#probably could use more tags but which ones?

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dog Tags (2)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You're still keeping his Dog Tags safe.

Disclaimer: This is Part 2. Part 1 can be found here. Mentions of injuries and blood, Bucky helps carry you to safety (kinda), little angst/hurt/comfort moments, some fluff moments plus friendship moments with Wanda and Kate. Not Proof Read.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked you for the millionth time. “It’s just that those arrows…I know I make them but sometimes I can put a little too much after kick- Clint tells me I need to find a substitute but the black market-”

“Kate,” you smiled and held your hand on her arm. “I promise you, I’m okay.”

“But that blast was big. Like, big big.”

You nodded. “I know. But I’m okay, I promise.”

“Kate!”

She turned and looked down the jet. 

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

She looked back at you, “You swear?”

You nodded, “I swear.”

Once Kate finally left, you let the wall drop for a moment. You didn’t blame her. The kick had been big, but it had also saved your life. Maybe you got a few bruises to remember it by, but you knew you’d be okay. 

It would just hurt in the meantime. 

“Here.” A voice spoke somewhere above you.

You looked around you until you found where the voice was coming from. Bucky. 

What the hell did he want?

You looked down at the hand where he was holding an ice pack. “Take it. For your ribs.”

You swatted his hand away, “I’m fine.” 

Bucky just stood and rolled his eyes. Even watching you lift your arm to swat him away looked painful. He’d seen the blast with his own eyes, which also meant he knew that if it was him in your position, he wouldn’t have walked out completely unscathed. 

“You’re not fine.” Bucky broke the ice pack before shaking it as he crouched in front of you. 

For a moment, you recoiled back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m gonna help you. Would you let me help you?” 

This time Bucky didn’t fully wait for an answer before he placed the ice pack against your ribs for you. And, for a moment, you recoiled from the cold until your body melted into it. 

Okay. Maybe you were hurt, a little. But that still didn’t mean you needed his help. 

“I can hold it myself.”

“You can barely lift your arms.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Bucky shrugged, “You’re getting it anyway.”

“Why?” The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. But it was a reasonable question. 

Save for a few questionable moments outside of the ten minute window you and Bucky could be alone, you weren’t two people that helped each other. Fought with was probably the more likely statement. 

“Because you need it.” 

It was the best explanation Bucky could come up with at that moment. But it still gained him something. 

You were looking him in the eyes. It was rare he ever got to be this close to you and actually see the colour of your eyes. He didn’t quite know how the feud between you and him had started out. But what he did know was that he would happily drown in your gaze. 

And it was thoughts like that, that sent him into a spin. 

So, regrettably, he looked away. But even that gained him something. 

You watched as a smile ghosted its way onto his lips and you followed his eye line to the metal chain around your neck. 

“You’re still wearing them.”

The Dog Tags. The one’s he thought he’d lost nearly three months ago, only to work out you’d had them all along. It had nearly been almost two months, alone, since that night in the training room. 

You raised a hand to touch your chest. You could feel the outline of the tags underneath your clothes. “You told me to keep them safe.”

You watched as a corner of Bucky’s mouth slanted up slightly and, just for a moment, you let your mind wonder what it would be like if you kissed him right in that spot. 

You shook your head and this time, you looked away. You dropped the hand from your chest just before a rattle came over the jet. 

“We’re coming into landing.”

You just nodded, not trusting yourself to use words at that moment. But you gained them again when you stood to get off the jet only for Bucky to put your arm over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing? I can walk on my own, Barnes.”

“You’d only collapse three feet from here. Thought I’d save myself the trouble of catching you.”

You scowled, “Like I told Kate-”

“So help me, God, if you tell me you’re ‘fine’ I’m gonna call Sam. You’ve got a sprained ankle, a few fractured ribs, if not, broken, and a lifetime of bruises to remember today by. And that’s just what I can see.”

You just looked at Bucky, your arm still over his shoulder, his hand still clasping yours. You didn’t know how or why, but you let him help you off the jet. 

But when Wanda asked you about it later on, you just told her it was because you were too tired. 

“It was a moment of weakness.”

Wanda hummed as she sat on the edge of your bed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean, ‘maybe’? There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

Wanda chuckled, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you, Shakespeare.”

Wanda hit your leg before climbing up the bed to sit beside you. She grabbed a pillow and crossed her arms over it. 

“Oh, come on. You and I both know you have feelings for him.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, he’s a massive pain in the ass.”

“Those aren’t the feelings I’m talking about.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. “Stop reading my mind.”

Wanda was calm as she shook her head. “I don’t have to read your mind for this one.”

Your shoulders sagged for a moment and you looked at your hands, picking at your fingers. “It’s not like I meant to let it happen.”

“Nobody ever lets feelings happen. They just happen. It’s what makes you human.”

You just shrugged your shoulders. “He is still a pain in my ass.”

Wanda chuckled. “Have you ever thought to talk to him-”

“No! No. No, absolutely not. No. Never.”

Wanda hummed again. “Maybe it might help. Who knows? Maybe this isn’t a one sided love affair?”

You recoiled a little, again. “Love? Who ever said anything about love? I’m sure it’s just a stupid…work crush.”

Wanda looked at you. She didn’t have to read your mind to know that even you didn’t believe what you’d just said. 

“Hey,” Wanda tapped your leg. “Can I get you anything? You know, since Sam has banished you here for the next week.”

You chuckled. “I’m still allowed to leave…when he’s not here.”

When Bucky had taken you to the medical bay, you’d been given a full diagnostic. A sprained ankle, two fractured ribs, a little bruising around your internal organs that would heal itself, plenty of pulled muscles and, like Bucky had put it, enough bruises to make sure you remembered the day for a lifetime. 

Once Sam had found out, he’d doubled down on the Doctor’s orders to maintain bedrest. 

A few hours after Wanda had left, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. And for a while, you just started thinking whilst absentmindedly fiddling with the dog tags still around your neck. 

You thought about the ending of the movie you’d just watched with Wanda. You thought about the pain in your side. You thought about the feeling of Bucky’s fingertips gently pressing at your side as he held the ice pack in place. 

He’d been checking to make sure nothing was broken. That was how he knew. 

Then you looked at the dog tags. Like every night, your thumb traced over the letters. 

Little did you know, the next time someone else traced their thumb over the letters, it was because your blood had been splattered across them. 

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙂𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙚, 𝙎𝙥𝙞𝙣, 𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨, 𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙩

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader x Eve Wilkins

Warnings: None

Tags: Platonic kisses, flirty chaos, soft girl solidarity, poor Mark is doing his best

Word Count: 1,660

Synopsis: Mark Grayson thought he could handle a little casual skating night with friends. He was wrong. Very, very wrong. Because you and Eve showed up in matching earmuffs, holding hands—and more. Are you dating? Are you messing with him? Is he dying? Probably. But at least the hot chocolate’s good.

Mark Grayson had seen some things.

Aliens. Interdimensional monsters. His dad using his face to punch through a train and all its passengers.

But nothing—nothing—prepared him for seeing you and Eve hold hands at a skating rink while wearing matching earmuffs.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself, gripping the rink wall like he was clinging to the last shred of sanity.

It had started innocently enough. Eve invited him out for “a casual little skate night. Us, William, and [y/n], no pressure.” Which might as well have been code for a trap designed by God to test his emotional fortitude.

Because there you were. Laughing with Eve. Sipping hot chocolate with two hands, like you were trying to keep them warm after all that intense hand-holding.

And then Eve helped you tie your skates.

You were sitting on a bench, one leg stretched out, the other bent, and Eve crouched down in front of you like she did this all the time—like she was your dedicated skate assistant or something.

Mark stood a few feet away, awkwardly holding his own skates like he didn’t just realize he might not be the main character in this scene.

“You good?” William muttered beside him.

“I—yeah,” Mark said, voice cracking. “Totally. Just… watching.”

He immediately regretted saying that, but William was too busy adjusting his hat to notice.

Eve tugged the laces tight, knotted them, and patted your knee like she’d just fixed a masterpiece. “There. Try not to fall and die.”

You beamed at her. “You always take such good care of me.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. That felt... loaded.

Then you leaned in, resting your head on Eve’s shoulder, smiling so sweetly it could’ve been pulled straight out of a perfume ad.

Mark’s heartbeat stuttered.

Eve turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing your hair. “You’ve got lip balm on your nose again.”

“I like it shiny,” you said with a little grin, not moving.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eve mumbled, and then—without missing a beat—she kissed you.

Right on the mouth.

Soft, casual, no fanfare.

Mark died. Quietly. Internally. With grace.

His soul left his body and ascended into the rafters of the skating rink, where it hovered, stunned, trying to process what it had just witnessed.

They kissed. Like it was normal.

You didn’t even react like it was a big deal. You just smiled against her lips, murmured something Mark couldn’t hear, and then started adjusting your scarf.

Meanwhile, Mark stood frozen, eyes wide, throat dry. Had time slowed down? Were his skates melting? Was this a stroke?

He looked around—surely someone else had seen that. But William was digging through his pockets for his phone, and the rest of the world just kept spinning.

He looked back at you two.

You were chatting again. Laughing.

Laughing.

Mark blinked. “Did they—did you—did that just happen?”

William glanced up. “What?”

“They kissed.”

William squinted. “Eve and [y/n]? Yeah. They do that sometimes.”

“They what?!”

“They’re just like that, man.”

Mark felt like the entire foundation of his reality had shifted two inches to the left. “Since when is that a thing?!”

“I don’t know,” William said, shrugging. “Since always? You need to calm down. You're looking at them like you're in a telenovela.”

Mark turned back just in time to see you poke Eve in the ribs and burst out laughing as she tried to trip you with her skate.

They were fine. Everything was fine.

Except Mark, who was now very seriously reconsidering every platonic interaction he’d ever witnessed.

He did not scream. He absolutely did not Google “how to tell if your two crushes are dating each other and not you.”

He just skated. Poorly.

Later, Mark cornered Eve at the cocoa stand. “I just—so, you and [y/n], huh?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Me and [y/n]. What about it?”

“I didn’t know you guys were… you know.” He made a vague, flappy hand gesture that somehow communicated both romance and meltdown.

Eve blinked. “We’re not.”

Mark paused. “You’re not…?”

“We’re just friends.”

Mark stared at her like she’d said you were both celestial beings sent to test him personally. “You kissed her!”

Eve shrugged. “Yeah? She looked cute. And she got hot chocolate on her lip. You would’ve done it too.”

“No!” Mark squawked. “No, I would not have just casually—that’s not a normal friend thing!”

Eve gave him a baffled look. “Mark. You fly around in spandex and yell about justice. Don’t talk to me about normal.”

He tried asking you directly. Big mistake.

“So like, you and Eve?” he asked, trying to sound chill and definitely not like he was about to scream into a snowbank.

You looked up from your churro. “Yeah?”

“You’re dating?”

You snorted. “What? No. We just kiss sometimes. It’s fun.”

Mark short-circuited. “...For fun?”

“Yeah, like—mutual admiration and pretty girl solidarity, you know?”

He absolutely did not know. His brain was now smoke and static.

“Oh,” you added, “and she’s been helping me get over my ex.”

Mark’s heart fluttered. Hope? A chance?

You smiled. “But don’t worry—Eve promised she wouldn’t let me date another emotionally stunted guy with secret feelings. She’s so supportive.”

Ah.

There it was.

Mark nodded slowly. “Cool. Cool cool cool. I love that for you.”

You patted his arm. “You’re such a good friend, Mark.”

And just like that, he died again.

—

The three of you were standing near the edge of the rink, the chill in the air mixing with the warmth of the cocoa in your hands. Mark was trying to stay casual, but his eyes kept darting between you and Eve, who were just so comfortable with each other. Like it didn’t matter that you’d just shared a kiss on the rink. Like it was as casual as breathing.

And maybe that’s what did it.

Maybe that’s why he noticed how your lips lingered on Eve’s. How you gently traced her jaw, eyes closed, completely unbothered by how intensely affectionate you were being.

Then—oh God—you kissed her again.

Mark didn’t even know where his thoughts went anymore. His brain had just short-circuited. He stared at you both, wide-eyed, his heart rate kicking into overdrive.

“Uh,” he muttered, then cleared his throat, trying to act like everything was perfectly fine. “You two… uh, you two are just really affectionate, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Eve said, her grin way too knowing. She nudged you playfully, but her gaze flicked over to Mark and lingered there for a second too long. Then, she went back to you, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Oh my God,” Mark mumbled. “It’s like I can’t—what even is—”

You turned to Mark, totally unfazed. “You okay, Mark?” Your voice was sweet and unbothered, like you hadn’t just caused absolute chaos in his brain. “You’re kind of… pink?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, brushing it off, but his hands were suddenly clammy. His fingers tightened around his cocoa cup like it was his lifeline.

You just grinned at him. “Well, you’re looking a little… frazzled. Here, have some of mine.” You thrust your cup at him, clearly way too calm about the situation.

“Uh, thanks,” Mark said, trying to play it cool. He took a tentative sip, but it was as if the universe was out to make him implode. He felt something drip onto his bottom lip.

“Whoops,” you said with a little shrug, stepping closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “You’ve got a little something there.”

Before he could respond—before his brain could even register what was happening—you kissed him.

It wasn’t the casual, quick peck he was mentally prepared for. No, this was lingering.

Soft. Slow. Your lips brushing over his, gently nudging his mouth open as if you were trying to get every last drop of hot chocolate from his lip. Mark’s whole body froze, his eyes wide, heart thudding in his chest as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening. Was this a joke? Was he imagining it?

And then, just when he thought he might combust from the sheer shock, you pulled back just enough to lick your bottom lip. As if you were making absolutely sure that not one drop of cocoa had been left behind.

Mark’s breath hitched in his throat, his brain screaming WHAT and WHY, but his body was already way too lost in the moment to argue. He barely even registered the quiet laugh that escaped Eve behind him.

“Better?” you asked, still smiling sweetly at him, like you didn’t just knock his world sideways. Mark couldn’t speak. He was completely dumbstruck. His mouth was too dry, his tongue too thick to form words.

“Mark?” Eve teased, stepping forward now. “You okay?”

He blinked a few times, trying to piece himself back together, but all he could do was shake his head, which only made you laugh.

“I think I broke him,” you said, and the look in your eyes was one of pure mischief. Mark couldn’t decide if he wanted to die or kiss you back.

He cleared his throat again. “I—uh—okay. Okay. Well, I gotta… I gotta go. Yeah, I’m, uh, gonna… Yeah.” He looked around, like there was an escape route. “I’m just gonna—”

“Wait,” Eve called after him. “You don’t want some more cocoa?”

Mark turned around so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. “NO,” he yelped. “I’m good. Thanks. I—uh—no more hot chocolate.”

And as Mark sprinted away, both you and Eve just watched him go, arms still casually linked.

“Well, that went well,” Eve said with a satisfied grin.

You smirked, taking another sip of your cocoa. “I think he likes it when we kiss. Don’t you?”

Eve chuckled. “I think he’s still trying to figure out if we’re doing this for real, or if his brain just broke.”

[jaderabbitt]

Marching Forward / A New Kind of Love (I)

warning!! slight thunderbolts* spoilers under the cut! this chapter is mostly just the gala + flashbacks, so nothing that people haven't already been writing for pre-release of the movie.

pairing: Bucky x ex-girlfriend/ex-widow!Reader tags: pre-established break-up, flashbacks, idiots still in love, idiots still in lust, angst, hurt+comfort, canon-level comedy, curvy!reader*, grownasswoman!reader, slightly bratty but funny reader

*I specifically wrote reader as having curves/meat on her bones because she's supposed to be around 30-35 by thunderbolts*. MILF era reader but subtract the child is upon us. I also generally head canon that Bucky would prefer a curvier woman bc she's soft and can take more iykwim warnings: suggestive content, dirty talking, mentions of death, mentions of hopelessness, slightly toxic relationship (will get fixed later also reader is kinda the toxic one), mentions of domestic abuse*, self-deprecation, reader is explicitly a woman, slight physical descriptors for reader but nothing drastic like hair skin or eyes, playing fast and loose with timelines

*reader was trained by the Winter Soldier in the Red Room, like in the comics. obv, he has laid hands on her bc he had to. reader also comments in a flashback that she expects Bucky to get mad and hit her, but he would never post!WS.

summary: after being separated for three years, you and Bucky finally see each other once more. lots of things have changed - but, have you?

word count: around 2.2k

note: see end of fic for footnotes!

It was a wonder that they let six-year-olds as small as Yelena play a sport.  Most likely, it had something to do with the fact that you lived in a small town in Ohio—there probably weren't many six-year-olds around to sign up. The soccer team was interspersed with girls her age and a year above.

You and Natasha sat next to Melina on the field’s bleachers, watching Alexei coach what had to be the worst children’s soccer team in existence. There were a couple girls who just plain looked confused, as if they didn’t know how to play soccer—despite this being the team’s fourth game.

The sun beat down onto the field, making you squint and hold a hand over your eyes to see past the reflections off metal bleachers. You watched as your youngest sister crouched to catch the ball with her comically large goalie gloves on, ending up missing the ball by the tips of her fingers. The parents on the other team cheered and clapped, while Alexei had to try and damage control the disappointed parents and young kids on your side of the field.

You and Natasha fooled around, cracking jokes about the girl who had a mishap on the field last game. Melina had pinched your arm in condemnation when she overheard you two snickering about it.

It was days like these that you’d end up missing the most. You had many pains in your life, ones that you’d remember during witching hours of restless nights.

You could still feel Dreykov’s nasty hands gripping you to separate you from your sisters. 

You could still remember how it felt to snap a neck for the first time.

You could still remember the betrayal you felt when Natasha defected, and left you and Yelena behind.

You could still remember the salted taste of your tears as you stood at her grave.

But the one that hurt most of all?

You could still remember the glisten of Bucky’s grey-blue eyes when you glanced back at him that last night in your shared apartment. He made no move to stop you from leaving, and there was a finality to that.

He had given up. On you, and on your relationship together. 

—————————

“If you do not succeed, then you have no purpose. The Red Room does not keep things without purpose.” ¹

Madame B’s voice rang through your mind like a scourge—an affliction, threaded deep through the hollows of your soul.

Purpose.

A simple word, but one which haunted your waking moments.

What purpose did you have in this life? An assassin, reared from birth, was all you’d ever be.

You had been given a short taste of what it would’ve been like, had you been birthed by a womb which cared. One where your purpose was to be a loving daughter and sister, who could do whatever she wanted with her life. Maybe, one day, you would’ve even been a wife.

Maybe, just maybe–

Your sister would still be alive. And, maybe, you wouldn’t have this cavernous, yearning hole within your being, swallowing everything you are. 

“And where does that leave me, James?” You had finally broken. Your voice raised, a finger pointed accusingly at his chest. “I’m not like you. I’m not like Natasha was. I can’t pretend to be anything other than a killer wearing a hero’s face.” ²

You immediately regretted your choice in words when Bucky’s face fell. There was no anger, no frustration. 

It was nauseating. You wanted him to yell back at you, to get furious. Hit you, even. 

Instead, he looked at you as if you had just shattered his fragile heart– broken it into tiny shards that pierced from within his chest cavity.

“Is that how you see me?” 

You escaped your subconscious in the backseat of a car service, digging your nails into the meat of your exposed thigh and leaving white scratch marks behind, soon to be raised welts. The dress you wore had a slit, cut high enough to show skin when you walked, but low enough to not be considered indecent. Your garter held an inconspicuous dagger on the inside of your thigh; you weren’t going to be caught without any sort of weapon, but even you weren’t bold enough to attempt bringing a firearm within reach of several government officials. The brush of the blade’s handle against the skin of the opposite thigh when you walked brought a consistent comfort, a subtle reminder it was there.

A figure, curved and matured with age, filled out the dress’ silhouette like a second skin. The ripples of fabric followed your body’s command as a stilettoed foot hit the pavement of the sidewalk. Adjusting the void of black wrapped around your skin and gripping your clutch tightly to your side, you let out an exhale that you didn’t realize you were holding. The car that had dropped you off had pulled away the minute you shut the door, and the nearest subway entrance was at least a ten block walk that you weren’t going to attempt in four inch pumps.

Alas, all arrows pointed to you being unable to escape what was sure to be an exhausting night.

The black-tie event had since been underway by the time you arrived. Though, you figured that may work better in your favor; not many people would be looking for a late entry to the party. Your stilettos clicked against polished marble, eyes scanning the room with a practiced gaze. Your glasses were set low on the curve of your nose, letting the false lashes you wore flutter against skin uninterrupted. The makeup you had applied suddenly felt heavy on your pores as you spotted the reason for your attendance.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine–what a mouthful–stood at the opposite balcony, seeming to be having a heated discussion with her assistant. Over what? That wasn’t your business. Your business with the Contessa began whenever she opened her mouth to give you your assignment, and ended whenever you completed the contract. You refused to associate with the avaricious woman more than was necessary. 

And, so, you began to work your way over.

You barely made it halfway before an arm had shot out and pulled you into a side hall. Either your reflexes have dulled in your time away from the field, or the arm that gripped yours was inhumanly fast. You were hoping it was the latter–you aren’t sure you could translate your skills to other fields if you were losing your touch.

You struggled against the arm around your waist, which only furthered the strength of the grip. Your backside collided with the soft, lean muscle of a man’s front. You were truthfully attempting not to make a scene–there were a very many violent options that you had been trained in to break a hold like this, but you had been trying not to bring attention to yourself.

“Again,” you panted out, your ribcage surely bruised from being thrown around with ease likened to a child throwing a toy. The man in front of you didn’t care, however. Neither would an opponent in the real world. So, you once again assumed your position. The mechanical whirr of his silver arm echoed within the walls of the old Belarusian training room as he readied his stance.

You darted towards him, using your smaller stature to your advantage–he may have more advanced reflexes than a normal human, but his bulky mass and metal arm weighed him down. He had anticipated you to jump him head on again, so you knew you had to find a way to break his focus. As he reached out to grab you with his metal hand, you slid in between his spread legs. His arm instinctively went to grip your waist behind him once he felt your arms on his shoulders, so you used that to boost your momentum and twist your body up and around to his front. Your thighs closed around his head and squeezed, blocking his sight and hearing. As you brought an elbow up to slam down on his–quite frankly–hard head, you felt his hands reach up and grasp the curves of your backside. The boldness of the touch had shocked your system frozen. ³

A grunt left his lips, muffled by your crotch, and that was the only warning you received before the tingle of your spine communicated that gravity was approaching, and fast. You could only gasp for air as your back hit the training mat, stealing what breath you still had away.

The impact had loosened the vice grip of your thighs, but the Soldier’s body stayed in what you could only describe as a compromising position. His gaze locked onto yours, lips parted and breathing hot puffs of air into your intimate area, knees buckled underneath him, and palms still flat against your bottom. The black of his pupils nearly engulfed the blue of his irises–he looked ready to devour you.

“Hey, hey!,” a low rasp grumbled in your ear, the sound of your name breaking you out of your stupor, “It’s me!”

You almost fought his grip even harder, now knowing who it was that held you. “Bucky, what the fuck!” You hissed, his grip finally loosening enough for you to break out and spin around to face your unwanted captor. His arms raised and his shoulders hunched in, he tried to make himself look smaller–or innocent, rather–in a placating manner.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “force of habit.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, using the hand not clenched around your clutch to rub at your temple; you knew you would have to have this moment eventually tonight, you just hadn’t thought it would happen immediately.

“You look…good,” were the words that came out of his mouth. He winced immediately after, as if kicking himself for saying it.

One brow quirked up, you couldn’t help the quip from leaving your mouth.

“You look…older. Is that grey I see in your beard?” You pretended to squint and pushed your glasses up your nose, as if you were trying to get a closer look. ⁴

He let out a huff–the closest you’d get to a laugh–and the side of his lips curled up a bit. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re not put on ice for years at a time.”

His brow furrowed suddenly, pointing at the glasses on your face. “What’s with the…?”

You let out a chuckle at that, the back and forth between you feeling natural. Like old times.

“Creature comfort,” you shrugged. ⁵

Your eyes roved up and down Bucky’s body, inspecting the changes. The way he clearly had been less rigorous with strength training, but his body clung to muscle mass naturally. “It’s a good look on you. I’d say you age like fine wine, but considering you’re probably older than most aged wines being sold currently, I think I might insult some vineyards.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raised at that, a smug smirk slowly lifting on his lips–

“That right?”

You could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in closer, the notes of bergamot and cedar in his cologne suddenly becoming clear to your olfactory senses. You tried swallowing down the nerves growing in your throat, his eyes glancing down to the motion before slowly inspecting down your full figure and back up.

“You have no idea just how much you’re testing my restraint right now,” he murmured lowly, eyes hooded over as he looked down at you as if you were his prey for the night. Despite the added four inches from your stilettos, the bastard super soldier still towered over you.

“Bucky, I–”

“Ah, ah. You’re gonna turn that ass around, go do what you came here to do, and when you’re done, you’re gonna come back to my apartment with me and we’re gonna have a little chat.”

The commanding tone of his voice left no room for argument, but you found yourself testifying anyway.

“James, it’s been almost three years–”

You found yourself being manhandled, again, by your ex-boyfriend. He spun you around so that your back pressed against his chest again, his vibranium hand groping the swell of your ass. You had to bite down on your lower lip to prevent an embarrassing moan from escaping, watching people mingle around the hall without a notice or care in the world of what was happening just across the hall from them.

“And whose fault is that, hm?” He growled into your ear, “I haven’t seen my girl in three years. Not one call, text, or even a fucking email.”

“I’m not your girl anymore, remember?” You hissed out, rolling your eyes, despite knowing he couldn’t see it. “I haven’t been your girl since you let me walk out that door.”

“I didn’t let you do anything. You’re a grown fuckin’ woman and I respected your decision. If I were in the business of letting you do things, you’d be bent over that railing right now.”

“And become a scandalized Congressman? Is that truly worth it?”

“If it meant that I’d finally get a message through that thick fuckin’ skull of yours, then yes. I assassinated a U.S. President and still got voted in. A sex scandal could hardly scrape the bottom of the shit I’ve done.” ⁶

“Oh, please. You could’ve assassinated Hitler himself and there would still be a population of the American people who would try to get on your ass for having premarital sex.”

“Interesting foreplay this has been, I must admit–but you’re avoiding consequence by talking around the point.”

Well, shit. You were kinda hoping he hadn’t noticed.

¹ This is a line from “Sucker Punch” ! Dr. Gorsky fits the Red Room characterization so well imo.

² This was internal monologue from Bucky in Winter Soldier: Devil’s Reign. 

³ This is my poor attempt at describing the move Black Widow does on Bucky after he gets activated by Zemo in CA:CW. I always thought it’d be fun to make it more heated, seeing as how intimate of a position it looks without the context of a fight.

⁴ In my headcanon (bc truthfully I don’t know if they’ve ever confirmed this?), Bucky’s body ages with Sebastian Stan’s. So he’d be physically around his early 40s by the time Thunderbolts* happens. He’d be physically in his late 20s in Winter Soldier flashbacks, mid 30s in FATWS ones.

⁵ Can be implied that Reader doesn’t actually need glasses; this is relevant for later. If you do need glasses, this will also still work; it would just imply that Bucky was used to seeing her with contacts in. Could also just be read as a “Clark Kent Effect” where people don’t recognize a spy with glasses lmaoo.

⁶ I love Bucky “I Assassinated JFK And Got Away With It” Barnes.

[somebodyssherlock-heterodyne]

So this got too long for tags:

I feel like Hal tries to stay human outside his lessons about the ring, and Abin Sur encourages this because he'd really like Hal to be a fully developed adult before he goes around fighting cosmic bullshit. So Hal grows up with Martin Jordan's absence and Abin Sur's presence (grows up with the echo of a father that let death stop him and the voice of the one that fought death tooth and nail for Hal, before he even knew his name). I think Carol probably finds out at some point while they're growing up. (I think there are probably times during another boring/infuriating day in life as a business heiress that she is seethingly jealous, but that there are also times they bond over both their paths being set before them without much input on their parts).

I feel like Hal joins the Air Force because it's his last chance for a connection to his first father, and also that Abin Sur is strongly against this course of action. They've fought before, but Hal always showed up and Abin Sur always came back and sometimes they talked about it and sometimes they just let it blow over.

Not this time. This is their first BIG fight. And Hal runs off to join the military where he's never afforded any real privacy, so even if Abin Sur wanted to show up, he couldn't. For a while it's a nice, petty way to get back at him- for a while it feels like breaking free of the green path he got put on, you know?

Until he realizes that the US military kind of sucks and all he's done was trade one place he felt trapped in for another place he feels even more trapped in. Until he realizes that he chose Martin Jordan's echo which is incapable of caring over Abin Sur's presence who cares so much he stuck around even though he was DEAD. I think it'd be so crunchy if Hal got dishonorably discharged over the ring- he can't wear it, so he keeps it on his dog tags, and his CO doesn't even know what it is, doesn't know that it's anything, just knows Hal is too loose a cannon for military taste and the ring could be leveraged to bring him to heel.

Hal doesn't even let them get a good look at it, and during the whole incident ends up screaming "THIS RING BELONGED TO MY FATHER-" and he doesn't even know it until he says it, but it's true. He gets kicked out for his refusal to let anyone take his only piece of Abin Sur, and it feels like the right choice. Possibly the first right choice he's ever made for himself.

His privacy returns and Abin Sur returns with it. The reunion hits right in the feels. Abin Sur has been quietly prepping Hal for the very real possibility that he'll have to take on the Guardians one day, and he starts really finalizing that. Eventually he realizes that he's got nothing left to teach Hal.

Hal says "but you'll still come back, right? Even if it's less often, you'll still come back. You won't just leave me."

And I think Abin Sur tries his damndest not to, but that he knows it's all borrowed time now. The hourglass has had a hole in it this entire time, and he's out of ways to get more sand.

Oa considers him MIA, likely dead, and quite possibly that his ring was destroyed. Sinestro, loyal as he is, has been looking for him anyway. Abin Sur allows himself to be found.

Hal and Sinestro hate each other on sight. Hal's a cocky little shit, Sinestro is a perpetually composed planner, and both of them have very particular neuroses about Abin Sur. This is very inconvenient because these two are the best Draw Four cards he can play against the Guardians. The Indigo tribe is still Plan B but if these two ever manage to spend five minutes in the same room without arguing they can just overthrow the Guardians and lead the Corps themselves.

Abin Sur runs out of time. Hal and Sin are both absolutely devastated when they have to say goodbye. Sin is better at hiding it. He looks at this human- this infuriating human who's incomparable will is going to make him the greatest Lantern ever seen- and only really sees him now, in the moment he says goodbye to the only father he actually knew.

Hal loses everything all over again. At least this time he got to say goodbye.

He and Sinestro end up bonding over Abin Sur on the trip to Oa, trading stories. They can only get along like he wanted them to now that he's not here to see it.

They get to Oa, and the dominoes that took eons to line up finally start to fall.

what if AU where abin sur crash lands on earth right after hal’s dad dies and “learns no fear,” and when dying abin sur tells his ring to find the earthling with no fear and he sees a child, he’s like oh shit oh no what the fuck, and every day he has to muster up the willpower from Emerald Space to form a ghost form to mentor an 11yo grieving wild child who he accidentally stuck with the greatest weapon in the universe

[irb-pascalito-99]

I Can’t Quit You Babe

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (no outbreak AU)

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: After the events of the night before Joel plans on avoiding you at all costs. You have other plans.

Content Warnings: dbf!Joel, age gap romance, dirty pictures, phone sex, mutual masturbation

A/N: This is p2 of Father Figure. Thank you so much for all of the support on part one! I have s couple ideas for these two so I’ll probably have at least a couple more parts. I’m working on putting together a tag list so if you’d like to be added let me know!

P1

Dividers thanks to @saradika-graphics

Joel should never have let things get as far as they had last night. He knew he was in trouble from the minute his hands held your cold face, but he couldn’t just leave you out there like that. How you ended up going from a conversation about your douchebag boyfriend to discussing his own embarrassing lack of a love life he still wasn’t sure, but it was all over from there.

What Joel does know is that he still can’t stop thinking about you in his lap. He can’t stop hearing your panting breaths and quiet moans. He can’t stop feeling the pressure of your hips against his, soaking his sweatpants with your wetness. He can’t stop picturing his best friend’s daughter on her knees in front of him, ready and willing to take his throbbing cock into her mouth.

The whole thing was so fucked up. He’d almost chalk it up to some debaucherous dream he had, if it weren’t for his stained sweatpants discarded on the floor of his bedroom and the cum stained boxers he used to clean himself up when he jerked off after you left. No, no decent man would have ever done what Joel did last night, which is why it can’t ever happen again.

He’d planned on avoiding you for a few days until things had cooled down a bit. Certainly you’d find a more suitable guy to move on to, someone your age who wasn’t buddies with your dad. He’d just give you some time to forget about that night, and that would be that.

When he left the next morning to pick Sarah up from her friend’s house he didn’t even glance in the direction of your house, too scared he might see you looking down at him from your bedroom window.

He tried not to think about you. He did his best to push you out of his mind completely and focus instead on the rotation of country music coming out of his stereo, but the tunes of Johnny Cash did nothing more than provide background noise to his racing thoughts. It was easier to quiet his mind when Sarah got in the truck. He listened to her enthusiastically share all of the details of her night, and carefully avoided the topic when she asked him about his. It isn’t until he gets home that he sees the message. His heart leaps into his throat when he sees who it’s from.

There, at the bottom of his chain of text messages with your father was a new message sent this morning.

I need you to come over sometime today, it’s important.

Suddenly Joel was having a hard time swallowing. Could he possibly know what happened? Did you tell him, upset that he’d kicked you out of his house last night? No, you’d never do that. At least he didn’t think you would, but what else could your father need to talk to him about?

He chances a glance across his yard to your house, your driveway where he picked you up off the ground last night. Your dad’s car is still parked in the same spot as when he pulled in last night. The curtains are drawn so he can’t tell what he might be walking into over there.

“Hey Sarah, I gotta go over to the neighbor’s house for a bit. You gonna be okay?” Joel calls to his daughter as she unlocks the front door of their house.

“Yeah, see you later.” She says without a second thought.

Joel hasn’t even made it to your porch before he hears the yelling inside. He can feel the life draining out of his face. He forgets how to breathe and stops in his tracks.

He should turn back now. Take the coward’s way out. He could text your dad and say he’s sick, but how long would it be before the man came pounding at his door demanding answers. He couldn’t have that conversation in front of Sarah.

It takes all the strength Joel has in himself to finish the last few steps to the door. He’s still thinking of running when he knocks on the door.

“I don’t need you to find me something to do! It’s my life! I can figure things out for myself!” Your argument comes closer to the door so Joel can now make out the words.

“It may be your life, but you’re living it under my roof!” He hears your father yell.

“It’s only been a couple of months, dad!” You shout at your father over your shoulder as you open the door for Joel. He can’t make sense of what’s happening right now, but he’s immediately bright into the middle of it.

“Joel!” Your father says the second he spots his friend. “Back me up on this, she should be at least looking for a job shouldn’t she?”

Joel feels immediate relief was over him once he realizes the fight actually has nothing to do with him. Both you and your father look at Joel expectantly. Is this what he called him over for?

“I-“ Joel glances between your father and you. You’re standing next to him with your arms crossed and a death glare pointed in his direction. “I don’t know I’m the right person to ask…”

“No, come on Joel. We want your opinion.” You say. “My dear old dad here is upset that I moved back two months ago and still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.”

“Can’t say I have an opinion either way.” Joel says, trying to maneuver his way out of the conversation. “I just came here to-“

“What if it was Sarah?” You interrupt. “Would you be pressuring her to make the biggest decision of her life because you want your giant house to yourself again?”

“Now hold on a minute!” Your father interjects. Joel is debating whether or not he should just slink and leave you two to your argument. Surely he could find a subtle way to suggest he come back later. “I never said you had to plan your career, but something even part time might give you something to do all day other than mope around about that good for nothing boyfriend of yours.”

Joel sees your body tense at the mention of your boyfriend, not so much that your father would notice from the distance he’s at, but enough for Joel to take note of the action.

“I’d rather die than work part-time at your company!” You’re starting to yell again.

“I never said you had to work for my company. It could be anything.” Your father responds exasperatedly. “Joel, you wouldn’t happen to have something for her would you?”

You whip around to look at Joel now. He should have snuck away when he had the chance.

“At the shop, not much right now.” Joel’s eyes flit back and forth between the two faces in front of him.

“What about at home? A lawnmower? A babysitter?” Your eyes are practically pleading for him to decline your father’s offer, but Joel has a feeling he won’t be letting up easily.

“I don’t know, maybe…” Joel scratches the back of his neck and does his best to avoid your gaze.

“Perfect! I’ll have her text you to set something up.” Joel’s still wondering how he got dragged into this even as your father pulls his phone out to text Joel’s contact information over to you.

“Nice going,” you mutter under your breath. You huff a displeased note in your father’s direction and walk away, leaving Joel standing awkwardly in front of the open doorway.

“Don’t mind her,” your father says, waving you off. “Come in, thanks for coming over.”

Joel stumbles into the household. Your father closes the front door beside him and directs the two of them over to the kitchen.

“Was there something else you needed, or…”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry, weird morning.” Your father changes paths. He directs Joel to the garage, stopping him in front of the water heater in the corner. “My daughter was saying the water wasn’t getting hot this morning when she was trying to take a shower. I took a look, but you know how I am with these things. I was hoping you might be able to help me figure it out before I have to call a plumber.”

Joel feels a tension in his shoulders release. Plumbing issues he could solve. He pushes away the image of you trying to take a shower this morning as he steps up to the water heater.

“Yeah, I’ll give it a look. You know I can’t promise that I’ll be able to fix it myself though.” Joel says.

“It’s worth a shot.” Your dad responds. “You gonna be okay here with my kid? The company called and they need me to come in and look over some numbers for one of our new accounts.”

Alone. In your house. With you. Joel can’t imagine there being any way that can end well, but he can’t find a reasonable excuse to tell your father. Joel shrugs.

“She’ll probably stay out of your way. She’s mad at me right now anyway so I imagine she’ll sulk in her room for a while longer.” Joel grunts in response. “Daughters, what are you going to do, you know?”

Joel doesn’t love the way your dad is talking about you right now. He couldn’t imagine talking about Sarah that way, but it’s not really any of his business either.

“Anyway, I appreciate this. Let me know if you need anything!” Joel waves goodbye as your dad walks away and then gets started with the water heater.

He doesn’t hear you when you slip in the garage through the door he opened when he left to get his tools from his house. He doesn’t see you prop yourself up on a stool in the corner to watch him. He doesn’t notice the way your eyes transfix on him, watching his hands flex and the gleam of sweat on his neck as he fiddles with your ancient water heater.

“How’s it looking?” You ask. Joel jumps at the sound and hits his head on the side of the metal water heater.

“How long you been there?” He asks as he runs his hand over his head.

“Not long.” You respond.

“You didn’t say anything?”

“Was just admiring the view.” You say playfully. You even shoot a wink in his direction. Joel scowls, returning back to his work in a desperate attempt to ignore your advances.

He feels relief at first when he hears you get up off your stool behind him, but then he feels the warmth of your body next to him.

“Stop that.” Joel says. He’s trying not to look at you, certain it would somehow give away the thoughts lingering in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You tease and scoot closer to him.

Your chest is practically pressed against his back while you watch him work. Joel feels his pants tightening. If this goes on any longer he might not be able to control what happens next.

A piece of him wants to turn around and kiss you right here. He wants to hear you beg for him while he pins you against the wall, but the garage door is still open. One look from the neighbors right now and the cat is out of the bag. Joel coughs and stands up. He crosses over to your father’s work bench against the wall.

“So are we going to talk about last night or…” That’s actually the last thing Joel wants to do.

He doesn’t want to discuss that with you ever. He’d hoped maybe you’d still be upset enough from the rest of the events that night that you’d just drop it. However with the way you’ve been flirting with him since your dad left it makes sense it would come up eventually.

“You didn’t tell your dad about what happened with that boy.” He glances at you with his head still lowered.

He tries to keep the conversation nonchalant. Maybe this way he can keep it directed away from what the two of you did after said boy left. Apparently you have other plans.

“I also didn’t tell him I fucked his friend right after. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Joel can’t remember how to breathe. Did anyone hear that? For fuck’s sake anyone could be walking by right now.

Joel looks at you with wide eyes and scans the sunny neighborhood street only feet away from your conversation.

“Relax, nobody is paying attention to us.” You chide. You move close to Joel again and whisper in his ear. “I still smell like you, you know. I don’t know if you heard but our water heater wasn’t working so I haven’t been able to rinse away the reminder of you.”

Gently your teeth bite down on his earlobe and tug. A shiver runs down Joel’s spine. Instantly he’s back in his kitchen chair. Your hips grinding on his. Your moans filling the air. Your teeth release his ear so your tongue can run down the side of his neck. Your hands travel down his chest, to the hem of his shirt. They travel just underneath to glance upon the bare skin of his stomach. Your fingers graze the waistband of his jeans. It feels so fucking-

A nearby lawn mower starts and Joel remembers where he is. How many people could stumble upon what’s happening in your father’s garage. What the hell is he doing?

“This can’t happen.” Joel jumps away and motions between the two of you. “We can’t happen. You hear me? It’s best if we both just forget and move on.”

Joel crosses back over to the water heater. You stare into the back of his head as he confronts his work.

“What if I don’t want to just forget and move on?” You ask. Joel still doesn’t look at you.

“Guess there’s nothing I can do about that, but it ain’t happening again.”

“Joel, you made me feel more in three minutes than I ever did in three years with that guy.” Joel’s cold exterior melts a bit when he hears the emotion in your voice, but he has to stay strong. It’s for your own good. Even if you can’t see that.

“Trust me, it wasn’t me you were into.” Joel says quietly. “You’ll find someone else to get you off. Someone age appropriate.”

“I’m not asking you for a relationship or anything. I just want to finish what we started.” You plead.

“There’s nothing to finish.” Joel snaps.

“You’re honestly telling me you felt nothing? That you haven’t thought about last night at all?” He doesn’t answer. Obviously he’s thought about it. He can’t stop thinking about it. He’d never admit it to you though. The question lingers in the air until finally you can’t wait any longer.

“Fine then,” You huff. You push away from Joel, walking back to the door connecting the garage to the house. Just before you walk back inside you call out in his direction. “Don’t worry about finding some job for me around your place. I’ll find some lie to tell my dad. I wouldn’t want you to have to spend more time with me than necessary.”

You slam the door behind you. Joel feels bad that he hurt you, but it’s probably better that he did now before things got more complicated. He tries not to think about you sulking in your room as he finishes up what he was doing.

When he finishes up he codes the garage door and heads back into the house. Your father is still gone, and you are nowhere to be seen, but the music coming from upstairs tells Joel that you’re probably in your room as he expected.

Joel tests the water using the kitchen faucet. He hums to himself in satisfaction as the stream starts to rise. Joel turns the faucet off again and is prepared to leave when his mind wanders back to you, upstairs alone and angry.

His feet seem to have a mind of their own. They walk up the steps, down the hallway, stand in front of your door, and then Joel finds himself knocking.

Your music is so loud there’s a chance you didn’t hear him. Joel almost hopes you didn’t. That way he could sneak away from whatever dumb thing he was about to say to you. Why did he decide to come up here anyway? He turns to leave when the volume of your music lowers and the door opens.

Joel stands like an idiot in your doorway. He hadn’t thought about what to say. He hadn’t really thought at all.

“I um,” Joel clears his throat. “I’m just headed out. Water’s working again, so you should be good.”

“Thanks.” You spit back at him. He nods, still standing there awkwardly. “That all?”

“I’m sorry, for being so cold.” Joel finds himself saying. “Obviously I thought about it. It seems to be all I can think about. That doesn't mean I wasn’t right when I said it had to stop.”

You look like you’re about to argue again, so Joel holds a hand up to stop you. He has to get it all out. You have to understand.

“I’m old enough to be your father darlin’.” Your face falls as he continues. “What happened last night was special and I’ll bring the memory of that to my grave, but that’s all it can be, a memory.”

Joel watches your shoulders slump. That’s that then. Case closed. He turns away before he can take anything back.

—

As Joel finally lays down for the night, exhausted from hardly sleeping the night before and eager to put the day’s sordid mess behind him, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He groans and reaches over to read it, just to make sure it isn’t actually important.

He doesn’t recognize the number, and the picture attached nearly gives him a heart attack. A woman is sprawled out on a bed. One hand rests against her chin, two fingers slip slightly between her lips. The other hand trails down beneath the waistband of her bright red lacy panties, the only clothing still on her body. Her breasts are on full display, as well as a deep purple mark on her collarbone. It’s the mark that confirms his suspicions as to who could be sending him this photo out of nowhere. After all, Joel is the one who left that mark on your skin last night.

Joel’s thumb moves along the curve of your breasts in the picture. You’re a goddamn masterpiece, that’s for sure. He should delete the picture. He should text you an angry message back, chastising you for your blatant disregard of anything he has said earlier in the day, but Joel finds himself transfixed on the photo.

He didn’t get to see your body last night. Maybe that was a blessing, because now that he has Joel doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop thinking about it. Are you thinking about him as you touch yourself? You must be if you’re sending him this picture.

He‘s almost tempted to sneak across the street and give you exactly what he knows you’re begging for. You really are so close. It wouldn’t be that hard to get over there, but how would he get back without your dad finding out?

Joel is debating all of his options when his phone rings. Your number flashes across his screen as it buzzes in his hand. First the picture and now you’re calling him? You really are desperate. Joel hates how much that turns him on. His body acts of its own accord when he suddenly swipes to answer the call.

A loud breathy moan greets him the second he brings the phone to his ear. Holy fuck that sounds good. Joel mutters a silent thank you to the heavens that Sarah is already asleep.

“Fuck darlin’. The hell do you think you’re-“ He can hear the squelch of your fingers undoubtedly pumping in and out of your dripping cunt. “God damn, you trying to fucking kill me?”

You don’t answer him, just moan out again as you continue what you’re doing. Joel groans as he palms the hardening bulge in his boxers. He should hang up. He already has let this go on longer than it should, but he can’t hang up anymore than he could stop you grinding on his lap last night.

“Oh God, Joel.” You moan out. Joel growls at the sound of his name on your lips. He feels the last piece of him holding on to morality dissipate. Every argument he had about why this is a bad idea is immediately forgotten and replaced with an animalistic urge.

You whimper on the other end of the phone and Joel starts to rip his boxers down his legs. His cock springs forward once it’s free of the confines of his underwear. He spits in his hand and uses the precome leaking from his swollen tip to slowly stroke his aching cock.

He lets out a moan of his own, the sound mingling with the melody of your continued pleasure. His mind will be replaying the sound for the rest of his days.

“Joel, fuck, please. I want you so bad.” You plead. He tightens his grip on his length and pumps himself harder.

“Yeah, you want this cock baby girl?” He asks darkly. He can’t believe he’s doing this. But what does it matter if he plays into your little game now? He’s already fucked either way.

“Yes, please. Joel, please I want you so bad.” Joel loves the way you beg.

“I know you do honey,” Joel tuts. “But I don’t think you deserve it. Now do you? Been so fucking naughty. Sending me dirty pictures. Calling me all hot and bothered after I told you this couldn’t happen.”

He pictures you on your bed just across the yard. Your fingers pumping in and out of your wet pussy. It should be his fingers doing that to you.

“Please, I’ll be good,” you whimper. “I’ll be your good girl. I’ll do anything, just please fuck me.”

“Sorry honey, not tonight you know we can’t.” He can hear you whine on the other end of the line.

Joel grips his cock harder and twists his hand as it pulls up on his shaft. He’s already so close. You seem to have that effect on him. Even last night, he nearly came in his pants watching your head fall back in pleasure the way it did.

“You want to be my good girl?” You’re so fucked out at this point that you don’t even form actual words in response to his question. You simply moan out instead. “Alright sugar, be a good girl and match my pace then. Ready? C’mon now, in”

You moan loudly, a squelching sound in the background as he assumes you push your fingers inside of you. Joel thrusts his hips up into his hands at the same time.

He keeps his motions in time with the instructions he gives you over the phone. You’re a blubbering mess on the other end of the line. His fucked out little slut, fucking herself with her own fingers at his instruction.

When Joel closes his eyes he can almost imagine it’s your walls squeezing him like this. He pictures the way you looked grinding in his lap. He listens intently to your moans as you near your climax. It’s not as good as the real thing, but Joel doesn’t think he could ever recover from getting that.

“That’s right baby, that’s right. Keep going sweetheart. Being such a good girl right now.” Joel rasps. He’s fucking his hips up into his hands hard and fast now.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. Joel, I’m going to fucking come.”

“That’s it baby, come for me. Lemme hear it.” His words seem to be the thing that pushes you over the edge. You let out one final loud moan, then he hears you panting into the phone.

Joel pictures the way your body is probably twitching in your twin bed right now, your dad sound asleep just down the hall. You whimper Joel’s name as you start to come down.

He groans out your name and squeezes his eyes tight as he thinks of your face. Your knees on the ground. Your hands crawling up his lap. With just a few more thrusts into his hand Joel finds his own release. Warm ropes of come spill across his hand and stomach.

“Fuck baby girl, that was good.” He sighs. He opens his eyes again. “What a fucking mess.”

“You know if I were there I could clean it up for you.” You reply, the teasing lilt from earlier coming back to your voice. “If you’d fucked me like I asked you could’ve come wherever you want.”

Joel groans. He cannot keep encouraging this. “Not gonna happen kiddo.”

“Kiddo? A minute ago I was your good girl and now I’m kiddo? You really know how to bruise a girl’s ego.” He can hear the rustle of bed sheets as you move around in bed.

“Ain’t nothing to do with you. We just shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. I got ahead of myself a couple of times, but it’s over.” He waits for you to respond, but is greeted with silence instead. What kind of game are you playing? “Do you hear me? This was the last time.”

“Yeah yeah, I hear you.” You grumble finally. “Can I at least get a picture?”

“A picture?” He asks.

“A picture, of the mess you made listening to me.” Joel feels the tips of his ears go red.

He’s never sent a nude picture to anyone before. Sure he’d hooked up with a couple of women since Sarah’s mom left, but usually he kept it to women from the bars. No phone numbers exchanged. No dates. He kept it simple and unattached. Now here he was with a girl half his age asking him to send pictures of his come.

“I-I don’t-“

“Please, I sent you a picture. You owe me.” Fuck, fuck it.

Joel moves his phone from his shoulder with the hand that isn’t covered in his release to take a picture. He doesn’t bother looking at it before sending it, not wanting to get in his head about what it looks like. He’s only sending it because you sent a picture first. After Joel presses send he brings the phone back up to his ear and grabs some tissue to clean himself off.

“Holy shit Joel, you’re huge.” Joel feels himself blushing again. “Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t fuck. I don’t know if that thing would’ve fit inside me.”

“Never had any problems before.” Joel says without thinking.

“You having second thoughts?“ you jest. “I can sneak you in through the back door.”

“What and have your father kill me when he wakes up in the middle of the night and walks in on me fucking you in his house?” Joel responds. “No, no I’m serious whatever this is it’s over.”

He throws the tissue away in the trash bin by his bed and lays down.

“Whatever you say old man, but just so you know the door is always open.” Joel’s heart stopped beating. He’s certain of it this time. “Goodnight Joel.”

He keeps the phone against his ear for several more minutes after the beep indicates you’ve hung up.

Joel is so fucked.

Tags: @munsonsquinn @ashleyfilm @izzy698

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you have any headcanons for Wizarding stereotypes and social norms?

I love how your brain works! ❤️❤️

Hi, thank you so much 💓. I'm arriving at this ask a little late, but I have a lot of random, small and large headcanons about wizarding culture (in the uk and the rest of the world), and I have a tag for my HP headcanons in general. Many of these appeared in past posts, but I'll try to summarize like 20 headcanons about wizard culture and social norms in the UK (some of them are very based in canon, and others are just vibes):

1. Fashion. I love historical fashion, and I made posts about wizarding fashion in the uk before (wizard fashion, robes vs muggle-inspired fashion, Hogwarts robes). I believe even when we see wizards in more muggle-style suits/jackets, they are still, more often than not, wizard-made and are made with colors and fabrics that muggles would consider weird to put together.

Like, Dumbledore isn't close to the only one who dresses like an eyesore. Even the twins are described wearing some jackets I don't think would pass anywhere in the Muggle world. And everyone is wearing hats, a lot, all the time, especially older generations.

2. Traditions regarding what you do with your wand once you die change between families/location/time period. Like, during, say, the 13th century in England, everyone got buried with their wands, but in the 18th and 19th centuries it was all the rage to keep a wand display of deceased family members at home. (Talked about a bit here)

3. In the UK, most wizards are culturally Christian. Denominations vary, but I believe they have a sort of magical Anglican denomination, which includes some of their own saints and doesn't place a heavy focus on prayer or going to church, and more about community. (I have a whole series about this subject, with the last entry here and the most quote-based entry here)

Similarly, I believe there used to be a chapel at Hogwarts, but it fell out of use throughout the centuries and has been remodeled into something else. I mean, no large castle from the Middle Ages is complete without a private chapel.

4. We know there are a lot of stereotypes regarding wand woods and wand cores ("When his wand’s oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly" from pottermore), and I believe there are others.

I'm not the first to note the symbolism between wands and manhood (Lucius losing his wand, short wands associated with a "lacking" character). So, I 100% believe "polishing your wand" is a euphemism for jerking off. Similarly, they probably have sayings like "you know what a long wand means".

Basically, wands are a big deal, and there are a lot of superstitions/stereotypes around them.

5. Because of that, I think some people would boast their wand wood/core, and keeping these facts super secret is seen as you having something to hide. Adding a wand handle to your wand is seen as a way to hide that the wand is actually really short, etc.

6. It's not exactly a headcanon since it's heavily implied by canon, but the first son gets his father's name as a middle name, the first daughter gets the mother's name as a middle name, then younger children get grandparents' names, then aunts, uncles, etc.

7. The legal drinking age is 13 for light alcohol (like butterbeer) or for drinking with parental supervision. For harder alcohol (like Firewhisky), the legal drinking age is 16. (That's the feeling I get)

8. In general, alcohol consumption is seen as healthy and common in the Wizarding World, like it was in the 19th century. The type of alcohol and amount do have social connotations, though. A lot. In terms of class, intelligence, trustworthiness, etc. but drinking in itself is seen as chill and no one really thinks too much of it if it's not extreme (and even then it isn't treated as an addiction). (Talked about here & here)

9. I also think their age of consent is 16 and not 18. (The majority age is 17, so it seems right to me). They could also legally get married at 16, though it's somewhat frowned upon to marry before you graduate. This is a leftover of a time when many wizards didn't stay at Hogwarts for the final 3 years and went on to start with life instead.

10. As I implied, I think it used to be pretty common to drop out of Hogwarts after 5th year. Especially for poorer working-class wizards/witches. This is why you only need 1 passing OWL to keep your wand.

I think NEWTs are treated like higher education of sorts and were/are optional, but like with muggle universities/collages most of the population does study these extra years since many jobs started requir NEWTs in specific fields. Not all jobs, plenty are fine with just OWLS.

It's common to drop many subjects in the final 2 years, like Harry does. He actually keeps more subjects than the average student, who stays with 2-3 subjects for NEWTs at most.

11. They don't have any universities/academies or that sort of higher education. It's just NEWTS and then apprenticeships/on-the-job training.

11. In general, the number of OWLs the Golden Trio passed is above average. I talked about it here, but the average amount of passing OWLs with grads good enough for the NEWT classes seems to be ~4 per student. Fred and George's 3 each isn't unusual; their brothers are just academically gifted and ambitious. (Bill got 12 OWLs, Charlie is smart, Percy is Percy, and Ron is also really smart. And we don't know anything about Ginny's OWLs, but she must have gotten more than 5).

12. They are very sanitized to violence. We see corporal punishment (Molly chasing Fred and George with a broom) and other violent pranks (F & G melting Ron's tongue with an acid pop, the Mauraders) being seen as normal and acceptable. (Mentioned it a bit here)

In general, their standard for what's considered "bad" violence is different than ours. Anything that is easily reversible with a spell is seen as a little mean but no harm done, or even a little funny. If it's not permanent, it isn't really seen as harmful. When the harm is permanent, that's when it starts being taken more seriously (but even then, it depends on what the damage is, and often it isn't really treated as anything too serious).

13. Also, mental health is not a thing. Trauma is not harm because they don't really consptualise trauma is a thing. They understand when someone's having a "rough time" or if someone's being "overemotional," but they don't have therapy or anything like it. (I always found "mind healers" in fics out of place in their world. The only "mind healers" they'd have are ones for spell damage caused by Obliviate or curses like the Imperius or the Cruciatus). Any emotional/mental health situation is treated by friends/family support if you have good people around you, getting told to "get over it", or alcohol. (Talked about a bit here)

14. The reason Honeydukes has candy for vampires is because vampires are really rare and not seen as savages the way werewolves are. Vampires are seen as exotic, sexy creatures (kinda like veela, just without the magical attraction), and wizards, too, have trash vampire romance novels. (Talked about this more as well here)

15. It's weird to get a portrait taken when young. Magical portraits are expensive to make since there is like, 1-2 wizards in the UK who do it (I headcanon Dean Thomas grows to paint magical portraits post-series as he is mentioned to draw in the books). So, getting one when you're young means you expect to die soon. It's seen as more extreme than writing a will, and something you don't do without a good reason. It's seen as paranoid and bringing bad luck. As in, getting a magical portrait taken is like asking death to come knock at your door. Hence, why I headcanon Aunt Muriel didn't commission hers yet.

16. Divination as thought at Hogwarts is seen by the majority of the wizarding world as a practice best reserved for wizards/witches who have the talent for it. Like, you have prophecies - seen as rare and mysterious, and you have omens - which is what everyone can learn to do to a degree, but most aren't good at it. There is real magic there (as the centaurs prove) just, not the way Trawlany goes about it. So most wizards treat it as a legitimate field, but one you need a talent for.

17. They're, in general, into astrology. I mean, they study star charts in Astronomy, and the planets' movements is magical in canon (centaurs, certain ingredients need to be harvested in a certain moon phase, etc). So, like, the average wizard could go: "yes, I'm having it tough. You know Mercury is in retrograde," but also, a completely different astrology that is all their own. Like: "When Jupiter is bright, it's a good time for potion making" or something. Along with superstitions that some couples actually take into account when conceiving children, like being born when there is a specific angle between Venus and Mars will make you lucky, or certain plants that predispose you to any Hogwarts house. Like, I'd imagine their birth charts look different from ours, since they pay attention to different things and note them differently. Like, they'd include the angles of various constellations as well, and it'll look different (At least, I'd like to think so).

18. I think they have a lot of little superstitions in general (like seeing a grim). Stuff like, don't propose on a dark moon if you want the marriage to last, seeing a unicorn in the wild is a sign of good luck, professional Quidditch players have lucky underwear they never wash, etc.

19. They aren't prude around nudity. I mean, no one seems to struggle with getting dressed or taking showers with other people in their dorms, even when they aren't used to it (it is something that takes getting used to if you didn't grow up seeing it as normal). There are portraits and talking mirrors that watch you and comment on your appearance in bathrooms and bedrooms, we know many wizards (young Snape, Archie from the Quiddich World Cup) don't wear trousers under their robes (Archie is implied to not be wearing underwear either) and pottermore stated they used to take dumps wherever (though, I think they do have decency around that). Even if we look at the scene before the battle of the 7 Potters, no one considers it weird for them to get dressed in Harry's body. So, it seems nudity or partial nudity around others isn't as taboo or a breach of privacy the way we see it. Especially when it comes to men/boys. (This is part of why no one in-universe sees SWM as SA)

(Which would make sense for a culture stuck in the past. In the Middle Ages, you had bath houses, and families would all sleep in the same room. Sex and nudity weren't as taboo)

20. They think they know about their history way more than they do. I think Hogwarts wasn't built the way they think it was, the timeline of the Peverells and the Founders is all wrong — but no one except a few passionate wizard historians actually know. Everyone else thinks they must know their true history better than muggles because they are wizards (though they don't).

I have a bunch more headcanons that just don't come to mind right now, but I might add them later.

[severedfromthesource]

Androids and Electric Sheep

Ren is experiencing an unusual bug. Features F resus, M rescuer, CPR, stething, mouth to mouth, internal defibs, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts both with consent and a person who cannot consent. I got too invested in the preamble so I highlighted the moment resus actually starts if you want to skip it.

No matter how advanced technology gets, it’ll only ever be used to fulfill man’s most base desires. Case in point- RN-34678. Or Ren, when the barcodes make my eyes glaze over and I get sick of calling them the number slurry X Tech names absolutely everything. Ren is as sophisticated as they come. Actual artificial intelligence. She makes the predictive text and ‘can’t even draw fingers’ image generating 21st century jokes people passed off as AI look like even more of a waste of time than they had been in those days. They might as well have been Speak n Spells. The collective power of every single basement dwelling crypto whizz kid with miles of wires and burnt up processors and bricked up video cards dedicated to their etherium farms pale in comparison to the computing power it takes to run Ren’s brain for an hour. She understands nearly 6,000 languages. She learns and retains information, consuming nearly 160 TB of memory every 8 hours. The bio-organic lace that makes up the net of her brain is a miracle, with the possibility of infinite memory. She is perfect in every sense of the word.

She is a glorified fuck toy.

The second the first android became commercially available, one of the first markets they hit was sex work. If nothing about late stage capitalism drove you crazy, that would have. Fuck curing cancer, or making androids for the dangerous, back breaking work people wreck their bodies to do, X Tech decided people needed a sex doll with a 100k price tag. The world’s most expensive cum sock. And yeah, alright, maybe I’m just bitter, partially because there’s no way in hell I could ever afford one, even as an android technician. But what a waste. She sits on my examination table, dutifully unzipping her black leather catsuit. Her managers always manage to stick her in something stupid looking, so overblown and sexualized they stop even being sexy at a certain point.

She looks up at me with lilac eyes. Last time they’d been blue. I like this shade better, I think, though I could do without the electric blue bob they have her wearing today. ”Your crash reports say you’ve been throwing error codes whenever a stream donation comes in over 2k,” I say. Which, for a bot like Ren, is quite a lot of her donations. “It’s probably just a bug in payment processing.” I look again over her diagnostics, floating on the screen at my desk. “Any complaints I wouldn’t find in the debug menu?”

”My heart has been feeling strange,” she says. I pause and look at her over the top of my glasses. “Well, firstly, it’s not your heart. An aether pump does not a heart make. Secondly, it shouldn’t feel like anything. You’re supposed to ignore the inner workings, it’s all background programs, runs without you thinking about it.” She shrugs. Her shoulders are pale as she rolls down the catsuit and pulls her arms from the sleeves, bunching up the tight leather around her midriff. Her breasts are small and round, standing upright as pretty as a Botticelli painting. I’d noticed the small bumps on either side of her nipples (Christ, did the things ever go soft? Or were they just always cutting glass?) but didn’t register until I saw them now that her managers had pierced them sometime since our last checkup. Little silver bars were stuck through the pink nubs, with winking silver balls on either end. Alright, cool, chill.

I clear my throat and pull up my rolling stool. “Well, let’s just take a look then.” I shift once I’m seated to alleviate the pressure of my stiffening cock. Listen, I’m not a technophile, honest to God. I go out of my way to filter out androids when I’m scrolling through porn sites because, despite the leaps and bounds we’ve made in technology, the uncanny valley is still a thing. It feels weird getting off to bots. But then there’s Ren. And fuck me if she isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I put a hand on the back of her neck, my thumb resting at the diagnostic mode button hidden just under the edge of her jaw. I feel the soft bump that sinks in when I press. Her lilac eyes flash black with snatches of white text, then roll back to lilac. Damn, she smells like a new car.

I glance back at the monitor, and as I suspected, nothing comes up about the aether pump. It seems in perfect working order. Still, I dig around my box of scrap wires and spare tubing until I find my mostly neglected stethoscope. I don’t often have to use it, but I feel a trill of excitement go up from my stomach to think I get to use it on Ren. I plug up my ears and put a hand on her shoulder, taking the bell of the steth in my other hand. Her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing, set to mimic human intervals. The real purpose is to cool down her insides and keep her from overheating, but just like the aether pump and its auditory cues, its designed to mimic humans as closely as possible. After a guy fucks something like Ren, he gets the added benefit of being able to lay next to her and listen to her breathing. Feel her heart beat. Doesn’t matter what the purpose of the design is for, it matters so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a 100k fleshlight with arms and legs. I press the steth to a spot above her breast and it sinks into her pillowy soft skin like it was real. Cool it, Christ, you can’t get so hot and bothered over everything. Heel, boy.

But my thumb makes a slight imprint against her tit, and it’s hard to think of anything else. Same thing happens when I press the steth against a space under her breast, and it lays warmly against the back of my hand. The pump, like the fake lungs, is designed to look and act and even sound like a heart, pumping coolant through her body. I tell her it’s not a heart out of some petty, pedantic need to distance myself and my unique humanity, but truth is, the thing is a heart. She could die if something went really wrong with it, and a lot of bots have. Sudden cardiac arrest was one of the main bugs in the 2.3 rollout. It got so bad, tons of models in the service industry had to be recalled, because mechanical line cooks and servers were dropping if the ovens got too hot. My hand still on her neck, I pull her forward and press the bell to her back. Her forehead brushes against my shoulder, her gaudy blue wig draping against the side of my neck and jaw. I tilt my head just enough my nose brushes her hair. Fuck, she really does smell good.

“Well, I don’t hear any irregularities,” I tell her, because I don’t. The thing is pumping liquid aether around her body at around 70 bpm, like it should. She draws up from my shoulder, glancing at me sideways. “It only seems to happen with clients,” she says, drying out my throat in an instant. “Clients?” “Mhm. Whenever one of them climaxes. If they do it inside me, my heart starts going very fast. I get foggy and I can’t think afterwards.” I swallow. “Right,” I say, “I mean… I can’t exactly test that, Ren.” She touches my wrist. “It’s rather frightening, Doc. I worry…” She pauses, and I try very hard not to say out loud what I’m thinking. You shouldn’t be frightened of anything, Ren. You’re not supposed to feel any of this. She sits back, bringing her hand up, her fingers curling against where her pump lies in her chest, half covering her nudity.

She doesn’t want to get recalled. I wince in spite of myself. If she has the same defect others in her rollout had, she’s going right back to X Tech. I push the steth around my neck, scooping back hair from my face. “It’s a pretty fatal system flaw. It… I could… Well, I-“ I can’t look at her. Fuck, I really can’t look at her. My face feels hot. This is the plot of like, 90% of bot R34 on the internet. I might as well be a pizza delivery guy and she a lonely housewife who’s a few bucks short on a large sausage. She ‘breathes’. Her chest goes up and down, the lights winking off her pierced nipples. She’s so goddamn gorgeous.

“Doc?” “Thinking,” I huff. I spare a glance around the other cubicles bordering mine. Big glass offices, designed for this exact stupid fucking thing I’m about to do. The first guy who got caught with his dick in a bot ruined it for everyone, so now my coworkers and I are subjected to rat lab cubicles where we can look in on each other at any given moment. People around us testing reflexes, repairing cosmetic damage, quashing bugs. What I was about to do was also technically debugging, but there was no way in hell my boss was gonna see it that way if he saw my flat ass pumping in and out of a bot worth more than I make in a year on the other side of plexiglass. Alright, cool, chill. I scoop up my backpack with my work laptop and sling it over my shoulder. “Bathroom,” I whisper.

Cut to Ren and I, locked in the women’s bathroom. We have three women in the office, and their cubes are on the other side of the building, closer to another bathroom. This one is usually empty. Cut to her, awkwardly standing in front of a toilet. Me, on the verge of being the Most Fired Man Who Ever Lived. For extra security, I’d stuffed us both into a stall, locking it behind me too. It's cramped, which adds to the feeling this is absolutely not what I'm supposed to be doing. But hey, it's my job, isn't it?

I awkwardly maneuver around her and sit on the toilet lid, hastily undoing my pants. God, this is shameful. And weirdly hot? I can't tell if it's just Ren or the dozen or so corporate regulations and general laws I'm breaking doing this, but I can feel the pulse in my cock, pressing up against the inseam of my jeans. Those lavender eyes flick from my face to the swollen, flushed skin, and the outer rim of her pupils flash with color. I help her roll down the leather catsuit and then, holy shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m inside her. She feels real. My hands on her back, my face buried in her tits, her thighs on mine, she feels realer than any woman I had ever known. My breath warms her artificial skin, and the barbell through her nipple is cold, the contrast making me shiver whenever the hot skin of my cheek touches the metal. My fingers slide up her stomach, her hips bucking and pumping me in and out of her. She’s tight. Really fuckin tight. I can feel her aether pump, the artificial heart, throbbing in her inner walls, harder than any real heart I’d ever felt. It adds to every stroke, a thumping sensation that’s nearly making me come after a couple thrusts. Christ, I might as well be sticking my dick right against the chambers of her fake heart.

The job. Right, I’m doing a job. Fuck, I’ve never loved my job so much. “Lemme- ngh, God, fuck- lemme see i-ins-side your ch-est, R-Ren.” She’s straddling my lap, panting like a porn star, her bob swinging back and forth, and she nods. The synthetic skin goes translucent, a dull blue glow that starts at her collarbone and down to the bottom of her ribcage. I spare only a brief chuckle, Man, we never could get rid of those stupid gamer lights, before I try to focus my attention on her inner workings. The aether heart is basically a simplified human one, drawing hot fluid in one side and squeezing out coolant through the other in an eternal ebb and flow. And right now, it’s going insane. The valves are snapping open and closed rapidly, the thing shuddering instead of really beating. There’s a little display window pinned under her collarbone, and it’s clocking her at 150 bpm, the green spikes of her heartbeat saw toothing across the round display port. Not totally dangerous, but as I pump inside of her and she bounces on my thighs to match my quickening pace, it keeps climbing.

Alright. As much as I want to be stuck in here forever, with a beautiful woman bouncing on my dick in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of, I have to figure out what’s wrong. I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her flush against my chest. “Hold onto me, ‘kay?” I breathe against her ear. Her arms slid around me, nails brushing briefly against my shoulder blades. I take in her scent. Focus on the sensations of her body, the sharp cold of her piercings, breasts pressed against my chest, her warm, throbbing cunt. It doesn’t take long. I start to lose the rhythm as my breath shortens, my strokes shortening too, until finally I can take it no more. I come, hot seed filling her up, bathing my cock, spilling out from between our sexes. Her back arches, a cry ripping from her throat of the most exquisite ecstasy.

Then she dies.

No, seriously, the bot quits all at once. I’m there, still trying to enjoy the feeling of my load making her even tighter and full, when she goes completely limp. Her arms slide down from my back, and the artificial pulse I feel in her cunt just stops all at once. She’s dead weight on top of me. “Fuck,” I spit, trying to readjust her, but she’s goddamn heavy. “Ren? Hey, Ren- man, what the fuck-”

I look up at her sternum to see the aether pump has stopped. The little internal monitor is reading a flatline. I fumble to unlatch the bathroom door, my other hand cradling her back, as I awkwardly shift to try and swing it open. Both of us end up in a heap on the floor when I try to pick her up. I'm apologizing to her slack and lifeless face as I disentangle myself and hastily zip up, then lay her flat on her back. Her perfect round breasts sit in the open air, her still heart glowing between them. I set my laptop beside her and hook up a USB into the command port hidden behind her ear.

There was no tip off in her crash reports, but looking now, I can see the absolute mess of code in the last few lines she ran before arresting. I clean up some of the irregularities, get rid of the redundancies, and hit reboot. Two small circular nodes glow within her chest, then snap against the chambers of her heart. Basically built in defib units. Her body jerks, hand twitching in against her cheek, her back arching slightly. Her naked shoulder blades slap against the tile floor as she falls back, limp again. But she doesn't move. Her pump is still. I glance at the monitor and see FATAL SYSTEM ERROR flash across the screen. Fuck, am I going to have to do this manually?

Growling in frustration, I throw my hands against her sternum. It's easy to get the right position when I can see her heart lying beneath a few layers of synthetic skin. Squaring my shoulders, I push down hard. Unlike with real CPR on a real person, depth doesn't matter, nor the risk of breaking ribs. She's basically Wolverine. A hydraulic crusher couldn't break her ribs. They yield though, and bow in against her spine as I rhythmically pump her heart. The force ripples through her whole body. Her stomach pops up, her shoulders shrug in, her head rolls back and forth. I look from her face down to her tits. I can't help it, they're swaying with each compression, the light catching her piercings. I can feel the cool metal rest against my fingers. The position my hands are in leaves my fingertip pressing against her nipple, still standing upright from our exercise. A shiver runs through me. Am I seriously getting hard again? It's hard not to. My eyes drink in her still body, the remnants of our session dribbling down her thigh, her breasts bouncing like they had when she was riding me.

I can almost see the corner of the screen light up with “Kink Unlocked: Reviving Dead Girls”. I glance at the monitor and see the reboot option has lit up again. When I take my hands away from her chest, I see her aether pump jerking as if trying to start again. Once more I charge the internal defibrillators. While they hum to life, I partake in a ritual that isn't strictly necessary. The hero always gets to indulge in mouth to mouth with the downed heroine. She doesn't actually need air, but her lips are slack, full and inviting. I press mine over hers, breathing air she doesn't need into her mouth. I can feel her cheeks puff, and I'm surprised but excited to see her chest rises too. I give her a few quick bursts of oxygen. Her chest jerks up and I only allow it to fall part way before I give her another, making her chest rise and fall in short hyperventilations. My hand finds itself running up her stomach to feel the motion of my breaths, up over her breast again. It fills my palm as I breathe a long, slow draft into her throat, and I roll her nipple between my fingers. She sighs out recycled air against my face when I break the seal of our lips.

Man, how do EMTs not cum when they resuscitate hot girls? The whole tableau is so erotic, I can feel my pulse once more jerk in my cock. The defibs once more slap the chambers of her artificial heart and she thrashes under the current. Her breasts sway and she again falls limp to the tiles.

“Come on, Ren,” I say under my breath, watching her aether pump swelling at uneven intervals. The chambers aren't beating right still, snapping open and closed out of sync with one another. I again check her code on my laptop, using one hand to tap through my options. The other I lay against her sternum. It occurs to me I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Whatever feels like it helps, I guess. Or whatever feels good. I grind my heel in against her heart in slow, rhythmic compressions with one hand. “Come on, work with me here. Breathe for me. Do something, at least let me know you're not completely bricked.” The idea that she might be makes me swallow hard. I like Ren. I don't want to ship her off to the junkyard as much as she doesn't want to be shipped.

When her heart goes still again I lace my fingers together and start pumping her chest anew. I forget my laptop entirely- this isn't a software issue, it's the hardware in her chest acting up. If I can just get the damn thing to reset. Swinging my leg over her supple thighs, I straddle her so I can use my whole body. Like this, I can feel the motion my work creates in her otherwise still body. Each powerful thrust against her pump rolls the kinetic force through her whole body. Her feet swing back and forth. The force rolls from her chest, down her stomach, even rippling her thighs. Each compression makes her stomach roll out, only now I can feel it between my legs.

Fuck it, I'm already fired. These life saving efforts have got me hard all over again, something I would have thought impossible. I unzip and thrust into her almost in one motion. It's next to impossible to actually pump into her while I'm working her heart, so I mostly settle for letting her body rock into me while I do CPR. Only when the prompt for the defibrillator pops up again do I allow myself to roll my hips into her while it charges. The thing whines quietly as I brace my hand against her chest, driving my cock deep inside her. It slaps her heart again and she arches her back, filling my hand against her sternum. Her inner walls clench with the electricity and I groan as I roll in and out of her. That's when she draws in a breath and moans all at once. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively begins to grind her hips in rhythm with me. Before long I'm filling her up all over again and I collapse on top of her. She's back. The thought strikes me as I look down and see her aether pump snapping out a normal, if elevated rhythm. I roll off onto the welcome chill of the tile floors, my arm still slung around her.

“You okay?” I pant, my eyes half lidded as I look at her. Ren nods, smiling weakly in return. Then she’s wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitate, the shame of what I had done to her when she was basically dead starting to creep up now that the high is waning. But eventually I slide my arms around her in return, drawing her close to my body. “Thank you, doc,” she whispers.

“Don't mention it.” Seriously, don't mention any of this.

[fiamat12]

Re: Lukola relief - They got some, we need some 😉

I, for one, am glad Lukola didn't show at the Met Gala because it would've been ALOT. I think it's more likely they were regrouping, meeting w/ N's agent in Miami (let's hope N isn't in an industry echo chamber and understands how tenuous Lukola's position is w/ the fandom rn) and that the boys got to enjoy some F1 time. (It's *your* Olympics, Nic, is it? Lol)

The husband of N's CAA agent posted a photo where they were enjoying dinner "with amazing company" (btw, that dude is an insane skydiver!) 😉. We know The Newtons love their pasta...

There was also speculation that if L was able to land a brand deal w/ Tag Heuer he could appear at the Monaco Grand Prix in late May. How glamorous! But either way, N did her celebrity sighting which I think was a good move to appeal to the husbands who could watch BTON (or any of hers or L's projects, tbf).

Anyhow, the BAFTAs are in 5 days and w/ their Carriage Scene recognized, as well as N's individual nod for BM, I think we'll see them both there. I hope they got to meet Pitbull while they were in the 305; who knows what footage they could've gotten w/ him for later use!

Lastly, I do think we can let ourselves feel some excitement about a Lukola sighting on Sunday. Will it be together? Probably not, but they aren't going to ignore one another either! And there's much evidence to support they don't let the adjacents interfere w/ a main event, although after parties are fair game 🤷🏼‍♀️

Last year's article about Pitbull loving the collab ⏬️⏬️⏬️

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

oh brother have you ruined me for nipple piercings. I seriously cannot get that Jake!fic out of my mind. (if im being honest i think about ALL of ur works but that's besides the point)

ANYWAYS!! i have a burning question to ask!

Out of the two boys that are 'out of the loop', who do you think discovers the nipple piercings first? I'm betting on it being steven and then him panicking and making marc front and then marc has to deal with all the new sensations.

ANYWAYS

thank you for ur lovely and delicious writing and have a lovely evening :))))

Ahhhh, heeheeheeeee! I am giggling over this idea!! It went in a little bit of a different direction, which I hope is okay! <3

Chain Reaction, Reaction

Steven Grant x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Continuation of Chain Reaction & Good Vibrations - you don't have to read them to read this, basically, Jake has nipple piercings.

Warnings: Bit of an almost anxiety attack, kissing, swearing, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 639

Steven wakes up groggily, his limbs ache, sleep heavy in the corner of his eyes. He grabs foggily for his phone on the bedside table to check the time, fucking early.

He stretches a little and then smiles when he sees you sleeping next to him, you must have stayed over with Jake last night. Steven settles back down into bed, rolling onto his side to snuggle up to you and then pauses as his arm brushes against his own chest and feels… something.

Fuck. Fuck. What the ever loving fuck? 

“Shit!” Steven hisses and jumps back a fraction, as if he could get away from himself. 

When the fuck? How the fuck?

You rub your face as you stir and glance up at him, a little confused. 

“Love, when… there’s… I mean, my… I have piercings?” He lightly touches around his chest, careful not to actually rub the barbells. He knew enough about the basics to know it probably wasn’t a good idea to get bacteria into a fresh wound. 

You stare at him a little sleepily for a second, his words taking longer than normal to filter in and make sense. And then your eyes widen. Jake hadn’t taken them out before he went to sleep last night. 

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Steven’s voice rises slightly at the end, he clears his throat, shakes his head, trying not to let panic override him. What the fuck had happened? Was there-

“It’s alright, hey,” you sit up and stroke his shoulder soothingly, your voice calm. “So,” you screw up your face for a moment, a small mental battle running through your head on of this was actually your place to explain. This was Jake’s secret. Were you breaking his trust? But then again, Steven was upset, looking on the verge of panic. His body had been changed without his knowledge. 

“Jake pierces them,” you start.

“Pierces?”

“Yeah, he pierces them and then uses the suit to heal them, and then takes them out and heals again. So you and Marc don’t have to deal with it…” You start to run out of steam towards the end, the words sounding more and more stupid as they fall out of your mouth. 

“You knew about this?” 

“Jake showed me yesterday.” You swallow.

Steven nods. 

“I think he must have fallen asleep before he took them out.” 

He nods again. “That makes… sense.” He pauses, “So, they’re like… healed?” 

You frown a little in confusion.

“The piercings? They’re healed, they’re not… all fresh and that?” 

“Oh, no, I mean, yes. They’re healed.” 

“Huh.” He bites his bottom lip and lightly touches one of the balls with the tip of his forefinger. His shoulders visibly relax when there’s no pain, and he brushes his thumb over them. 

“You okay?” You ask hesitantly. 

He nods. “Yeah, it’s a bit…” He chuckles, “A lot of a surprising but… well, I mean, it is our body, innit? And it’s not like it’s permanent with Jake’s… job.” 

You give him a slightly nervous smile. “I’m sorry for like…” You’re not sure how to phrase it. “I mean, I knew and you didn’t and it’s your body and-”

He quickly presses his lips to yours and smiles against your mouth. “You’re too sweet love,” Steven mutters before he licks into your mouth and strokes your cheek. 

He leans his forehead against your as he pulls back, “I am gonna have a word with Jake though… but,” he shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe we can keep them on for a while… on, is that what you say about piercings?” 

“In?” 

“In.” He nods. “That’s the one.”

“What do you think Marc will think?” 

Steven pauses and then smiles cheekily as he wraps his arms around you and leans in for another kiss. “I think I’ll let Jake deal with that.” 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @lonelyisamyw-0love @romanarose  

@steven-grants-world  @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine  @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87

 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @hammerhead96  @mylittledelulucorner

@queerly-anxious  @swiftiegirliepop @oscarssimp  @eternallyvenus @lounilu 

@pigeonmama @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @sub-aro @faretheeoscar

 @queerponcho @twwcs @ingoldthewizard @ominoose @ierofrnkk

@have-you-seen-my-sanity @missdictatorme @musicalnacho @buckyssugarchick @lemonzestinmydrink 

@sonotpractical @junggoku @julesonrecord

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[eri-pl]

Nostos,

or TIL it is a thing, but it explains many things about the Silm.

So. The Ancient Greeks had a word for a very particular kind of returning home. If you don't want to read the whole Wikipedia page, I'll recap: Nostos is

a hero returning (often from a victorious war)

usually by the sea, a long journey with many troubles

focus also on reclaiming his place at home (Odysseus!!!)

also, managing to return = fame and glory

OK, so. Tolkien. I'm sure he knew well and loved this concept.

Earendil is basically this, but split between two/three people: Turgon -[Idril, but she's female, so no cool deeds for her :( ] - Earendil. His journey to Valinor has the exact kind of trials that a nostos should have from what I understand. He's like… this trope but for the whole Noldor nation. In a way. [They do not return after a victorious war, because we're doing a deconstruction of a trope, not just using it straight. Also the Noldor can't look too cool, because of their bad choices.]

Also, this explains why Tolkien didn't let any of the Feanorians return, or anyone important at all, except Galadriel. Because a man returning from a war through the sea = he is cool and heroic. And kinslayers are not cool, and the flight of the Noldor was generally uncool.

I'm sure this is a beloved trope of Númenorean literature at some point BTW (Also, Pharazôn would have an epic of his glorious return written in advance, before he sailed to attack Valinor, he seems like this kind of guy.)

Elendil is like the antithesis of this, but still positive. He does not return home (but he does, Men were never meant to live so far West, tbh nobody was but let's not complain about that here), he is not victorious after a war (but he is, nor all wars are literal), he does reclaim his place in a way. And the sea is there, but the road is quick and dramatic, not meandering. Of course it is, because they get a lift.

A whole book subtitled "there and back again", and I think it checks all of the boxes except "the sea" (well ok, the hero is not very traditional, but still it is a very proper nostos)

Also also I don't really get the appeal of it, maybe that's why I don't vibe with some parts of the Silm (sorry Tuor, you're boring). I like the sea, sailing can be fun, but I don't get the epic mariner idea. I just don't. I guess it's a personal preference thing.

Oh, the tension between "returning home in well-earned glory" and "returning home with an apology", it is very present in the Silm. (Even if usually the return home is via the Halls of Mandos).

The tension between "I deserve the praise, because the road was so twisted and hard", and "I got lost, I'm glad to be back", and all those tensions. And I feel like with the Noldor as a group, Tolkien wanted both (see: Feanor's cool reply to Manwë's messenger, but also all the disasters that come later).

How does this all tie to the Silmarils? I'm sure that what Feanor expected, what his sons expected initially was "we fight a war, we get our jewels, we do a classical nostos [even if we don't know this term]". But also, for me, the Silmarils themselves tie to the concept of home very strongly, and nostalgia— oh, how ironic it is that nostalgia means "pain for returning home", and their nostos was supposed to be brought upon by reclaiming the Silmarils and they brought them only pain, and no clear homecomings.

Also, this is not related etymologically, but I can't avoid thinking of how "nostos" sounds like it was cognate to "nest" and how baby birds are at some point supposed to leave it and never return.

I'm sure there's more to be found in here, and probably some wise people already said more about it.

[@stellavesperis, this is this post that goes earlier]

[somegrumpynerd]

Does anyone else hc that Nightmare can like, absorb his tentacles back into his body sometimes? Like the way Stitch does with his extra arms?

[leftoverbriocheloaf]

Ok long yap but I wanna write a camp halfblood au for bsd so bad askljalsdj bc hear me out yosano daughter of hades grows up in an orphanage (run by fukazawa, who acts as chiron in this au just like chiron works at percy's school trying to keep an eye on yosano) and ranpo grows up in the same orphanage, but ranpo is a mortal who can see through the mist. and like yk how sally was at risk for monster attacks bc of how much time she spent with percy despite being human? the same thing applies to ranpo. So when fukuzawa needs to take yosano to camp halfblood for her own safety he takes ranpo too, who just says he was "claimed" before they reached camp-halfblood to keep the "he doesn't have an ability but he acts like he does" vibes

Back at camp halfblood we've got Poe, son of athena who arrived at camp halfblood after his uncle decided he couldn't deal with the demigod stuff (his dad was already dead atp), and lucy who arrived a year before yosano and ranpo with louisa and is a daughter of Hephaestus who makes giant bronze battle statues like the ones across manhattan in the pjo series that look like Anne from Anne's room

Louisa is also a younger daughter of athena ofc

We've also got Dazai as a son of Dionysus with his laid-back but manipulative vibes and Chuuya son of ares (I don't wanna make them children of the big three bc I'd want Atsushi to have that) with Kouyou and Verlaine also children of Ares w him, and then Atsushi is a son of zeus and akutagawa and gin are children of hermes (so akutagawa feels inferior like a lot of the kids of hermes do in canon bc their abilities aren't really combat focused)

Kenji son of demeter, obviously, Kyouka hunter of artemis and tanizaki is a mentee of hecate (which was established by hazel as a thing in the 2nd series) with Naomi being a prophet like rachel?? Kunikida is an apollo kid who utilizes poetry and appreciates rising with the sun (hes a pretty unusual child of apollo which makes dazai try and get him to loosen up) and he's head of the cabin and takes very good care of the younger campers

But like??? It works??? ive been thinking about this au so much im obsessedddd if I wrote it it probably wouldn't be like pjo canon compliant just using the camp as an au but i think it would be so much fun aslkjalksdjka

[cakeemoji]

just remembered i possess the power of free will 🎰🐇

[sieglinde-freud]

ok i think im done i think ive finally done it. i have completed the awakening ship chart with the second gen. except for nah sorry nah. yes i do love rarepair hell thanks for asking im never leaving

[flowering-darkness]

things I would like to do:

finalise Antares’ design by putting together a reference model for her

maybe also edit a VS sprite for her(?) - and also subsequently edit Adriana’s once I know more of what her new outfit will be

overhaul my carrd because it’s been stuck in a work-in-progress state for months and I haven’t touched it (but need to)

maybe start to work on a new selfship piece for this month - I did repost the Ides of March Camellia/Telanthera renders, but it would still be nice to also post something that’s new, probably using Clio (either in KHUX or FFXIV)

change my blog header to something that is more directly selfship-related (since right now it isn’t at all)

start designing my IAYS self-insert, including establishing her name - I had an idea for what I’ll name her after (a genus of birds, like Ardea), but I never actually went and looked at the list again

just some assorted nice ideas ^-^

[teethbomb]

Are there any storyboarding apps that are good and not super expensive or subscription based