatch their four-year-old child. One quick twist of the neck is all it will take, but the Soldier finds he cannot do it. So instead of killing Tony Stark, the Winter Soldier takes him away to raise as his own.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: STEVE&BUCKY&CAST - POST-THE WINTER SOLDIER: ✦ so this is how it is by sciencemyfiction, steve & bucky & sam, the winter soldier spoilers, ptsd, 29.1k Following the events of the Winter Soldier film, Steve and Sam finally find Bucky, and work to get back to a good place. ✦ On Your Left by TravelingRoses, steve & bucky & natasha & sam & tony thor & fury peggy, the winter soldier spoilers, 12.9k Five times someone told Steve to give up looking for Bucky and two times someone didn’t. Alternately, five times someone smacked Steve on the head and said “Don’t do the thing” and he continued doing the thing and two times he listened so he could keep doing the thing. ✦ and i have fought (in flesh and blood) by ChristinasInferno, steve & bucky, the winter soldier spoilers, 1.1k “He is Bucky Barnes and his best friend is Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers is Captain America.” Bucky, post-Winter Soldier. ✦ The Care and Feeding of Traumatized Ex-Assassins by Sholio, steve & bucky + natasha + sam, the winter soldier spoilers, 6.6k Steve starts to notice someone’s been in his apartment while he’s not there. Set after Winter Soldier; spoilers. ✦ Glass of Milk by Lauralot, bucky & avengers, the winter soldier spoilers, 6.6k In which in the Winter Soldier is in the care of the Avengers. He has yet to regain his memories, but he has developed a fondness for dairy products.

[oh-no-bummer]

I'm gonna be fixated on this for a while and I hate to be the voice of negativity but I'm just really disappointed with how Agatha's story was handled. The thing is at the beginning of the series when it was clear they had made the choice to give Agatha a son I suspended my disbelief, because there are many ways in which that could've fit and it wouldn't have had to be a damning choice for her to also be a mother. But it was. I'm tired of cinema but marvel in particular using motherhood as a way to categorise women and compromise their stories. I hated it when it happened with Wanda and I hate it now. Why are women not allowed to be ? I get it that is also all a thing in the comics, but that doesn't mean it's right. Agatha was a villain and she in many ways remained one but the focus on her personhood as one centered on being a mother took so much away from her. I'm just so disappointed because there are a thousand ways to make that coexist! It could have been a beautiful story about loss and grief and empowerment and repression and love. But I believe marvel really has a problem with tying things up, they always mess up everything at the end and apparently women's stories are just not meant to be. Even if Agatha had to die, there are many other ways in which that death could've been more rewarding and peaceful. But what gets me the most is that the fears we exposed did come true, the show was not ultimately about Agatha and her grief or her love but about how she's a tool for Billy who disappointingly but predictably become the focus of the show. Rio was villainized, because she is death, which is such a flat interpretation of her character. The fact that the love Agatha and Rio clearly had for each other was so cruelly undermined by the writing. The fact that we have no closure for them, for Agatha's son or Agatha's story. The fact she now is just narrowed down to be Billy's mentor, a literal ghost of who she was, used to perpetuate the more central role of a man's story. And with this I don't mean to say that I hate Billy or his storyline nor that I hate Agatha being a mother, what I absolutely abhor is how those things became so central they obscured her story and deprived us, the audience of seeing it complete. Fine, I get it Billy needed to be introduced, but did that introduction have to destroy Agatha's story? Was there no other resolution? Obviously not. Agatha could've still become his mentor while alive, could have remained with Jennifer and decided to actually try, or Agatha could've died, and finally confronted her grief and Rio. There's so many ways in which her role as a mother and mentor didn't have to impede her character's arc. There's so many ways this show could've been good. I'm sorry if my anger comes true but I truly am disappointed in the way the media and marvel especially continue to treat women and their story. Let's not even talk about Alice, or Jen , because neither of those stories were complete, the way they had Jen's binding sloppily be caused by Agatha felt like such a rushed decision with absolutely no explanation. Where did Jennifer's story go? Her role as high priestess? I get it that it might be picked up again in the future but this is what the fucking show was supposed to be about, witches walking the road and growing and facing themselves. I have even more to say about Agatha and Rio specifically, but for now I'm just gonna conclude by saying that it didn't have to be this way, it's just proof of how little they care about women's stories that they think they can be used to further the narrative without any consequences. It feels cheap, it feels illogical and rushed. It seems like horrible writing. It saddens me greatly and I hate it.

[alotofpockets]

Possibilities | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: After crushing on your boss for years, she asks you out to dinner. What will happen when she doesn't show? [Full request] Warnings: slight angst, sickness/cold

Masterlist | Marvel masterlist | Words: 1.6K

Wanda Maximoff had started a fashion company at a young age, she grew the company up from the ground to the fashion empire that it is today. You had started working for the company as an intern when it was just a start-up, but you were able to grow with the company and with promotion after promotion you were now the head of the marketing department. 

Throughout the many changes in your function you had gotten closer to the CEO herself, Wanda Maximoff. You had weekly meetings with her and the rest of the department heads as well as one on one meetings to discuss the marketing strategy for new arrivals and such. 

Wanda was a beautiful woman, you were very aware of that. In your intern year you started to develop a crush on her, though she then was so far away. However, now you are in her office multiple times a week. The closeness of the interactions you had with her always affected you, there hadn't been one time this past week that you hadn't left her office with flushed cheeks. Wanda was a subtle flirter, it seemed to come very easy to her. You had however convinced yourself that she acted this way with all her employees.

Another day of torturing yourself was ahead as you had multiple meetings with Wanda today. Your day started off with a department heads meeting, you were fine there, she refrained from flirty comments there. Wanda was wearing a gray suit with a black blouse underneath, the suit hugged her figure perfectly. You tried everything in your power not to check her out, but failed nonetheless. You hadn't heard Wanda call out to you until your neighbor nudged you. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was thinking about the project and I guess I got a bit lost in the opportunities." You lie, hiding it from your coworkers. Not your boss though, Wanda noticed the slight flush on your cheeks and smirked to herself. She continued the meeting and decided to let you off the hook, or so you thought. Not even half an hour after the meeting was done, Wanda messaged you to meet her in her office. 

You honestly thought that you were in trouble for crossing a line, but when you walked into Wanda’s office, and saw that she followed your movements with a teasing smile, you felt more at ease. Wanda was sitting behind her desk, it was cluttered with different fabrics, sketchbooks and notes. While she was the head of the company she enjoyed being involved in all of the company’s projects and departments, she was truly in love with every part of the industry. 

“So, y/n, care to explain what really happened at the meeting?” There was no threat behind her words, if you had to name the tone it would be playful. You decided there was no point in lying again and decided to just go with it. “It is an amazing suit, Wanda.” Upon seeing her smile at your reaction, you decide to continue. “You look great in the suit, it fits you well. Respectfully.” Wanda is clearly enjoying the fact that you’re growing more comfortable in the situation. “Well, thank you, darling.” The nickname makes your heart rate accelerate. 

“That’s all, y/n, thank you.” Wanda let’s you know. You wish you would have more time alone with her, but you thanked her and walked to the door. The moment your hand touched the handle Wanda stopped you. “Actually, one more thing.” She waits for you to turn around before she continues. “Do you have plans tonight?” You shake your head in response. “Then can you meet me at The Plaza for dinner at 6pm?” Your first thought was about getting to spend one on one time with Wanda, but your second thought told you that it was probably a work related dinner. “Yes, that sounds good. Did you want me to bring anything from a certain project?” The teasing smile makes its way back onto her face. “The project is getting to know you better over dinner.” You’re shocked at her response, she wanted to go out to dinner with you, with the sole purpose of getting to know you, this was huge. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you tonight.” You say before quickly exiting her office. You make your way right to the restroom and see how flushed your cheeks were. 

You arrive at the restaurant a little early, but the waiter leads you to the table that Wanda reserved. After half an hour Wanda still hasn’t joined you, so you decide to send her a text. You know that she was a busy woman, maybe she got stuck at work. 

Y/n: Hi Wanda, I got our reserved table. I’ll see you in a bit. 

The waiter comes by to ask if you want anything to drink before the rest of the party gets there, you thank him but decline. You start watching the people around you to distract yourself. Another thirty minutes pass and there is still no sign of Wanda, not even a response to your message. 

Y/n: Just checking in to see if everything is okay.

Again no response from Wanda. Maybe you had gotten your hopes up for tonight. Another half hour later and the waiter joins you again. “I’m so sorry, but if we’re not serving you, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” You apologize to him and gather your things. Outside you send Wanda another text.

Y/n: Our reservation got canceled.

You decide to wait outside for a little longer, still holding out hope that Wanda would join you. She still hadn’t even read your first message. You decide to give up on waiting and head home as soon as you feel it starting to rain. Before you know it, it starts pouring. You really regretted walking to the restaurant now.

Once you made it to your house, you were completely soaked. Before you get changed you check your phone, since you felt it buzz on the way there. It’s a message from Wanda.

Wanda: I’m sorry y/n, I can’t make it tonight. I needed to discuss something with Vision.

You roll your eyes. Vision was the head of design and always openly discussed his crush on Wanda. You were annoyed but of course she would pick him over you. 

Y/n: It’s fine.

You send her a quick message before turning your phone off, you were done with the whole situation. You change into some sweats and make a quick meal. The rain had done you no good, you were cold and sneezing already. You decided to call it an early night, hoping to sleep it off. However, when you woke up it only seemed to be worse. You knew you had the responsibility to call in sick but you couldn’t for the life of you know remember where you left your phone and you felt too weak to get out of bed. 

Meanwhile at the office Wanda welcomed one of the company's bigger clients to the meeting room. “Take a seat.” Wanda motions over. “My assistant will get you some beverages and if you’ll excuse me for one moment, I will be right back.” This was a very important client and you were supposed to join her for the meeting, since you were one of the only people within the company that could handle the clients behavior. She went over to the marketing department to get you, since you weren’t at the meeting yet. When she can’t find you at your desk she asks one of your team members. “Sorry, I haven’t seen y/n today. Is there anything I can help you with?” Wanda shakes her head and walks back to the meeting room and starts the meeting by herself. The client was trouble like always, she tried her best to accommodate him, but he seemed to only listen to your ideas. “Have y/n send me a proposal, and then we’ll talk business.” The client said before leaving.

Wanda was so furious that she drove straight to your house after the meeting. She knocked on your door until you opened. The door opened and she stepped in right away, seeing red with anger she didn’t even notice your fragile state. “What is your problem? Why aren’t you at work? We had a very important meeting and I expect you to show up, or at the very least let me know that you will not be attending.” While Wanda takes a deep breath, she finally lets her eyes land on you. The anger she felt immediately disappeared when she saw how pale and weak you looked, while having a blanket wrapped around you. 

“Oh, y/n, I’m so sorry.” She puts an arm around you and leads you to the couch. You let yourself fall into Wanda’s warm body. “What happened, darling?” She asks while rubbing her hands over your back, trying to help you warm up. “I had to walk back in the pouring rain last night.” You answer in a raspy voice. “That’s on me, I should’ve texted you earlier, I am very sorry. Vision made inappropriate comments towards someone on the team and I had to get HR involved, it was a whole mess. That’s no excuse, of course, I just wanted to let you know what happened.” Wanda hadn’t picked him over you. “If you don’t totally hate me, I would love to reschedule our date once you’re better.” You nod. “I would like that.” Wanda gives your hand a squeeze. “Okay good. Now, please let me take care of you.” 

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[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 1

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

A/N: I've been toying with this idea for a while, so... I have no idea how many parts this will be, but I am planning more than one, so stay tuned. Also. I'm sorry. Genre: Angst/Fluff / WC: 1,395 / Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Warnings: Kidnapping, canon-typical violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

series masterlist | next part

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

Bucky groans tiredly as he kicks his shoes off at the door. His muscles ached pleasantly from his run, but his lack of sleep made his body feel heavy. He calls out a quick “Girls, I’m home” to announce his presence as he drops his keys into the dish by the door, but when he doesn’t receive any sort of response from within the apartment, he frowns.

He had left for his run after you and Rebecca left for the park. His daughter jumping up and down at his feet while she excitedly told him all she planned to do (“Daddy, daddy!” She had said, “I’m gonna slide on the loopy slide, then I’m gonna do the monkey bars, and then I’m gonna swing as high as I can and jump off!” Bucky had laughed at her joy, only thinking to tell her to be careful.)

He tentatively walks through the apartment, calling out your name. “They should’ve been back by now,” he thinks to himself, pulling his phone out to check if you’d texted to let him know you’d be late coming home. You hadn’t. He quickly realizes he’s alone, and calls your cell as his heart rate picks up.

Bucky is incredibly aware that he is likely overreacting—and that you are more than capable of protecting yourself and your daughter—but you always check in with him when plans change. His phone rings… and rings… and rings… then he hears your voice.

“Hey! This is Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes. I’m sorry I missed your call; leave a message and your number. I’ll give you a call back when I can.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, an uncomfortable feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Something is wrong, but he just isn’t sure what.

He pulls his shoes back on, deciding to head to the Avenger’s Compound. It’s possible that if something came up, you’d head over without calling him. He doubted it, though. Biting his lip as he takes the stairs down as quickly as he can, he pulls up his contacts on his cell. He calls Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Steve; he asks if they had heard from you. They all say the same thing: No.

He calls you again. You still don’t answer. He’s never gotten to the Compound quicker.

—

“Woah, Buck. Calm down,” Steve says, trying to calm his best friend. “I’m sure everything is fine. Maybe she just left her phone at the park?”

“I checked the park!” Bucky yells, harsher than he means. He drags his hand over his face, taking a grounding breath. “I checked the park,” he says. Calmer. “I went there before I came here. They weren’t there, and I didn’t see her phone anywhere. I checked Becca’s favorite spots; I don’t think they’d go anywhere else.” He purses his lips, making eye contact with his friend.

“I have a bad feeling, Steve. Something happened.”

As if on cue, Natasha walks in the room to join the super soldiers.

“Tony’s been tracking her phone. Her cell connected to a tower in Germany approximately 20 minutes ago.”

“Germany?” Steve asks, eyebrows knitting together.

“Germany,” Natasha confirms, eyeing Bucky nervously.

Bucky turns Natasha’s words over carefully in his head, mouth silently forming the word “Germany.” He looks up at his best friend, then at your best friend, and purses his lips tightly together. He says nothing. Steve and Natasha share a look.

Silent Bucky is not a good sign.

Bucky let’s his body drop into a chair in the conference room Steve had pulled him into for privacy. He rests his elbows on his knees, lets his head fall into his hands. His worst fear, he realizes, is coming to fruition. He takes several deep, unsteady breaths before finally sitting up and facing his fellow Avengers.

“What else do we know?” He finally asks evenly.

—

“Mommy! Watch this!” Rebecca Barnes yells, making eye contact with you from the swings.

“I’m watching, baby,” you assure her. She smiles wide in response, and you can’t help but smile back.

Rebecca is only 4, but she thinks she’s older. She had watched the older kids jump from the swings and she was intent on copying them. If she could pump her legs enough to swing high, you wouldn’t let her, but she was unable to swing more than a couple feet without being pushed.

The little girl pumps her legs as hard as she can before she lets go of the swing’s chains and hops out. She lands unsteadily on her feet, but she manages to stay upright. She grins proudly, running up to you.

“Mommy! Did you see me? Did you see me?” She jumps up and down excitedly at your feet.

You smile proudly. “I did, you little daredevil!” You ruffle her hair.

You crouch down to Rebecca’s eye level, pushing a fly-away hair from her face.

“We need to go soon. We promised Daddy we’d have lunch with him, and you know how grumpy he gets when he doesn’t eat,” you tease.

Rebecca scrunches her face, putting her little hands on her hips like she’s seen you do. “He does get grumpy! Can I play a little longer, though?”

“Sure thing, sweet pea. But only 5 more minutes.”

She nods excitedly before running back to the swings, lying on her stomach to pretend to fly. You pull your phone out to double check the time before slipping it into your sports bra, a habit you developed to keep Becca from stealing it.

Five minutes pass and you call your daughter back to you. She pouts a little as she takes your hand, but when you remind her she has to go home to tell her dad about the park, she perks back up. The two of you begin your trek through the park back towards your apartment. Rebecca talks for most of it, pointing out flowers and bugs she sees, and boasting that she can count to 20 now.

The two of you are nearing the park’s entrance when you feel someone’s eyes on you. Cautiously, you start taking careful note of your surroundings, but you can’t pinpoint who or what has you uneasy. Clenching your jaw nervously, you scoop Rebecca into your arms, ignoring her protests. “Hush, baby,” you tell her softly, willing your legs to move faster.

You almost make it out of the park.

—

You wake up in what seems to be the back of some sort of aircraft, your head killing you. You raise a hand to the back of your head to find a tender bump. You groan. As you come to, memories of your morning at the park come racing back: watching Becca on the swings, walking home, the uneasy feeling in your gut.

You sit up straighter when you remember how uneasy you felt and slowly starting to put two and two together that you’d been kidnapped. In a panic, your eyes take in your surroundings in search of your daughter. You let out a breath of relief when you see her lying a couple feet to your right. You scramble over to her, pulling her into your arms. She’s unconscious still, but breathing. You check her for injury, and she seems relatively fine. There’s a spot of dried blood on her neck, though, and you think your captors must have drugged her.

Your captors. You hold your daughter tightly to your chest as you look around for any clues as to who took you. The taste of copper fills your mouth as you look, and you realize you’d been biting your cheek in your anxiety.

You spit the blood out of your mouth, grimacing at the sight of it.

Then you begin to catalogue what resources you might have to protect yourself and your daughter. You note that other than the bump on your head and the needle prick on Becca’s neck, the two of you have been left alone. That’s when you realize your phone is still in your bra. You glance around the aircraft, eyes settling on a camera in the corner.

You’re being watched.

You swallow, holding Becca closer to you, and decide not to pull out your phone. The longer your captors don’t know you have it, the more likely your phone can be tracked, and the more likely the Avengers—and more importantly, Bucky—can find you.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

ko-fi

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Eps 34-35

Not many photos here because anything I screenshot in these eps would literally just give me psychic damage at this point (-:

Spoilers under the cut!

Ep 34:

I'm being so brave watching this fucking opening scene again.

No actually though I've watched it several times by now and it just keeps getting worse. What can one even say about all this? Ow??? Fuck???

Probably the most gruesome onscreen death of a child character in cdrama that I've seen like I didn't know they could even go there like that. I guess maybe because it's not gory or specifically violent? Idk the rules but man. His expression.

The way they play TJR singing their song and then switch to LZY's version. Maximum pain thank you guys.

ZYC's "I'm sorry" is so damn loaded. For not being there, for failing to protect him, but also for being the reason Bai Jiu made this decision. For giving Bai Jiu someone to love and protect and die for. For unknowingly and inadvertently causing this just by loving him and being loved by him. ZYC's remorse and regret as he makes the connections and pieces together Bai Jiu's thought process is so fucking haunting. Just the most awful way for his own words of comfort to come back. And like I'd commented previously—the way love begets grief.

I'm going to kms I knew when they put yet another cloak on ZYC that he'd be giving it to someone else but NO!!! Not like this oh my god

"哥帶你回家" (Ge will take you home) I don't even have the words for how painful this is. Is this the first time ZYC refers to himself as ge? Not just acknowledging that Bai Jiu's made an older brother of him? If not, it's certainly the most salient.

Both actors' skills can hardly be questioned atp (like, that's a damn difficult expression to die with), but I just have to marvel at the way TJR's acting (his micro-expressions!!!) is at once subtle and incredibly clear. That ZYC's every emotion is clearly telegraphed—his shock, his horror, his anguish, his regret, his desperation, his exhaustion—but so naturally done.

ZYC struggling with the weight of Bai Jiu's body and dropping it, on top of paralleling the flashback, is just so terrible in its reality. ZYC must already be so incredibly drained after that final battle. To have gone through such an unspeakable loss, to carry it on his back and find himself unable to even properly do that, to protect what's left of Bai Jiu from the mundanity of physical damage.

WX's dad nooooo you're leaving her to ZYZ but ZYZ's not planning on staying either nooooo

Are we sure the magic rain couldn't have saved WX's dad tho ):

WX don't tell ZYZ your self-sacrificial plan there's no way he'd let you go through with it girl!!! You gotta pull a ZYC and be vague as fuck and make sure everyone's feet are frozen to the ground so they can't stop you

ZYZ backing away after using the spell on WX, slapping himself when he nearly can't get himself to go through with dying. Good shit. But also my god I'm so sorry WX what a fucking traumatic ten minutes will anyone give her a fucking break? Living at any cost, at the cost of her beloved dying several feet away from her, yet another manifestation of her trauma with Zhao Wan'er, and knowing it's about to happen, begging to be given a say—cruel. PSJ has been offscreen for forever just because plot convenience (which, in itself, already sucks) but if she were here she would kill ZYZ herself for putting WX through this and the rain would just be a bonus.

The Cloud Light Sword stained with blood to the point it looks unfamiliar—good shit.

ZYC's fucking voice when he asks if there's any other choice. Art, I tell you.

Fucking hell. The twist on their fate being ZYC choosing it rather than being forced into it, to absolve ZYZ of the cruelty he's had to bear responsibility for in doing this to his loved ones. Zhiji was not misapplied in this damn story—ZYC understands and he understands over and over because who else could do this for ZYZ? To find one last way to lighten his burden in such a conflicting and complicated and impossible situation. To know exactly what must be hurting ZYZ and to bear the weight instead and to make sure he knows full well that's what's happening. For ZYC to take that hurt upon himself, entirely upon himself. The way that ZYC dealing the killing blow is actually the furthest thing from a moment of hardening his own heart, that it's in fact the height of his soft-heartedness. And how much that must hurt. Pain.

Also, imo ZYC making it purely his choice at the last moment is so clearly and specifically for ZYZ. Not for anyone else's sake, and precisely against his own and WX's wishes. Upon knowing ZYZ's commitment to death in this moment, whatever else happening has been made secondary. He is giving ZYZ all that he has left to give—fulfilling ZYZ's sacrificial determination, carrying out ZYZ's will to save the people, absolving ZYZ's guilt at what it's taken to get here.

(Totally tangential but I referenced AOT in my last post so I figured I'd make further reference: if anyone's familiar with Eruri—I'm somewhat reminded of Levi's choice. Being the only one with the power to save or let their loved one die. Choosing death for them, on their behalf, perhaps a decision opaque and counterintuitive to the rest of the world but completely and utterly made out of love and an inimitable understanding of the man they love. The most painfully and unimaginably selfless act, to give them peace at the cost of their own suffering.)

"小卓，你還是這麼..." (Xiao Zhuo, you're still so...) Oh this line kills me (ha). I love that it's unfinished. That it encapsulates ZYZ's surprise, his understanding and gratitude, and ultimately this sense of marveling at the man in front of him and what he's given ZYZ even now, at the very end. It tells me ZYZ recognizes ZYC's choice for what it is: the utmost act of a soft-hearted and boundless love that sees through him completely. Zhiji indeed.

The way ZYZ has unfulfilled promises with both WX and ZYC, the way they both call him a liar—good shit.

When I didn't know there was an episode 35 (or special episode I guess) I was boutta throw hands like what do you MEAN that's it??

Ep 35:

I do love a good hair-turning-white-from-grief trope (': But man, white hair like that at 24/25........Also though PSJ and WX finally have more noticeably different styling/silhouettes yayy they look gorgeous

God, but I can't bear looking at how small their group is now.

Searching all the mountains and seas, all 28 mountains in the Wilderness. ZYC, that kind of devotion...I really feel the need to echo ZYZ here, you're really so...

ZYC looking like ZYZ from behind because of his hair......ZYC's hand shaking holding Bai Jiu's bell............................

Also I'm really glad (I say this through tears) because I saw Bai Jiu didn't have his bell in ep 33/34 and I was like ??

Ah, are you kidding me I thought the pain was more or less over what do you mean Bai Jiu wants ZYC to 勿想勿念 [wù xiǎng wù niàn] (don't think of, don't miss)?? The way 不念不响 [bù niàn bù xiǎng] is literally the title of ZYC's character song, which then plays in the bg ('''':

(I can't really tell how well the subs explain it or how it comes across in translation so apologies if this context isn't necessary but the characters in the song title say "don't read, don't ring," but the character for "ring" is a homophone for "think of" and the character for "read" can also mean "miss." Missing someone/something is "想念" [xiǎng niàn]. Bai Jiu tells ZYC not to miss him through homophonous terms—a book he can't read, a bell that can't ring—and the song title is directly referencing that.) What an elaborate way to hurt me.

Bai Jiu really pulled a ZYC though with a box full of hurt/comfort just like ZYC had left WX

Ohhh the way WX's narration turns into ZYC's?? Honestly this drama's commitment to canonizing ZYC's love for ZYZ to the same level as WX's is really gratifying. And ZYC talking about a bone-deep sadness after ZYZ died. The parallel of baby!ZYC in front of the pond. I especially love the mention of ZYZ's age in comparison to ZYC's, these glimpses of the perspective ZYC has gained with hindsight. The distance of time and reflection and yet the unmistakable fondness and love. It is in part healing to hear.

Also imo ZYC if the scene chosen for ZYZ's POV of you is accurate I'd wager he saw you not as some angry child but as the pinnacle of humanity's beautiful bleeding heart.

ZYZ said it before right? That every human emotion is important? Well ZYC really has been constantly feeling the entire range of human emotion this whole drama lmao

Why yes I do think I need a heartwrenching MV-style montage of all the tragedies of this story that ultimately offers bittersweet catharsis and closure as the OST narrates about searching for someone and finding them in the end. Just what the doctor prescribed tyvm

WX saying ZYZ's final wish was to 落葉歸根 (translated as returning home, literally translates to "fallen leaves return to their root," implies returning home after a long time) the way humans do and ZYZ's soul literally being on a leaf of paper (which kinda sorta works in CN as well since "leaf" and "page" are homophonous) that, carried by the wind, returns to ZYC?? Home??? Are you joking bc I'm sobbing.

Gonna have to use this photo again bc literally how else do I describe how I'm feeling rn?

And that's a fucking wrap. I'm so. I don't even. Wow. Maybe in another couple of business days I'll throw together a brief review of the show as a whole, but right now I'm gonna drown myself in other people's metas and gifs and fics as god intended. Thank you as always for spending the time on my silly ramblings and I hope you enjoyed the ride!

[barrenclan]

Rain got me +1 bowls of pasta because my partner’s mom asked what I look so flabbergasted about and I showed her his death whilst she was eating pasta and the multiple pages of it and she said the pasta looked too close to his organs and let me have it

Also last night I had a dream where Pinepaw got just dance and started playing it then accidentally hit the tv with the controller so it fell on Hacksaw and Ranger and then he got clomped by Deepdark which woke me up

Anyhow now that I’ve moved past the sillyness oh my god your writing is so good. like I genuinely understood the rage Slug felt because I’ve felt it (not a parent but a sibling) and you represented the fury of the moment perfectly and how you’d like nothing more than whatever caused your important one to get hurt and feel pain. and oh my god the realization it hurt and it wasn’t ‘falling asleep’. and the eyes. The rings around Rain’s, Slug’s, and if you remember right Asphodel’s all paralleling each other except there’s a maggot in her eye (I think?) which makes it so much worse but better. GEHAHAHAHA OH KY GOD IM SORRY FOR FANGIRLING ITS JUST SO GOOD AND AHAHA. I was a big fan of Rain and I’m happy he wasn’t ’sympathetic meow meow’ at the end of his story but instead a fucked up man which you can pity but never actually love again. I’m so happy his story ended like that and not ‘trying to get better’ and getting everyone’s forgiveness after murdering Asphodel.

Anyways you’re a genius and I think you’re a marvelous writer and keep at it. like seriously you’re such an amazing writer. I can’t I just love it so much and how well you show emotion and I love the formatting and hagggggggggg like I genuinely wanted to cry at Asphodel’s death and all the things Slug is feeling. The coming out scene. The accurate representation of abuse instead of random shit that happens to about 5,000 of the main cast (not saying it doesn’t happen but it’s not accurate and no one goes through the exact same thing). Overall, GOOD JOB!!!!!!

Firstly, sorry to your partner's mom for icking her out of pasta.

I'm glad you liked the issue, though! Very many people have been complimenting me about my writing and I'm both flattered and relieved to hear it. It's hard to get endings right, and this part of the story has had a lot of buildup.

The impotus of Rainhaze's character was a very specific inversion of my other character Shellspring, in examining "what if this previously beloved guy did something utterly horrible", but whereas Shellspring got better, I wanted Rainhaze to get worse. They're both explorations on the same idea.

[abcwordsurge]

hey so I made this little thing. feel free to use for. whatever

explanations and examples under the cut

wearing each other's merch is just. one of my favorite things. whether by coercion or choice, it's funny and sweet. to me

michigan with ohio's blanket is pretty specific, but it shows up in two of my fics (chapters 12 and 13 of "minnie's scrapbook," and my "van horn" duology), so I figured I might as well include it

everyone else knows: even when ohio and michigan are blinded by their rivalry, the rest of the states (or at least the midwest) are not oblivious to their mutual crushes!

love confessions is pretty generic- as are literal sleeping together, h/c, fluff, angst, and smut- so I'm going to skip past this

ohio and michigan mending old wounds is very special to me. I don't have much of it myself (what can I say? I'm a fluff writer), but it's great to see how others do it. @xechoecho88x is very good at this <3

historical fics are more common than usual for this duo, I think, simply because of the fandom, and the past of these two states. I myself have indulged in writing fics rooted in history a few times, especially "tell me do you hate me" and "or do you want to date me," or as I like to call them, my "van horn" duology)

bickering!! really, is it an ohio / michigan fic without some bickering? (banter might also fall into this category, if done a certain way, haha)

us writers in the wttt fandom have a specialty in repressed feelings, I think. it works particularly well for these two because this is definitely the type of relationship where denial comes first, and far be it from them to admit they care about the other

watching movies together is another one that I included because I realized that it happens strangely often in my fics. notably, "classic hallmark" and "so wrong it's right."

nicknames!! a highly debated topic by ohiogan scholars. (other highly debated topics include the infamous ohiogan vs ohiomich debate. /lh) what various names does ohio use to avoid saying "michigan"? does michigan call ohio "buckeye" or "buckeyes"? (I'm in the minority here; I think it's "buckeyes." it just rolls off the tongue better.) whatever the nicknames might be, if they're in the fic, you can mark it on the box

ofc, I would be remiss to not include The Game. this is the basis on which I ship them. every year ohio state and university of michigan fans meet up to fight to the death- or at least to the end of the fourth quarter. it's football. I'm talking about football. whether it's a scene in the fic or just the basis of their teasing, it's so much fun to read and write. go bucks!

ruining the relationship is another one that I included for @xechoecho88x. (sorry for adding you twice in the same post. I can't help it that you impacted my ohiogan heart so strongly)

there are plenty of fics inspired by music in general, but there's something special about ohiogan fics inspired by music. and I just love writing fics with song titles, ok? I have the aforementioned "van horn" duology, "(never) let you go" (title from "mary on a cross," inspired by an edit from @mittenstroll), and "so wrong it's right" (title from "to my enemies" the theme imo of these two). there's also @xechoecho88x's marvelous "singing until the end." (sorry for adding you again, echo!)

only one allowed to hurt you is me: I love the ohio and michigan rivalry, but you know what I love more? ohio and michigan being protective of each other. it just does something to me /pos

ohio has his whole thing with not saying michigan's name, so there's something special about moments when he does. I myself have used this trick many times. I just can't get over ohio saying it- whether by accident or intent- and michigan's reaction is just- cjskmslslspwl. they make me feel things

yes, I have another box about them being protective of each other. can you blame me?

aspec michigan was another one I did for @xechoecho88x. (I swear this is the last time I'll add you!) it's just. aspec michigan heals me. ohio being supportive of aspec michigan is even better

toledo war mentions, well, how could I not include this? whether it's a historical fic or they're mending the rift between them after the fact, I love when there are reminders of their past <3

go forth and enjoy ohiogan. they are so so special to me

[pluckyredhead]

I have fallen down a Fourth World rabbit hole (this is @ngoziu's fault) and am now reading everything DC has ever published with these characters, in order, as is my wont, and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings, so I'm going to start dumping them all here. Sorry.

Background if you have no idea what I'm talking about but want to read this post anyway (why?): in 1971, Jack Kirby left Marvel because he couldn't put up with Stan Lee any longer and came to DC, where they were like "Yes you can do anything you want" (this was a lie). He immediately began writing, drawing, and editing an incredibly ambitious epic that stretched over four simultaneously published books: Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen (we can mostly ignore this one), New Gods, Mister Miracle, and The Forever People. These books came to be known as Jack Kirby's Fourth World Tetralogy.

The books all center around the war between the utopian planet New Genesis, ruled by the benevolent Highfather, and the dystopian planet Apokalips, ruled by the evil Darkseid. At the heart of the narrative is "The Pact," aka The Cosmic Baby Swap. To ensure a (temporary) truce, Highfather and Darkseid traded sons when said children were very young - so Orion, Darkseid's son, is raised on New Genesis, and Scott Free, Highfather's son, is raised on Apokalips. Neither knows who their real father is until adulthood.

Orion grows up in a utopia, but tormented by his feelings of rage and otherness that he can't explain. Scott is raised in a torture orphanage, because that's just what happens on Apokalips, but eventually he escapes to Earth and becomes the escape artist Mister Miracle. The Cosmic Baby Swap begs what to me is the central question of the Fourth World, which is: what is the nature of good? Which boy will be a hero? The one born to good and raised by evil, or the one born to evil and raised by good?

TRICK QUESTION THEY'RE BOTH HEROES!!! GOOD IS MORE POWERFUL THAN EVIL! LOVE WINS AND FASCISM LOSES! This is so, so important to me and any version of these characters that doesn't understand the really not very complex symbolism here is invalid and kind of embarrassing for the writer (looking at you, Tom King).

Also Scott falls in love with and eventually marries Big Barda, one of Darkseid's fiercest warriors, who was born on Apokalips and raised on Apokalips and chooses good anyway. LOVE WINS AGAIN! BARDA TOPS HER TINY HUSBAND IN THE NAME OF PEACE AND COMPASSION!

Sadly DC canceled New Gods and Forever People after only 11 issues, which kind of killed Kirby's whole vision. Mister Miracle limped along until #18, but as a really pale shadow of itself. So we never really got the full scope of Kirby's original plans.

ANYWAY. That's the background. Now thoughts on the actual comics:

Superman's Pal, Jimmy Olsen: I love Jimmy, I love Superman, I love the Newsboy Legion, but this book feels very tangential to the whole Fourth World experiment and I think we can safely set it to the side. However, if you love the 90s Superboy series, I recommend dipping into this because it's the source material for a lot of Kon's worldbuilding (Cadmus, Dubbilex, clone Guardian, etc.).

The Forever People (1971): So I originally read all the Jack Kirby Fourth World stuff like...at least 15 years ago, when I was still relatively new to comics, and I'll be honest: I didn't get it. Kirby is sort of an acquired taste, and I didn't really have any context for what he was doing. I understood the metaphors, but I didn't get why people found the work appealing. And Forever People in particular was the book where I was like "Why. What is the point of this" the most.

Rereading it many years later, I find it to be a lot more moving and profound - like, the Happyland issue alone is a knockout. That said, Kirby is, uhhhh...not great at ensemble characterization without Lee, and the Forever People themselves are unforgivably bland. Default Guy! Big Guy! Black Guy! Girl! Kid! Props to Kirby for making it a not all-white group - and for introducing five out of seven of DC's first Black characters in the space of, like, two years - but it would have been nice if he gave them personalities, too.

New Gods (1971): This is Orion's book and the heart of the Fourth World. At its best, it's the pinnacle of "Makes no sense...compels me, though." Like, "Glory Boat?" I don't understand a single thing that happened in that comic but it's so fucking good. I just want to read thousands of words of comics scholars over the past 50 years going "????" in collective confused admiration.

Mister Miracle (1971): This was the book I was most invested in when I read the Fourth World years ago, because I already loved Scott and Barda from JLI, but now I think it's weaker than New Gods and arguably even than Forever People. Kirby doesn't seem as invested in going all in on Big Concepts here, and Scott escaping endless weird deathtraps is only compelling for so long. The later issues, after the other books were canceled and DC made Kirby pivot away from the Apokalips/New Genesis war, are nothing. But Scott and Barda (and Oberon and Shilo) are everything, so I guess it balances out. Anyway Scott clearly already knows a lot about Earth by the time he meets Oberon and Thaddeus Brown, so DC please feel free to hire me to write a Mister Miracle: Year One miniseries about Scott's arrival on Earth, thank you.

Okay, now for the post-Kirby (or really, intra-Kirby) stuff:

Mister Miracle (1977): This picks up the numbering from the Kirby series, running from #19-25, and was written by Steve Englehart and then Steve Gerber, and it sucks so bad. For three reasons, in escalating importance:

Riddled with continuity holes and factual errors that don't match what Kirby established. Himon is shown on New Genesis - how did he get there? Metron is depicted as subservient to Highfather when Kirby showed him as a neutral, independent agent. Etc.

The treatment of non-Scott characters is largely terrible. Oberon is written really condescendingly (Scott's like "Ride on my shoulders like you used to!" even though they definitely did not ever do that before, because Oberon is not a child). When Scott feels guilty that he's not actively fighting the war, Highfather's like "I don't want you to fight because I feel bad that I traded you to Darkseid, let Orion do it" as if that isn't the root of Orion's severe emotional trauma TOO. And worst of all is Barda, who is knocked out and captured in the first issue and spends pretty much the entire rest of the series unconscious, waiting for Scott to rescue her - except for the brief scene where she wakes up brainwashed, requiring Scott to beat the shit out of her. Lovely.

The series is reeeally fixated on the notion that Scott is a god, and extrapolates that to Scott deciding he's the messiah. Now, I'm not going to say that the Fourth World can't be used to explore Christian themes just because Kirby is Jewish, because Kirby was very definitely exploring biblical themes extensively and frankly I don't know enough about the Bible to say whether he was sticking religiously (ha) to the Old Testament. But I do think taking one of the central characters of a Jewish man's magnum opus and making him the messiah is, uh, pushing it. And there's no way to argue he's not a Christian messiah because, uh, he T-poses a lot in this series and Granny also specifically states that if Scott is the messiah, she'll find an anti-Christ to combat him (which...wouldn't that sort of by default be Orion? which just further proves that the idea of a messiah really doesn't work in the Fourth World framework). Anyway it's gross and I hate it.

New Gods (1977): I'm kind of using this as a catchall to cover all of Gerry Conway's New Gods work, which includes the actual 1977 New Gods series (which picks up the numbering from Kirby, so it's #12-19), the conclusion of the story in Adventure Comics, and the Justice League of America crossover with the Fourth World. (Also there's one issue of Super-Team Family where Lightray and Metron team up with the Flash to save Orion, who has grown really really big, but that doesn't fit with the rest of Conway's continuity so I guess we can ignore it.)

Anyway this stuff is not as infuriating as Mister Miracle, but it's also not...good. The central concept is that Darkseid has discovered that the Anti-Life Equation is contained within the brains of six humans, so Highfather sends six New Gods to protect said humans: Orion, Lightray, Metron (he doesn't work for you, Highfather), Forager (also does not work for you), Lonar, and Sensational Character Find of 1977, Jezebelle of the Fiery Eyes (Original Character Do Not Steal).

Mostly this series is frustrating because all the New Gods are wildly incompetent and fail completely at their tasks. Orion is dumbed down to The World's Most Basic Superhero (he has a big O on his chest now!). I spent the whole time yelling "HE CAN'T FLY, GERRY!" at the comics. Forager is lumped in with no mention of that whole thing where...he's a New God who was raised among the Bugs, who are being persecuted by the New Gods? I feel like that should be explained or at least addressed? (Presumably Kirby would have gotten around to it eventually.) Forager also should not be flying but here he does. I guess. Lonar flies too but mostly on his horse, which bothers me less for some reason, I'll accept a flying horse. (Also Lonar's human he's supposed to protect is Inuit and hoo boy is this comic racist. The poor guy wears a fur diaper the whole time and speaks a completely made up language.)

And then there's Jezebelle of the Fiery Eyes. Who is blue, for reasons that are never explained, and wears a bikini and fishnets because it's 1977, and mentions her fiery eyes (heat vision) every time she speaks. She's from Apokalips, but defected to New Genesis during battle. Which, like...I appreciate that Conway recognized that this team should have a female character, but what with Orion, Scott, Barda, and Inexplicably Present Himon, it feels like we have enough characters who have defected from Apokalips in some way? And it's just super weird that the ONLY female characters we have seen from New Genesis are Beautiful Dreamer of the Forever People (trapped in another dimension indefinitely) and Scott's dead mom. Like, what's the implication here? Heaven doesn't have women? Also, I know Conway was going for biblical names to match New Genesis and Izaya (he also introduces a Lucifar), but, like...Jezebelle? JEZEBELLE. Your only female New God and you named her "whore." Amazing.

And with that, we have covered the New Gods in the 70s (minus some Mister Miracle/Batman teamups). Next time: the 80s, and Kirby tries so so hard to kill Orion but DC won't let him.

[esmedelacroix]

31 days til' Christmas

ice skating date with miguel o'hara ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Being the head, brains, back, legs, basically the foundation of the spider society had its quirks along with many shortcomings. Shortcomings like Miguel coming back home to his sweet baby either too tired to do anything or all battered up. When you had insisted that he take a vacation for the holidays his immediate answer was, "No, I'm sorry cariño[honey], I would love to spend time with you but the fate of the multiverse—" he started as he put his hands on your shoulders.

"Miguel, that's not going to work this time. I already called Jess and Peter and they can cover for you. I also got a bunch of other spiders in on this so they can cover the other ten-thousand jobs you take care of. So you don't have a choice, mister, your vacation starts today," you said sternly. Miguel loved it when you took charge of him like this. Every once in a while he was reminded of the reason why you're the only person who has ever put up with him this far. Everyone may be scared of Miguel at work, but boy was he scared of you(in the best way possible).

He couldn't deny that being able to overpower him was one of your most attractive points as well as one of his biggest turn-ons. He snaked his hands around your waist and nuzzled his head in your neck peppering kisses all over. “Thank you, mami," he muttered into your neck.

"You’re very welcome, ya' big baby," you teased. He chuckled before pulling away and taking in your beauty.

"I know this is supposed to be a break but I want to take you out somewhere, get some cozy clothes on," he said urging you to get in the bedroom to change. You gave him a suspicious look but soon after skipped into the bedroom excited about this mystery date he was taking you on.

After you got yourself ready you found Miguel there waiting for you on the couch. "Estás tan guapa, mi amor[You look so beautiful, my love]," he praised marveling at your beauty.

"Gracias[thanks]," you chirped as you took his hand. The two of you went into the car that Miguel had already heated for the two of you. Always so considerate, you thought to yourself as you gawked at him like the two of you were teenagers again.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked oblivious to how sexy he looked when he drove.

"Oh nothing, I'm just thinking about how handsome my husband looks while driving," you quipped earning a huge grin from Miguel.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckled.

"Hell yeah," you replied before gasping suddenly. Miguel was amused at your sudden discovery of the date he had planned. You were pulling into the ice skating rink at Rockafella. One of Nueva York's main tourist attractions during the holidays.

When Miguel parked and opened your door for you after getting out of the car, you pounced on him wrapping your arms around his neck, showering his face with kisses. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," you squealed in excitement unable to contain your ecstatic joy.

One thing about you is that you loved ice skating with the perfect view of the Christmas lights of Nueva York. It was a family Christmas tradition you talked to Miguel about every year; the two of you just never found the time to do it together. Your burst of excitement was not so much because you loved being here, but because you were so happy to be sharing the experience with Miguel.

The two of you rented out ice skates and hit the ice. Miguel didn't let go of your hand once. He placed your hand in his pocket to keep you close and warm. You skated around the ring and talked about everything under the moon. Miguel talked your ear off about the procedures he's been running in his lab and how much he hates Hobie(he loves him, he just doesn't want to admit it). Afterward, you talked his ear off about all the drama happening between the friend groups you were both a part of.

As you skated and chatted, you took it upon yourself to show Miguel your cool tricks from back when you used to figure skate. You spun and twirled and even attempted a single salchow for him that looked great in the air but you did land on your bum. Miguel immediately rushed to your aid trying to hold back laughter and failing.

After he got you on your feet you chased him around the rink as fast as you could. Once you caught up with him you playfully hit his chest. "Why'd you laugh? That salchow was beautiful, I just didn't stick the landing," you nagged pinching at little spots on his arms, play fighting with him.

"Sorry, you just looked too cute for your own good," he chucked finally getting a hold of your hands holding them away and giving you a quick smooch. "C'mon chica, let's get some hot cocoa," he suggested as they left the rink and walked up to the lady operating the stand.

"¿Puedo comprar dos chocolates calientes? Para mi esposa, por favor, añade muchos malvaviscos[Can I buy two hot chocolates? For my wife, please add many marshmallows]," he asked as he pulled you into his side to share his warmth.

The two of you had your hot cocoa walking around Rockafella. Miguel teased you while you geeked out about this year’s Rockafella tree. After a successful date at the ice rink, despite your major fail, you were completely satisfied with your night.

“Thank you for taking me out hon’,” you whispered as you played with his hair while his head rested in your lap. The two of you opted to watch a holiday movie before bed.

“Thank you for helping me realize I need a break, I love spending time with you baby, you’re my world,” he muttered.

As you lay in bed together that night, you couldn’t but feel an overwhelming sense of happiness that Miguel was finally home one night, and here to stay.

[nvuy]

HII i'm the anon from before who asked for writing advice !! thank you so much for answering omg (≧▽≦)

i'm not gonna start the tumblr blog idea 'til i actually feel confident in my writing (and already have a few things i can post), which i don't at the moment!

i really wanna write self-indulgent fics and if someone happens to relate then that's great!! thing is, my writing feels bland at the moment and rarely do i have any ideas to actually make into a fic (unlike right now. my brain's flooded with ideas all of a sudden..)

point is! i wanna give my writing a sort of descriptive/poetic feel and i know for sure a wide vocabulary isn't enough, even though it *is* a huge part of the style,, if that makes sense. how should i go about this? so sorry if i'm bothering u with all these writing questions!!!

enjoy the rest of your week nd stay cool <33

ur not bothering me at all, lovely. dont worry about it. i think i am the queen of self indulgent fics so there’s nothing to stress abt and i enjoy explaining how my stupid brain works.

description ;

a wide range of vocabulary isn’t necessary. it helps to know some special words and you’re welcome to incorporate them, but some of the best poetry ive read comes from its simplicity. a lot of people dont really want to read constant droning description; as much as i enjoy writing it myself, i hate authors like charles dickens with a passion. you can tell when a writer was being paid per word rather than how many times the book sells. and fuck his stupid ass christmas book.

a tip i can give you is to do what i do, which is to hand pick words depending on the scene.

i’ll use an example because i know that made zero sense: picture a very basic fairycore forest with pink plants and fireflies. this setting, from the description alone, should explain that this forest is a nice and small tucked away and pretty place. we add a stream that runs along the treeline. let’s describe the stream specifically. which sentence sounds better to you?

The white waters that part the soil flow down the centre of the earth, and divide the trees in two.

The clear waters that part the dirt splash down the middle of the path, and section the forest in two.

now, im hoping to the gods that you think the first one is better. the sentences are exactly the same in terms of definition, and the description depicts the same thing, but its the words used that make the first sentence softer, and therefore the setting seems a lot more peaceful by default.

if you use words with harder and rougher consonants throughout—i’m not telling you to avoid them—will make the sentence sound rougher, at least to me. harder sounds like ‘t’ and ‘k,’ as an example. words like ‘white’ i think, despite the hard ending, are still particularly softer, because the ‘wh’ sound at the beginning serves almost as a counterbalance. it’s why the word ‘clear’ sounds rougher; because it starts with a harder sound despite its softer ending.

it has nothing to do with magical sixteen letter words that nobody understands. learning new big words is cool and you’re welcome to use them, but if i see you writing: And the river is so beautiful, so stupendous, so marvelous, so loquacious… i will kill you with my bare hands.

something i also avoid is repeating the same words over and over again. using the stream as an example still, if you’re going to refer to it again and again, dont just use the word ‘stream.’ you sound like a parrot. change it up. look up synonyms if you’re not sure, or simply describe it also as ‘the water.’ the thesaurus is your best friend.

sometimes you can repeat words to emphasise them, or the passing of times. you can do this, but make sure it appears deliberate.

example:

even in confiteor when i was forced to write the word ‘cock’ 5600 times, i broke it up. frankly because i dont really know what other word to use that doesn’t sound awkward or cringe, so in between verses, i tossed in exposition, internal musings, thoughts and feelings, etc, to change up the repeated use of the word.

i Hope… that made sense . .

dropping cliches ;

cliches are inherently bad things, but there’s a lot of things you can do to differentiate stereotypical phrases and such from the norm.

for example: a confession “i love you.”

BORINGGGGG. put it in the bin (im kidding but you can make it more interesting or heartfelt).

observe the typical: “im in love with you.”

now, in my opinion, it’s better than the former. it sounds more sincere. ‘i love you’ on its own could refer to many different types of love, but “im in love with you” is romance.

scrap the obvious and toss out the word ‘love:’ “i’ll never grow tired of your voice.”

now obviously poetic prose wont always work depending on the character doing the confessing. i could imagine someone like argenti prattling and waxing poetry for nine hours.

someone like boothill, however, in all of his inelegance, you can have more fun with.

observe again: “i trust you.”

“but wait nvuy that’s not a love confession.” it’s called subtly. and, if you’ve written it correctly, i shouldnt have to hear a ‘i love you’ to understand that the two people you’re writing about are in love. i should be able to understand that through interactions and exchanges beyond that. i based old habits around that; you didnt have to see the mc and scaramouche smooch to know that they were in love.

there’s so many ways to explain the feelings of romance without saying “[X] was in love with [Y].” UNLESS you use it for a comedic and abrupt effect that the character themselves is feeling, and not so much you as the narrator telling your audience that the character is in love.

the romance you write can be slow and gentle or quick or hostile or muddied or confusing. make it so through words and actions. it’s all in the ‘show don’t tell.’

so if you want to combine my tips you can write your own gooey gross romantic self indulgent fics just like me and then force feed them to your friends YIPPEEEEEE