#captain forehead slander

[thoughtsofahouseplant]

so I may be biased as an Angel Hater, but I feel like Angel was specifically the kid who would go kill the bugs that the bug-appreciating kids were watching or playing with

do we think human child angel was a bug eater or a bug keeper

i honestly do not think about angel enough to truly weigh in on this but i think hed just kill em. people who care more about angel than me feel free to chime in

[captain-amadeus]

If I'm correct, Slickwell had to walk with

The Pin of Klutzenheimer

all the way from Enchancia to Eustis' castle.

[valiantstarlights]

[Dreamling Week Day 5: Jealousy] The Feeling of Freedom

This is from my Dreamling Hamilton AU where Hob lost his memory during the American Revolutionary War and now goes by Captain Gideon "Leon" Roberts.

You don't need to read the story in AO3 to understand what's going on. 😊 Just imagine it's a Regency AU but Hamilton is in it.

CW: period-typical homophobia because this is set in 1789 Albany, New York.

(Because I fucking love Bridgerton's idea of playing modern songs as orchestral music during balls, this piano cover of Only Love Can Hurt Like This by Paloma Faith is the song I imagined Dream and Hob danced to, but at 75% speed. Please listen to it! It's very lovely, and the song's lyrics are highkey dreamling vibes. 🖤)

"May I have this dance?"

Dream's head snaps towards Colonel Hamilton, who has jokingly (and with an unnecessary gentlemanly flourish), held his hand out to Captain Roberts.

"No, Alex," Captain Roberts replies, amused at his friend's antics but keeping his hands firmly behind his back. "Go dance with Mrs. Hamilton. I have no intention of having my feet be stepped on tonight."

"Slander!" Colonel Hamilton exclaims, eyes bright and merry and not offended at all. "You forget, my dear Leon, that I was one of the people who taught you how to dance."

"And you forget that it was Monsieur Lafayette who actually put me through my paces while you and Laurens danced like a couple of attendees at a bacchanalia."

"Oh, come now, it's a slow song they're playing next," Colonel Hamilton wheedles. "And yes, I have asked the lovely Ms. Jessamy to tell me the order of the songs to be performed so that I may know when to ask you for a dance, for I know you dislike fast-paced music with a passion. You're welcome. Now dance with me to gentle the sting of your cruel words."

Dream takes this as an opportunity to smoothly insert himself into the conversation. And as the party's host, he can do whatever he damn well please and Colonel Hamilton will just have to grit his teeth and deal with it.

"Ah, Captain Roberts, there you are," he says, and steps next to Leon. "Excuse me, Colonel Hamilton. If I might steal the good captain away? He has promised to dance the next song with me."

Captain Roberts hides his surprise well, but Colonel Hamilton's brows shoot up to his forehead as he looks between Dream and Captain Roberts. "Really."

"Yes," Dream says simply, then holds out a gloved hand for Captain Roberts to take. "Shall we take our places, Captain? The song is about to start."

"O-oh, yes. Yes, of course," Captain Roberts says. He takes Dream's hand and allows him to lead them both to the dance floor, Colonel Hamilton following them with his gaze.

There are other couples already on the dance floor, most of them ladies who are laughing gaily with their friends at the opportunity to be able to dance with one another at a formal ball. Dream knows from their daydreams which ones actually have romantic feelings for each other.

He is glad to be able to provide this chance for them.

"When exactly did you ask me to dance, Mr. Murphy?" Captain Roberts asks when they were out of earshot from the colonel. He doesn't sound angry at Dream for being presumptuous, at least. Just confused. "Have I missed a social contract entirely? Again?"

"No," Dream says, keeping his voice low in case anyone is eavesdropping. "I was only trying to remove you from your conversation with Colonel Hamilton. I couldn't help but notice that you looked uncomfortable."

His body language certainly implied as much, though Dream does not divulge the entire reason for his interrupting the conversation, which is that he doesn't want Captain Roberts to dance with another man. Even if that man were his friend, Colonel Hamilton.

Especially if that man were his friend, Colonel Hamilton.

"Ah." Captain Roberts glances to the side where Colonel Hamilton is still watching them curiously. He shuffles his feet a little. Then, catching himself doing it, stops entirely. "It's not that I am uncomfortable with him. He is my friend, after all. It is only..." He sighs and lowers his voice. "I do not want to dance with him. If I were to do so, I am afraid it will only dredge up old memories that have grown more painful with time. We...had a mutual friend, back in the war. Alex always used to dance with him."

In his mind, Captain Roberts is remembering a young man laughing together with Colonel Hamilton, their heads bent together as they danced near a bonfire, fingers intertwined and eyes speaking volumes of their regard for each other.

Dream recognizes the man as Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens. He had often dreamed about abolishing slavery and growing old with a red-haired man. He has been in his sister's realm for seven years now.

Through Captain Roberts's memories, Dream also sees Colonel Hamilton's devastated features when he received the letter from John Laurens's father, informing them of John's death.

He sees how Captain Roberts, along with Mrs. Hamilton and the Hamilton children, slowly but surely coaxed Colonel Hamilton back to living his life to the fullest.

Alexander Hamilton may never be the same again after John Laurens's death, but he would have been in a worse state had Captain Roberts, their mutual friend from the war, not been there to help him recover.

It is exactly what Hob would have done.

And while the man in front of Dream might be calling himself Captain Roberts now due to his memory loss, in Dream's eyes, he will always be his beloved Hob Gadling.

"I see," Dream says. He spends a moment wondering if he was in the wrong about interrupting the two men's conversation the way he did, now knowing about Colonel Hamilton's regard for the late lieutenant colonel, but decides that he does not regret his action at all, not when it gave him this opportunity to dance with Captain Roberts. "I hope Colonel Hamilton knows what a good friend you are to him."

The captain chuckles and tugs at his left ear. A gesture that is becoming beloved to Dream, as it indicates the man's shy pleasure. "I tend to remind him when he has passed the three-hour mark talking about the Constitution."

"Three?" Dream repeats, teasingly. "Then you must have more patience than the rest of New York's politicians put together."

Captain Roberts laughs, but does not refute the claim. It brings Dream joy to see the man at ease in his presence, though he notes that he still looks a little uncomfortable, glancing this way and that.

And in his mind, Dream sees exactly what he's worrying about. Countless, faceless, well-dressed people whispering about him, eyeing him with disgust, spitting at the face of his happiness.

That will not do.

Dream takes Captain Roberts's hand on his own again until the man looks up at him.

"Do not think of them," Dream says. "While we dance, look only at me and forget the rest of the world."

It is a bold statement to make, but Captain Roberts nods, and flushes prettily, eyes on Dream's, pupils dilating. "I...yes, of course. As you say, Mr. Murphy."

The image in his mind changes as he speaks. He is now thinking about the warmth of Dream's hand in his, and how close the two of them will be, while dancing. He imagines his hand on Dream's shoulder, and Dream's hand on his lower back, their breaths mingling, and feeling Dream's exhale on his lips.

He is almost shivering in want.

Dream pulls him closer and makes his daydreams a reality as the music starts.

--

After, when the last of the musical notes have faded and the people have started to clap for the musicians, Captain Roberts looks pleasantly dazed, and his cheeks are flushed with exertion and pleasure both.

Dream has yet to let go of him. He does not want to. Not yet, at least. And as the party's host, he can do whatever he damn well please and everyone will just have to deal with it or leave. The front door is unlocked. They are free to remove themselves from Dream's presence whenever they wish.

As long as Captain Roberts stays, Dream does not care about anyone else. Jessamy, Lucienne, and the others will deal with the other guests for him.

"Ah, Mr. Murphy," Colonel Hamilton says, walking up to them now that the song is over. "May I steal Leon away?"

"I'm afraid not, Colonel Hamilton," Dream replies smoothly and genially, unwilling to relinquish Captain Roberts's hand just yet. And for his part, the captain looks content to be where he is, holding Dream's hand, also unwilling to let go. "You see, Captain Roberts has allowed me the pleasure of having his next two dances, which are the last of the evening. I believe he is effectively mine for the rest of the night."

[thoughtsofahouseplant]

Your tags have me thinking about how Spike seeks out opponents whereas Angelus seeks out victims….. Spike wants the fight and Angelus wants the kill….. Wow.

I'm answering this one second bc BESTIE O MY GOD you put this so elegantly. Opponents to fight vs victims to kill . . . that really is it right there. Like, Spike wants a challenge - he's v open about this, and when he was a human he still really wanted someone who saw the world the way he did and who he could connect w over that. He's always been looking for people 'on his level,' it's just in a violent way now bc vampire.

Meanwhile, based on Angelus' actions alone, it seems like what Angelus really wants is just to feel powerful. That's not what he SAYS, though - Angelus is all "a rael Kiel requiers artiestree" (you know, in the irish accent DB does). I always come back to Lolita when talking about Angel (bc I can't help it!! There are faaar too many parallels!!!), and this is v Humbert Humbert Talking About Nymphets to me. Like, he's justifying his depravity and violence to himself as being part of this higher thing that he's in service of when, really, it's just violence. It's just torturing and tormenting people and then killing them, being as terrible as possible isn't an 'art,' not even, really, to other demons we see in the Buffyverse (like, Glory was fabulous but I can't picture her earnestly saying that a good kill requires artistry). Angelus wants the kill.

The really interesting thing to me, that I just realized, is that Angel totally does that same kind of justification in soul-mode too. He has this image of himself as a tortured hero seeking redemption (whether or not that's what he actually is is up for debate), and uses that to justify all sorts of questionable choices, including stalking and dating a teenage girl when he's permanently in his 20s at best and super-duper old at worst. Like, you can take nearly everything Humbert says about nymphets in Lolita, replace "nymphet" w "slayer," and it would read like Angel talking about high school Buffy . . . which is mega-icky, but I just thought of it so now Everyone Must Know. Anyway, this line of thinking kinda begs the question: if Angelus is masking his desire to exert power over victims through killing them under this idea of "artistry," what is Angel masking under his idea of heroism?

[thoughtsofahouseplant]

Buffy is So Passionate and every time she starts to show it Angel shames her for it while Spike brings it out in her!!  Tbh I think the issue is really that Bangel is just Not Comfortable w each other, bc the thing that makes doing freaky things intimate is that it requires a level of trust and comfort and friendship for you to even want to try it in the first place, and Bangel . . . does not have that

Angel and Buffy making out in the cemetery in Bad Eggs is So Boring. They are just. Standing there. There is absolutely no passion there. There is no pushing each other against the wall of a mausoleum, no grabbing the other's clothes, no hands in each other's hair, no wrapping of legs around waists, no losing balance and falling to the ground and basically humping each other in the grass. Absolutely flavorless. Too much hetero. Buffy you deserve someone so much freakier

[foralwaysandforever]

hiii, since requests are open, could you please write a jack sparrow and reader where they're dating in secret and the rest of the crew get suspicious and their reactions when they find out??? totally fine if you don't do it, but thanks love!!!

Hidden Love

thank you so much for the request, love <3

Captain Jack Sparrow x f!reader

warnings: none, except it's implied that the reader has long enough hair that it will get in their eyes and face

word count: 2.1K I went a little overboard (pun was not intended but I'll take it) hehe

genre: fluff

don't forget to like and reblog (if you're in the mood) and leave a comment if you'd like! I always appreciate it <3

♡°♡°♡

"It's all for the thrill of it, love."

"Ah, the thrill of it. I wonder how that's worked out for you in the past, my love," you hissed. "Tell me, Jack, how do you suppose hiding our relationship would work out on a crowded ship where no one is alone for more than five minutes?"

You stared at him incredulously, your arms crossed. You were in less than an agreeable mood, as Jack had pulled you into a cluttered and tiny broom closet on the Pearl to tell you of his scheme just a moment ago. You were facing him, your back pressed into what you assumed was a mop handle, but you couldn't quite tell in the dim light. His hair was falling into your face as he stood quite close to you, he had to crane his neck downward to look you in the eyes.

"First of all, the Pearl is not crowded, it is an enormous vessel that deserves no such slander from you, madam," Jack retorted, his dark eyes narrowing in mock disproval at you. "Second and most importantly, might I add, the crew is about as observant as the Royal Navy, so I do not think we'll have many complications."

"I really don't think-"

Jack pressed a finger to your lips effectively shutting your protests down. "The problem is not that you think, darling, it's that you think too much. I swear to you, captain's honour, that it will all turn out alright," he grinned as you swatted away the finger he was holding in front of your lips, then raised his right hand as if taking an oath.

You let out a resigned groan, letting your forehead fall onto his chest. You knew it was easier just to go along with it than to start an argument which you ultimately would give in to. Jack let out a low chuckle, his arms encircling your waist. "Don't worry, Y/N, you're in capable hands."

After peering out the cracked door, you exited the closet. Jack followed you, keeping a hand on the small of your back as he walked with you up the stairs to the main deck. You hurriedly started some tasks that needed to be done on the deck, such as cleaning the canons and securing the ropes of the sails to the mast. You spent the morning ignoring Jack, his ever present gaze burning into you. Finally, you were tying the last knot to the mast, a tedious job if ever there was one. You messed with the rope, biting your lip in agitation.

"Master Gibbs, the helm, if you will," the Captain said, hardly taking his eyes off of you as he spoke. The first mate nodded as Jack sauntered down to you. He examined the knot with a critical eye, tutting and making sounds of disproval. This continued for several minutes, you fiddling with the rope and Jack circling you. Finally, you looked up from your work in annoyance. "Is there something wrong, Captain?"

"Severely wrong, L/N," He said gravely, inspecting the knot again. You huffed, stepping away from him as he prodded the piece of rope. "With all due respect, Captain, I must say that there is not a single flaw with this choice of knot."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. As you can clearly see," Jack hooked one arm around your waist, ushering you towards the mast, "the knot you used, a slipknot as it were, is not sufficient for our rigging. You need something much stronger, especially if we were to sail into a storm. It simply would not hold," he replied, leaning towards you, his face dangerously close to yours.

Your breath caught in your throat, that familiar half smirk that you knew ever so well appearing on Jack's face. He glanced at your lips, then met your gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing. "My mistake then," you said softly, almost breathless as you pulled away from Jack. His expression turned into one of hidden amusement. "L/N, try again with a Magnus hitch knot, I want this rope secured." He let go of you, almost reluctantly, and climbed the stairs to the helm with such swagger that you had to hide a grin. He rejoined his first mate, a lazy grin on his face.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Gibbs?" Jack said in a dismissive tone, his arms draped over the railing in a relaxed pose, his gaze once again drawn to you.

"I- well, I mean, we, the crew and I, I mean, have noticed that you and miss L/N have been very close, as of late, and I, er- we, that is, were just wondering-"

"Master Gibbs, what are you insinuating?" Jack eyed him, an almost threatening glint shining in his gaze.

"Nothing! Nothing, its just- nevermind," Gibbs meekly grinned under the Captain's harsh stare.

"By all means, if you or any other member of the crew," Jack raised his voice, "have any concerns or speculations involving myself and miss L/N, by all means, bring yourself forward." His words were welcoming, his tone was anything but. You glanced up at the two to see Gibbs sheepishly grabbing a mop, while the rest of the crew, after a quick look at you, continued to work.

That was the manner in which you both spent the next few weeks, Jack sabotaging himself by getting a little too close to you, and you covering it up. You didn't even know why you were going along with it anymore, except that now you were invested. You knew at least Gibbs was suspicious, he had given you that wide eyed look of bewilderment one too many times.

But one thing Jack hadn't given you credit for was that you were not a quitter, if this is what Jack wanted, he was in for a long haul. Or at least, it would have been a long haul. There was one itty bitty slip up that caused your whole charade to collapse in front of you two. You were up at the break of dawn, just finishing your night watch shift in the crow's nest. The wind had recently picked up as the golden rays of the sunrise edged their way across the horizon. You hadn't a single problem with enemy ships so far, but a much worse one had arisen.

The wind whipped around you, your vision obscured by your hair. You had accidentally left your hat and bandana back at the last port you had docked in, and you were regretting it immensely. You whipped your hair behind you for what seemed like the thousandth time that morning. You grabbed your hair and tucked it into the back of your shirt, gritting your teeth when it fell right out as soon as you moved your head. You stared into the waters below you distastefully.

You felt a gentle tug on a strand of your hair. You were about to turn and snap at whoever was messing with you, but you already knew who it was. "Love, it looked like you're struggling a bit there." You could hear the playful grin in his tone.

"I have a right notion to chop it all off this very minute, Jack," you seethed, resisting the urge to do just that. He combed his fingers through your now very tangled hair, twisting and twirling some of it. "Aye, but it would be such a shame if you did. You have such magnificent hair, love." He grasped your chin, tilting your face towards him. His eyes were warm and loving, radiating the same feeling of adventure and adrenaline that you had come to associate with Jack's presence.

Suddenly, your view was obstructed again, but this time it was because Jack had plopped his hat upon your head. He tilted it out of your eyes, his smile one of boyish innocence. "There, love, that should do it. No need for drastic measures."

"But Jack, this is your hat," you protested.

This man had outrun the Royal Navy, just to turn and go back when he realised his hat was in their custody. Once, he made Gibbs jump overboard to grab his hat when it blew off his head. It obviously had a special place in his heart. But then again, so did you.

"If so, then it is mine to give away, is it not?"

You held back a grin, and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Jack," you murmered into his shirt.

He laughed. "Always, love. Now, I believe I will be taking this next shift. Why don't you go get some rest?"

You yawned, the realisation dawning upon you that you were quite tired. "You know what? Wonderful idea."

You climbed down the rope ladder from the crows nest unsteadily, but suppressed a grin when you noticed your hair's absence from your vision. You spotted a coil of rope near the stern of the ship. Probably a little delusional from the lack of sleep, you sat down on it, resting your head upon your chest. Jack's hat fell over your eyes, blocking out the rising sun. You dozed off peacefully, the sounds of the waves crashing against the ship lulling you to sleep...

"Mother's love! Cotton, are you seeing this?" a familiar voice attempted to whisper, but sounded more like a wheezy hiss. You awoke, startled by Gibbs's asthmatic sounding mutter. You tilted your hat up to find Gibbs, Marty, Pintel and Ragetti along with the rest of the crew staring down at you. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve, your eyebrows raised. "What? Was I snoring? I apologise immensely if I was."

But they ignored you. Gibbs snatched the hat right off your head, ignoring your groggy protests.

"It's Jack's hat, I'd bet my life on it!"

"Pfft, what? Absolutely not," you rolled your eyes nervously, but it was too late.

"How did you get your hands on this, lass? The Captain's very protective of it," Gibbs questioned.

"I, well, long story-"

But Gibbs's eyes widened. Wider than you'd seen before. Uh oh. He glanced at Cotton, who returned his expression.

"What? What am I missin'?" Pintel frantically asked, prodding at Gibbs.

Ragetti nudged his uncle. "The Capn' and her is in love, you see. That's 'ow she got 'is hat! 'e wouldn't give it to just anyone, ya know."

"That's ridicul-" Pintel sneered, but paused when he stopped to think about it. "Yeah, yeah! You know what, that makes some sense!"

You stood up, your cheeks a bright red. Maybe you could pass the blush off as a sunburn.

"I'll have you all know," you grabbed Jack's hat back, your hat back, "that J- the Captain and I-"

"Are horribly in love. And if anyone wishes to object, well, too bad," Jack's voice rang out. The crew parted down the middle as Jack swaggered over to you, a mischievous grin on his face. He took the hat from your hands and placed it atop your head again, right where it belonged.

"Why did you feel the need to hide it from us?" Cotton and Marty nodded in agreement.

"Well, Captain, I had suspected something for some time," Gibbs started.

"Ah, ever the observant one, you are," Jack said, unimpressed.

"You are a group of nosy meddlers, and Y/N and I decided that we didn't want such prying eyes involved in our affairs, as it were," Jack stated bluntly, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"That's fair," Marty grinned. You looked up at Jack, as relieved as you were, you were also exasperated.

"Weeks! For weeks, we kept this facade up! And now you stroll on in and ruin my hard work," you say, annoyed beyond words.

Jack opened his mouth to utter some witty reply, but you didn't give him the chance. Your lips met his, your arms wrapping around his neck. He gave a little sound of surprise, but he smiled into the kiss.

You weren't sure if you believed in true happiness, but that moment would become the epitome of it for years to come. You would smile fondly at that memory, even when your hair had gone grey and your vision was obscured not by hair or a hat, but by age. But for now, it was the present that overwhelmed you. The man in front of you was more than the present, he was part of your future. And a sweet part, he was.

After a moment, you chanced a peek at the crew out of your peripheral vision, you spotted Pintel covering Ragetti's eyes, causing you to break the kiss out of laughter.

"He's a grown man, Pintel," you gasp out, holding onto Jack while clutching your stomach.

"Excuse me, but 'e's still my nephew, miss L/N," the uncle said defensively. You shot them a wink, and turned back to Jack, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Cat's out of the bag, miss Y/N," Jack whispered. You rested your forehead against his.

"So it would seem."

♡°♡°♡

I hope you like it <3

[wkemeup]

The Crack of the Whip (SFoS Bonus Chapter)

chapter summary: When Captain Barnes’ ship is taken by the Queen’s Navy, you’re helpless but to watch as the your captain is lashed at the hand of the admiral. Still unsure of your place upon his ship, you cast doubt aside and ensure that someone prevents infection on his back, because he certainly won’t ask for help himself. (Prequel chapter)

pairings: pirate!bucky x pirate/siren!reader

chapter word count: 3k

warnings: canon level violence, descriptions of blood and wounds, angsty prequel times, tending wounds tropes, back when she only called him “captain” and “barnes” 🥺

a/n: this is a bonus chapter for my series Sky Full of Song so please make sure to read the main part of the series first :) 

🏴‍☠️ series masterlist // series playlist

Blood trailed down your hairline. A streak of sticky, wet crimson running from the open cut at your forehead, down your temple, and dripping to the wood of the deck in thick globs. Dirt and grime coated your skin, sweat dampening your clothing. Adrenaline pumping. Heart racing.  

You would have smirked at the pristine polish of your combatant's decorated Navy jacket, mocked him for his unearned loyalty to a greedy Queen, and relieved him of his weapon for good measure, if they hadn’t managed to bring your captain to his knees. 

“Lower your weapons! Do it now!” the navy admiral shouted as the sharpened edge of his sword darted over Captain Barnes’ throat. None of the pirate crew moved a muscle – not even to hand over their daggers and guns. And they wouldn’t – not until they had an order from their captain.  

The admiral’s face was burning red with rage, with impatience, as he shouted the demand again; this time, digging the sword a little closed to Barnes’ neck. Something caught in your chest at the sight of it; how a bead of blood followed a path down Barnes’ collarbone and slipped under the low V of his shirt. He did not wince, did not show even an ounce of discomfort or distain – only boredom, only distaste.  

Barnes gave a short, subtle nod, and the pirate crew slowly, hesitantly, set their weapons on the deck of their own ship. Your own dagger and revolver were heavy in your hands as you struggled to ignore the taunting laughter of the sailor who would have met his end if not for the word of your captain. But you could feel a sharpening gaze burning on your skin – a silent order to comply. Against every instinct you set your weapons to the floor. 

“How disappointing,” the admiral tsked, his gaze trailing across the deck, “to have wasted all these years hunting the most notorious pirate crew in our hemisphere, only to find that its captain does not live up to his infamous legend.”  

You gritted your teeth, fighting the urge to remind this sheltered admiral exactly why Captain Barnes was so feared amongst these waters, why there were stories whispered at night to warn children from the beaches, why his name wrung fear into his enemies. You had spent only a few months aboard his ship and still, you knew the extent to which the captain would go to see to his demands, to ensure the safety of his crew and the gold in which he sought.  

He was a legend for a reason.  

And the only captain to not look at you as if you were a disgrace to the black flag he sailed under.  

You would not tolerate the admiral’s slander.  

But Barnes’ eyes met yours across the deck as if sensing the retaliation burning under your skin and he shook his head – a barely noticeable movement that you began to question whether he’d done it at all. But his gaze seared into yours, a quiet demand to stand down.  

Four months upon his ship and you’d somehow come to learn the lines on his face and the slight shift of color behind the blues of his eyes, even under layers of bruising and dirt. Four months of fighting under his flag, serving his will in battle and under sail. Four months, and it was still longer than any other ship had tolerated your presence.  

You were no longer walking upon thin ice; you were springing over it with weights strapped your ankles and picks fused under your boots. If you wanted to stay aboard this ship – if there was still a ship to board after whatever the Queen’s Navy had in store – you would have to follow the captain’s order to remain silent. You could not risk being cast to the shore again. Left to desperation and the unwanted advances of lesser men. Not again.  

The taste of cooper was bitter on your tongue as Barnes’ gaze was harshly ripped from yours. The admiral dragged your captain to his feet, shoving him harshly at the center of his back until he stumbled a few paces forward and collided into the mast.  

“The Queen would like to see Captain Barnes hung for his crimes!” the admiral announced to the cheers of his own men. A sinister grin covered his face. “She did not say, however, that he must be retrieved for the gallows unharmed.” 

A large standing man with a gingered handlebar mustache thrashed in the hold of the sailors. Dugan, you faintly recalled – one of the captain’s most trusted. Swords swung up in crossed barriers in front of him, blocking his path. You narrowed your eyes curiously upon his reaction – to see such loyalty inspired by the man who led him. You’d been among enough crews to know that men of the sea were selfish and greedy at their core. They did not care for their fellow man – certainly not enough to rise in defense at their own risk. It was strange to see so many of Barnes’ crew seething to jump back into battle at the word of their captain.  

Perhaps it might explain why your every instinct screamed to fight despite the order to stand down, why your stomach felt like it was made of lead as the men of the Royal Navy stepped forward to take their turn at coloring a mark to the captain’s skin. Punch after punch. Kick after kick. They beat him until he was unable to resist as they wrapped rope to his wrists and tied him to the mast. They laughed as they tore his shirt into long, tattered pieces of broken fabric.  

And perhaps, as one of the sailors stepped forward with a whip in hand, you could blame the sudden, agonizing fear in your bones on a simple loyalty to a decent captain.  

The sailor smirked as he adjusted his grip on the handle, cracking his neck loud enough to be heard across the deck. He licked a long line across his lips, anticipation borderline on sadistic excitement. Unforgiving hands gripped tight to your forearms, holding you back before you’d realized you’d tried to step forward. 

And then – before you could prepare for it – the whip cracked down on Barnes’ back.  

He barely made a sound, barely even flinched, though you felt the acidic burn of vomit at the back of your throat. You watched as blood bubbled upon his bare back in a thin, vengeful line until it dripped down his spine no different than a tear over a flushed cheek.  

Barnes turned his head, his gaze foggy as he looked out into the crowd of witnesses to his torture. The whip broke open another line on his back – crimson mist spewing from his skin as he jolted against the mast – and his gaze landed upon you.  

You hadn’t noticed how many of his crew turned their heads at each crack of the whip, how few were able to stomach watching the bloodied marks draw awful lines upon his back. But you could not tear your eyes away from it – not even if you tried.  

Because you knew the agony of such torture. You knew the excruciating pain as the thin end of the whip carved open your back; how it numbed your skin and spread like tremors of lightening through your torso and down each of your extremities as if to claim you as its own. You knew the shame of it – hot against your cheeks as you barely kept yourself conscious, to feel the eyes of a crew that despised you waiting for you to finally succumb.  

There were no eyes for you to find that day – no soul amongst the crew that would dare to hold your gaze, to give you a lifeline as you struggled to stay afloat. Captain Barnes clenched his jaw as the whip drew its fifth line along his spine; this time, cutting into the already open wounds. His mask was failing him as he flinched under the pain of it. His eyes began to drop, his head leaning against the mast for support, and you shook your head rapidly at him, begging him to return his gaze to you. 

He did – but it was heavier now. His eyes were lined in red, his breaths heaving against the mast. Though he fought it, he bit onto his lip as the whip came down again and blood dripped from his teeth. No whimper fell past his lips, no screams of agony. But he was suffering. You could see it blurring in the blues of his eyes as he struggled against the darkness threatening to drag him under.  

Still, you held his gaze. You would not allow him to be alone in this torture; not the way you were. You would not turn from him in shame or remorse. It didn’t matter that you’d held residence under his command for a mere few months. It didn’t matter that you carried the sin of being a woman upon a pirates’ ship and a secret that would surely condemn you quicker than your gender.  

None of it mattered because the captain was looking at you as if you might be the only thing keeping him from giving into the torment.  

Only after the whip opened its tenth line upon his back did the chaos begin.  

You didn’t know who started it at the time, but you would learn later that it was Dugan who initiated the uprising that led to the Queen’s sailors fleeing from the Commandos’ shop lest they were ran through with a bullet or blade and cast to the waters.  

The sailors holding you back dropped your arms in surprise, quickly reaching for their weapons, but it wasn’t fast enough. Morita got to them quicker with two easy shots between the eyes. You gave him a quick nod before retrieving your weapons from the deck and sprinting towards the captain.  

Barnes was slumped against the mast, barely maintaining consciousness. You wasted little time and dragged your blade through the ropes holding him secure, gathering as much of his body weight against your side as you could. He groaned as you pulled one of his arms over your shoulders and began dragging him away from the fight and to the safety of his quarters behind closed doors.  

It was a line you’d never dared to cross. Not on this ship or any other. Captain Barnes was gracious enough to allow you a place among his crew, to tolerate your presence with less obvious aggravation than his predecessors. To tend to his wounds, to touch him in such a vulnerable state – he'd surely be rid of you by the next port. No captain allowed his crew to see him in pain like this, to be reminded than he was as human and fragile as the rest of them.  

But those wounds would fester. And you knew the agony of infection from wounds such as these.  

You sighed, knowing full well your mind was made up before the whip had even broken his skin. You shoved open the door to his quarters and kicked it closed behind you – leaving the fight beyond his walls. There was no time to lose yourself in the violence of the uprising. You had to ensure the captain survived, whether he condemned you for it or not.  

Carefully, you laid him chest down on his cot. He barely moved as you gently swept away the dampened ends of his hair from the crux of his shoulders. You tried not to winced at the blood that brushed off on your fingertips.  

“I will work as quickly as I can,” you told him as you reached for the medical box under his desk, “but I must warn you, it will be painful.” 

Barnes chuckled something humorless against the pillow. “I don’t believe there is much more you can do than hasn’t already been done.” 

His voice was hoarse as if he’d been screaming. Tired and weak. Something shattered in your chest at the sound of it.  

“I wish that were true,” you replied quietly. You did not let yourself linger on the pause of strange curiosity that passed the captain’s features as he looked up at you. For a moment, you worried he might press further, that he might question why you knew of the pain of the whip, but he did not say a word. Instead, he curled his arms under the pillow, exposing the lines of muscle on his back under the display of freshly carved scars, and waited.  

He hadn’t made a sound with each crack of the whip, but as you dabbed the alcohol-soaked cloth to the wounds, he muffled his groans to the pillow. His whole body was trembling and you cursed your own hands for every recoil, every flinch, that you forced from him.  

“Not much longer,” you promised; embarrassed by the tremor in your own voice. Heat burned in your face. “I’m nearly finished.” 

“Enough...” His voice was tarnished, muffled by the pillow. “I can’t... No more...” 

You wondered then if you had given up, if perhaps he might overlook your intrusion, if maybe you'd still stand a chance to remain upon his ship. But the thought was short lived as you looked over the gruesome wounds on his back, the blood dripping down his sides and onto the fabric of his sheets.  

He’d been kind to you and such kindness was unfathomable from a legendary pirate captain. He smirked at the comments you muttered under your breath when you thought no one could hear. He entertained your presence to the point where he sometimes appeared amused – if not impressed – by your accuracy with a bullet. He treated you with a respect you knew you would not hope to find elsewhere.  

You would not allow this pain to consume him whole. He'd given you too much. Even if he forced you out the following morning, you would not regret your decision to stay.  

“The worst is nearly over,” you told him instead, ignoring his pleas though your stomach was riddled with knots.  

His hands were shaking so badly, you could see the movement through the feathers of the pillow. 

“Just leave me,” Barnes murmured, his voice slurred under the weight of his exhaustion and the tremors of pain. “Give me the bottle of rum and—and leave me.” 

You swallowed, though you held your ground. “Can’t do that.” 

Barnes exhaled, his eyes falling heavy with each breath. You pretended as though you did not notice the water marks against his pillow nor the reflective lines under his eyes.  

“You’re... you’re disobeying a direct order?” Something bordering the line of anger and astonishment broke through the clouded haze of his eyes as he drew every strength to look at you.  

“Yes,” you replied steadily, continuing to work on his back. He hissed, clenching his fist to the sheets. “Yes, Captain. I am.” 

He did not question you again after that, though you could tell how badly he wished for you cease this torture and simply allow the infection to overtake him. It would be easier – for the both of you, perhaps. But you would not allow him to give in.  

You worked as carefully as you could. Brushing your fingertips gingerly over the unmarked skin as a means of reprieve before you dared to sooth the layers of salve over his back. It wouldn’t burn him nearly as much as the alcohol, but it would not be a pleasant feeling either. The numbing had already begun to fade – the shock his body had granted him now making way for the pain he wouldn’t had been able to endure when he was tied against the mast.  

You knew it worsened when you heard him choking back whimpers, desperate to silence them against the pillow before you could hear. When you finished, he’d stilled entirely, likely haven given in and allowed himself to slip to his subconscious. You were grateful for his relief.  

It was only when you cleaned the stains of blood from your hands in the wash bin by his bedside did you realize there were dried tear marks on your own cheeks. Even if Captain Barnes sought to remove you from his ship by morning, you knew with certainty you would not have done anything different. However inconsequential you were to him, he was the first and only captain you had ever grown to trust, to feel a sense of loyalty toward. You could not have stood by and allowed him to suffer on his own after such torment, no matter the cost.  

You stood slowly, brushing at the wetness on your face. Before you could make it to the door, you felt a hand weakly grab at your fingertips. You froze, turning to find Captain Barnes looking up at you under heavy eyes.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, barely able to speak louder if he tried. You stared back at him, stunned – not only that he found it within himself to look at you after you’d witnessed him in such a vulnerable state, but because the legendary Captain Barnes thanked you for it.  

You nodded at him, dismissing the needless gratitude. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check for infection again.” 

To your surprise, Barnes nodded his agreement and slowly let go of your hand. “See that you get your rest.” 

You sighed, a ghost of an unexpected smile at the edges of your mouth. “You first, Captain.” 

[julek]

for @srapsodia <3

Waves coming and going, a sliver of moonlight coming through a thin window. The back and forth of the ship, rocked by Poseidon like a newborn babe, the silent song of the ancient wooden floorboards.

Jaskier's hand in Geralt's hair, their legs intertwined in their tiny berth, cushioned by Jaskier's many, many blankets and quilts.

A kiss being pressed to an inviting throat.

"They'll be looking for you," Geralt says quietly. "Captain."

Another kiss, stubble dragging on marred skin.

"Let them look."

Geralt cranes his head and looks at him, watches as his Captain presses a thin row of kisses to the exposed skin of his chest, following the line of his sternum. Being gentle with the scars there, soothing their ache.

His Captain's skin had been unblemished, the day they met. Blue eyes full of longing for adventure and a mouth that was both a blessing (because easy flattery got them where they wanted to go) and a curse (because Geralt couldn't take his eyes off of it, couldn't stop picturing what it might've been like to kiss it, couldn't stop kissing it once he got the chance to). A young thing, he had been, full of promise and dreams.

He still is. Full of promise and dreams and love; a bit older now. Not that Geralt would ever admit it out loud — his Captain would have him thrown off the ship for such vicious slander. But he is; he's become more seasoned, more tempered. He's seen storms and blood and loss, has walked the sharp side of a knife more times than they can count. Has found more riches than any man could ever desire, has been offered a deal to abandon his crew and settle down countless times.

And yet.

"Captain," Geralt admonishes quietly, though he himself has no intention of getting up soon.

Jaskier looks at him, shimmering blue. Siren blood, Geralt swears on it. "My love," he says simply, as if it's the only sensible answer. "My love."

His lips are soft against Geralt's, soft as they've ever been. Softer than the tiny bed they lay on, softer than the finest silks on his wardrobe. Softer than the rose petals that fall from Geralt's head whenever his Captain surprises him with a crown, softer than the sweetest honey, the gentlest touch.

"One more minute," he whispers against Geralt's lips. "My crew can survive dinner without me. One more minute and I'll go."

Don't, Geralt wants to say. Let me catch something for the both of us, let me lay dinner for you here. Let me cook it for you, let me feed it to you with my fingers, so that you never have to move again. So that you never have to leave again.

Instead, he smiles. He tangles his fingers in his Captain's unruly hair and presses their foreheads together, breathing into him.

"One more minute."

[thoughtsofahouseplant]

I am so glad someone else is here for Talking About Why Angel is into Teenagers bc there is So Much There. I v much see Angel as one of the most intricately messed up and disturbed characters ever and it’s both fascinating and horrifying. He is Humbert Humbert from Lolita he is Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment he is the dad from Fun Home he is Macbeth

I think spike belongs in places in a way that angel doesn’t. Like, spike will see a crypt and be like yes I’m putting a tv in here and making this my home and angel will live in a very nice apartment or hotel room but he doesn’t really live there. He doesn’t belong.

[unloved-cadillac]

Hi there! May I request an angst + fluff scenario of Mikasa finding out her female s/o is pregnant. Like she finds out after her s/o got injured during a mission and finds out when they are being treated? Idk if this makes sense but thank you!

C/n: HOW ADORABLE!!! Mama Mikasa back at it again. Thanks for requesting and I hope that you enjoy🤍

———————————————————————

You’re What?! (Mikasa x Reader)

Titans. Titans everywhere. Levi’s Squad were the first on the scene and just in time. “Ackerman! Springer! Get the left! L/n and I will take the right. Th rest of you! Take down as much as you can!” Levi orders and shoots his gear. You looked to Mikasa and gave her a wink before taking off.

Everyone succeeded in their respective positions to take the beasts down. You had just finished taking one down and looked around to see for any survivors. Nothing. As you were about to take off, in the corner of your eye you see an abnormal heading straight for you. “Fuck.” You mumble and turn to face it. You shot your gear and as you were getting ready to slice it, another gear shot on it and bumped into you, making you knock into a nearby building.

Mikasa stood and waited for you. Levi was back, Connie was back so where were you? “Captain!” A voice calls to Levi and Mikasa turns to see Floch. “What is it?” Levi asks. “It’s Y/n. Her gear must’ve been faulty because she got knocked by a Titan into a building.” He explains and Mikasa’s eyes widen. Not even thinking, she shoots her gear and goes to find you. “Tch. Where are they?”

Mikasa looks at the buildings and comes across a Titan who was decomposing. She stands down and looks around. “Y/N!” She calls out to you and looks on the third floor of a building and sees a hand sticking out, slightly waving. Mikasa gasps and shoots up to land by you. “Fuck, Y/n. Honey? Are you okay?” She asks as she takes the wood off of you and you wheeze out. “M-Mikasa. It hurts.” She looks down to see your hand injured and wood pierced through your thigh. She examines it and sighs. “You’re alright. It’s okay. I’m here. We’ll get you out of here.” She assures you and the rest of the squad comes to see to you.

~~~~

You were knocked out for a few hours and Mikasa sat next to your hospital bed while you recovered. She was waiting for the doctor to come in and fill her in on your condition. As she waits, she brushed the hair out of your face and kisses your cheek. “Sleep well, beautiful.” She whispers and sits back down.

The door opens to reveal the doctor who performed surgery on you. “Mikasa. She’s doing good. Her leg will heal with time. I give it a month and her hand was sprained so nothing major.” He tells her and she nods. “That’s great.” She says and looks to you. The doctor refills your IV and looks back at his documents. “Oh and the baby is fine, luckily. Congratulations by the way.” He says and Mikasa’s eyes widen. “What?” She asks and the doctor raises an eyebrow. “Did you not know? Y/n came here two months ago for an IVF treatment and it was successful.” He happily says and Mikasa is shocked. You were...pregnant?

The doctor leaves and Mikasa stares at your tummy. She rests her hand on it and caresses it. Now that she knew, it did make sense that your tummy was a bit bigger and that you and her couldn’t do the do. Shortly after, you begin to wake up and you see Mikasa’s hand on you. “Mika?” You say and she turns to look at you with tears in her eyes. “Baby. What’s wrong?” “Why didn’t you tell me, Y/n?” She asks and you gasp softly. “Why didn’t you say anything? You wouldn’t have to go on missions and this wouldn’t have happened.” Mikasa says and you cup her cheeks. “Mika. I’m sorry. I just wanted to be sure. The doctors told me that they weren’t 100% sure it work. But, it did now. Mika, we’re gonna be a family.” You say and Mikasa smiles and hugs you. “Yeah. We are.” You scoot to the side of the bed and allow Mikasa to come snuggle with you as she rubs your tummy.

“Babe. How did you get knocked into the building? Did a Titan do it?” Mikasa asked you and you shake your head making her wake up and look at you. “Huh?” “It was a person. Someone maneuvered into me when I was clearly going good to kill it.” You shake your head and Mikasa’s eyes widen. “I’ll be right back.” She says quickly and pecks your forehead. “Huh? Wait!”

~~~~

“Yeah. Mikasa will be mine. She’ll leave that idiot in no time.” Floch brags to his subordinates and they laugh. They look behind him and quickly shut up and turn to leave. “Where y’all going?” “So you’re the one who pushed my spouse into the building resulting in them having their leg injured?” Floch turns to see Mikasa furious and her fists clenched. “Mikasa. I didn’t do that!” “Oh really? Because they’re having my kid. So,” she grabs him by his collar and picks him up, “you messed with my partner and our child. And now it’s time for you to pay.”

Needless to say that later Floch came to apologize with a bandage around his head and arms. He also got kicked out of missions for three months and was on stable duty. Don’t mess with Ackermans.

———————————————————————

“Floch SLANDER.”

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.

[falcqns]

Mad

Pairing: post endgame!Bucky Barnes x Barton!Reader

Summary: Bucky has a hard time coming to terms with Steve’s departure. 

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, Steve Rogers slander, first kiss. 

A/N: As usual, this came from a shifting experience! Poor Bucky just needs a hug :( Hope you enjoy!

You tossed and turned in your bed. No matter what you did, you couldn't fall asleep. You never had trouble sleeping, so you didn't know why you were up. You decided to give up on sleep, and turned on your lamp on to read for a little while. You had only red two pages when you heard Bucky’s door shut and you heard his heavy footfalls make their way to the living room.

You decided to stop reading for a little bit and check up on him. He was quite distant with you, considering that he had met you a few weeks ago, but the rest of the remaining Avengers had warmed up to you already, and you were unsure why he seemed to avoid you. There was always a nagging thought at the back of your head that made you think he hated you, but you didn't want to assume anything.

Bucky, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified of you. Well, not of YOU, but of hurting you. The first time he met you, he immediately took notice of how your eyes were locked on his metal arm, and he immediately felt like he needed to remove himself from the situation before he scared you even more than he had. Over the course of you living here, he had begun to notice how much he liked you, and that thought terrified him even more. Since Steve left him to go back to Peggy, he was terrified to get close to anyone. He was a super soldier, and logically knew that he would most likely outlive those who he loved dearly, another thought that terrified him. He hated being alone, but he wanted to seclude himself to spare himself the inevitable pain. 

When he had awoken from his most recent nightmare, his first instinct was to run to Steve. Steve had nightmares as well, but not at Bucky’s level, and he had always been good at calming Bucky down. But, the realization that Steve had left him for a girl he kissed once, soon washed over with him, and he felt the feeling of abandonment creep up on him once more. As he looked around the room, all he could see was Steve. Steve had done everything in his power to make sure Bucky felt safe and at home in the compound before he left, and Bucky should have known he was compensating for something. He was never one to splurge, after growing up with almost nothing. He felt his chest tightening, and he couldn't bare to stay in that room any longer. 

He stood up, and walked out of his bedroom to head to the living room. He passed your door, and briefly considered seeing if you were awake, but decided against it. You were already scared of him as it was, and he didn't want to cause that fear to grow. He continued on to the living room, and took a seat on the sofa. He stared at the dark TV, almost willing it to turn on by itself so he didn't have to touch something Steve had. A few minutes later, he heard your bedroom door open, and was prepared to apologize for scaring you before heading back to that god forsaken room where he didn't want to spend another second, until you walked in the living room and sat next to him, shoulders almost touching.

“Are you okay?” You asked, and you noticed his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why were you talking to him? You were terrified of him, and he didn't want to force you to do something you were scared to do. But, he was intrigued. Maybe, he had read you all wrong at your first interaction. So, he shook his head. 

“No. But I will be. I’m sorry I woke you up,” He said in a timid voice, not making eye contact. 

You gave him a soft smile even though he couldn't see it. “You didn't wake me. I was having troubles sleeping. It seems you are too, so I decided to come and see if you were okay.” You said, and your smile grew when you noticed he slowly turned to face you, although his eyes remained locked on the ground.

“I-I thought you were scared of me,” He admitted, and your brows furrowed. 

“Why would I be scared of you, Bucky?” You asked, and he looked up at you, tears brimming in his steel blue eyes. You rested your hand on his thigh for comfort when he spoke again.

“T-The first time we met, I noticed you staring at my arm, and I instantly thought you were scared of me because of it, because of what it could do, and because of what it has done. Of what I’ve done. T-Thats why I avoided you, and never spoke to you. I didn't want to give you any more reasons to be scared of me.” He said, a sniffle following his little speech. 

You inched closer to him. “Before I met you, and before you were revealed to be him, I was. Dad had told me the things that HYDRA made you do, and it was scary. I think I was just scared that dad’s life would be in danger because of his affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D., but when it was announced during th Accords situation that you were The Winter Soldier, I knew it wasn't your fault. I had learned about you from going to the museum with my dad when I was little, and I was always fascinated by you. I knew HYDRA had to be brainwashing you. I brought it up to Dad and he agreed. You are NOT The Winter Soldier, Bucky. You are Bucky Barnes, the boy who risked his life for his best friend without question. You are not what they made you. I was staring at your arm because I thought it was cool, and because my best friend made it. She told me all about you whenever I called her. About how you would entertain the Wakandan children, how you raised those goats, and took care of the land you were given to protect. She told me how the first words you spoke to her was “Thank you.” You deserve to be happy, and not to live in fear.” You said. You watched as Bucky’s chin and lower lip trembled before he launched himself into your arms, hugging you tight to his chest. He hugged you to his chest like a teddy bear, and almost afraid to let go. 

You ran your hand up and down his back to soothe him, and he eventually got ahold of his emotions enough to pull away. You noticed something lingering behind his eyes, and asked him another question.

“What else is going on, Bucky? I know something else is wrong,” You said, and he sighed.

“I’m mad.” He said, and looked up at you, almost half expecting you to realize you were scared of him and take off running. But, when you didn't, instead taking his metal hand into yours for comfort and reassurance, he spoke again. “I’m so mad. At Steve, so much. I took care of him for a lot of his life. I stood by him, and I fought beside him. I lost almost 70 years of my life because I was fighting HYDRA with him, only to be caught by them, and have to be tortured for 20 fucking years and slowly lose my memories of him, and my old life. Then, I save him, escape HYDRA, he finds me, helps me, and him and I fight side by side again. Then I died. For him. Did you know he didn't even talk to me until the final fight was over? Not a single goddamned from him while I fought for him. I thought, that when Thanos was finally turned to dust, he and I would be okay. That we would have a normal life. That we could reconcile all those years we lost because of HYDRA depriving us both of that. But, he chose her.” He said, tears rolling down his face.

“He chose a woman that he kissed ONCE, over his best friend since childhood. I was the one who took care of him whenever he got sick. I was the one who stepped in whenever he got beat up. I’m the one that got captured by HYDRA because I was fighting FOR HIM. And he still chose her, the girl who helped him become Captain America. It fucking hurts. Maybe if I hadn't been snapped away, he wouldn't have gone back. Maybe-” He ranted, and you cut him off with a hug.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself. His choice was a purely selfish one, and it was the wrong one. It had nothing to do with you. You risked everything for him, more than once, and its so shitty that he wouldn't do the same for you. If he was here right now, I would kill him. For everything he put you through. He thought about himself, and this was the one time he shouldn't have. But don't blame yourself. It was ultimately his decision, not yours.” You said, and slowly, Bucky melted into your embrace.

He rubbed his stubbly cheeks against yours, and slowly pulled out of the hug. He pressed his forehead to yours, and his eyes drifted over your features. He had noticed how beautiful you were, and he knew he had a crush on you. But, he always saw you as untouchable. Your father was Clint Barton, the best archer in the world, and he really didn't want an arrow in the head. But, right now, as he rested his head against yours, watched your slow smile spreading across your lips, and smelled your scent, he couldn't think of any of the reasons why he never let himself be happy, especially with you.

Without thinking, his eyes locked on your lips, and he slowly pressed his against yours. He tensed up when you didn’t return it for a few seconds, but relaxed when he felt you kiss him back. He pulled away when the need for air became dire, and rested his flesh hand against your cheek. 

“Thank you. This is the first conversation I’ve had with you, and you've already helped me immensely. C-Can I take you out on a date?” He asked timidly.

Your face broke out into a huge smile. “Of course, Bucky.” 

Bucky felt tears springing to his eyes, and pressed his lips to yours again, tugging you into his lap in the process. And for once in the last two weeks, he wasn't mad at Steve. If it wasn't for Steve leaving, he wouldn't have you.

And you were all he needed. 

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Feral Fatality

(Part 1)

So this has been in my works for a week now. You see, it was a typical day for me scrolling through Tumblr and visiting some....tags, and then a short drabble inspired me to write about a feral reader totally not because I was craving violence and murder no, which reached more than 4k words on the first draft so here we are! Shitty title, I know. The proofread work went over 7k, and it's not even finished yet. Once I'm done posting this and my main orc fic, I will get into the requests so please be patient!

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Brief blood and violence at the end of the first part

Contains: Swearing, mentions of neglect and abuse (not graphic)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

-

Screams slit through the twilight as the frigid autumn wind blew harshly through the trees of Camp Crystal Lake. The rustling of bushes and cracking of twigs echoed as foolish teenagers attempted to escape, running for their lives when they were the ones who dared step foot in the place, tarnishing it with their sins.

Jason Voorhees, the innocent kid who died several years ago; pushed to the lake by his bullies and left to drown for being different and unsightly— all because the counselors were busy with their fucking business—, returned as an undead killing machine right after his mother murdered them and died. His sole purpose: to protect the land and purge the people who had no right to be here, sentencing them to a horrendous death.

One by one, they struck the ground, lifeless, either chopped into pieces, beheaded, or stabbed countless times by his trusty machete.

Limbs...ripped off with his bare hands.

-

The muffled snapping of branches reached your ears as the vehicle's wheels ran over them, stirring you from your nap. You rubbed your chilled skin under your clothes as you looked out of the window, thumping your forehead on the glass when you leaned forward the moment you saw the scenery. Trees, both ancient and young, their leaves varying in hues of green, orange and red, filled your line of sight. It was still early in autumn, your favorite time of the year, not hot but not too cold either. You watched in awe as the warm-colored leaves cascaded down from the branches and down to the ground, some carried by the wind farther from their origin.

The view did its best to distract you from a couple in session a seat before yours. They always seem to do that all the time, regardless of place or occasion.

This was a week-long getaway after graduation, they said.

Nothing but a white lie.

An excuse for the girls to hook up with their campus crushes, a week of fucking and smoking drugs.

You, however, just got invited ��forced— by your "friend" Eloiza, the self-proclaimed hottest girl in the entire school, typical captain of the cheerleading squad; blonde and curvy. Her words were much too sugar-coated that even a deaf person could tell she had ulterior motives.

She only planned to use you as a tool to raise her fame. A stepping stone for her own gain.

That wasn't the only reason though.

Everyone knew who you were, but only by your name. News and rumors alike spread like wildfire through gossipy mouths. Your deeds were known throughout campus.

(Y/N)(L/N), top academic competitor and multiple-award winner, a straight-A student for five years in succession. Some believed you were a genius, the rest called you insane.

You wouldn't call yourself a genius though, you did not possess the obsessive need to acquire eternal knowledge and discover the secrets of the universe as most of them do, to effortlessly solve every problem that comes their way.

If that were the case, then you wouldn't be here in the first place.

You only love learning and indulging in the beauty of Mother Nature, plus a handful of hyper-fixations.

Fine, a buttload of hyper-fixations. And such came in handy in various situations.

You were unrivaled, not one of your peers could come close to your level of wit. Many people wished to have a brain like yours, and just as many hated you for even having one, praised you just as much as slandered your name and judged you.

Despite your reputation, the poor school didn't broadcast it, at least every time. The staff probably got tired of repeating the same phrase over and over again. Which caused more than half of the whole campus to never believe you to be the one behind all of that, laughing at your face when you said your name.

"You? The (Y/N) (L/N)? Ha! As if I'd fall for that! Everyone knows how she looks. You're the absolute opposite!"

"You got to be kidding me."

"You're a joker, aren't you? Is this a prank? If so please stop it, don't pretend like you're her."

Yep, and it goes on and on and on. They were right, you didn't look like someone who would win contests or excel in class.

You constantly wore clothes that hid your form, silent unless spoken to or asked to answer, distant and reserved, you preferred the company of books and nature to the rowdiness and prying hands of humans. A sociopath they deemed you. Quite an extreme word to use when you simply wanted to enjoy the only things that made you happy in this living hell.

You only know a handful of people who approached you first-hand and praised you genuinely, even asking for an autograph, which really surprised you.

Yet, they would never understand you even if you explained, because you can't, words evade you when it comes down to voice out what you feel. Even if you can, no one would care. And even if they did? You doubt it was real. Everyone wants to use you, and they seem to believe you'd let them. You didn't trust anyone. The last time you did only left you sobbing on the dirt.

You wanted to be left alone.

To connect with nature and get as far away as possible from your parents. Parents who kept shouting profanities at each other, the main cause for your depression and anxiety levels to skyrocket, the shaking turning into trembling, 7 hours of sleep to barely a blink.

That's why you agreed to go in the first place.

You hated your household—despised it— a mess of broken shards of bottles and ceramics littered your kitchen floor more often than not. You didn't bother cleaning it up anymore, your mother would just waste away her money on more things to break and throw them at your joke of a father when they fought anyway.

Not only that, you thought...No, you believed if you worked hard to be the best and win countless competitions, your parents would give you recognition and reconcile for your sake, but no, no, no. They didn't care one bit about you or your medals, it was as if you were never even included in their lives at all. Even birthday celebrations ceased to exist in everyone's books after your 13th.

So you gave up.

Down into the void, your wishful thinking went, that they'll become better people over time, that the attention and love you deserve will be given one day. Instead, you wallowed yourself in your studies, besting everyone in everything academic. Oh, but you weren't athletic. Far from it. Damn, you were getting thin and sleep-deprived from being neglected, dark circles under your eyes every time you looked at your reflection. People hating your existence wasn't helping, some teachers even suspected you of cheating.

There's no way in hell you'd let yourself get dragged down to end up like them! You were of legal age now, a fresh graduate from high school, you doubt your parents even knew that since they didn't fucking show up on your graduation day. You were moving out of that shithole of a town. Anywhere is better than where they breathed and spat their poison.

And so here you are. Standing in this breath-taking and mysterious place. Camp Crystal Lake, it is named, secluded, barely touched by modernization as it is hidden between mountains and trees as far as the eye could see. Not to mention its namesake, the lake, you imagined it would mirror the sky, be it day or night. You loved it, you adored the fresh, breathable air that went through you the moment you stepped out of the van.

You also knew about him.

Resolved to never go back to that goddamned house, you took everything you had and needed; the special little trinkets you've collected through the years shoved into a box, the few clothes you had, art materials, and your precious books carefully packed inside a big travel bag, along with your stocked up canned goods, convenience food, snacks, and toiletries.

And other, important things.

You hauled your baggage out of the van and got off, immediately moving to the side and away from everyone.

You got used to people ignoring you that you didn't care anymore.

Why waste your time with them when you can have all of it to yourself?

Eloiza led the group into the larger cabins, the others went straight into the lake for a swim. You even notice some teens disappear into the trees, most likely for a quickie.

In return, you stayed out of their way, fully satisfied being invisible and with your own company as you trudged to a cabin, the one you caught a glimpse of earlier in the van. It was a long way's separated from the rest, closest to the forest and hidden behind a few trees.

You were panting when you finally stopped in front of it, clearly not used to walking long distances and carrying stuff near as heavy as your weight.

Upon closer inspection, you found yourself gaping at its appearance. The wooden walls lost their color as they aged, white and brown mushrooms grew on the ground along with green moss sticking to the beams, and a few vines crawling their way up and on the roof. Despite all of that, the cabin looked sturdy still.

There's this "one with nature" vibe that drew you to it, like a string pulling you closer and inviting you. Ominous most would say, but you almost cried when the rich scent of earth and oxygen filled your lungs as you took one big inhale, sighing in content for once. It was a lot smaller compared to the others, but you didn't care. As long as you were left alone with your stuff you were a-okay.

Perfect.

You turned the knob and peeked inside, letting out a small gasp and opening the door wider to see the whole thing.

Old as it is, it was proper and neat, regardless of the tiny cobwebs on the upper corners. A small, square dining table sat in the middle of the first part of the place, two wooden stools placed underneath. There were cupboards on the wall and a simple sink with an empty space to the side. You went to the next room, doorless and separated with but a wall of thick plywood. It had a single bed in the corner, off-white cotton sheets sitting atop, not a wrinkle in sight. No pillow though. There's a decent-sized closet along with a small table on one side of the bed. One of the windows had a hole in the middle, a ray of sunlight streaming in through the cracks. It was too big for the size of a gunshot, so maybe a rock.

A bit hesitant, your fingers traced the wood, feeling the inconsistent texture. When you went through the back door, your smile reached your ears when trunks of trees and bushes greeted you...

Wait, is that what you think it is?

Stepping closer to the treeline, your jaw dropped when you spotted a thicket of fruit-bearing plants past them, gathered in a tiny clearing.

Blueberries.

Purple little cuties poked out of the green shrubs, sporting a vibrant hue that caught your eye. The sun shone overhead and providing the energy they needed. Blueberries managed to grow in the area despite the trees fencing them.

Tempted and suspicious, you crouched down, inspecting the shrub if it really was a blueberry plant and not a deadly doppelganger. Once you were sure it was, (it would be hilarious if you simply died from nighshade poisoning), you plucked one and brought it to your mouth. It was sweeter than you expected, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. You hummed in delight, wiping the juice with your thumb when it dribbled out, staining your finger and lips.

You didn't want to anger anybody. Hell, coming here was already trespassing, so you didn't push your luck and left it alone, hoping they'd forgive you for picking one. They surely didn't look wild with the way they lined up.

You scanned the rest of the area, eventually going back inside to unpack after your little evaluation.

-

The sun was a hand's away from setting when you finished. Pride swelled in your chest at the work you did, your things stocked and organized with care inside the cabinets and drawers. You won't have to worry about your food for now as cupboards were filled to the brim with them. You also had a decent amount of money left from your savings account that your parents weren't aware of. Prize money, allowance, and the salary you got from doing online jobs all went into it. The camp was a few miles off the road, and a couple more to the nearest gas station with a convenience store. Very far yes, but it's better than living with the people who made you do this in the first place.

You just hoped you wouldn't die walking.

Everything was worth it, anyways. You were free now, at least that's what you think.

You trudged to the bed, eyeing the cushions, wary and a little scared to touch the sheets that appeared to be cleaned just recently, you didn't even lay a finger on them ever since you got inside. Oh, but your tired muscles were screaming to just flump down and relax.

So you did.

You dumped yourself face first and inhaled. It wasn't smelly nor fragrant, just the simple freshness on the cotton fabric. You felt beat but ain't sleepy, yet, so you reached to the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a book to pass the time as you waited for the sun to go down and give way for the moon. Its spine and pages had creases, worn out and yellow-stained from age and use. It was a horror-mystery novel told through a first-person narrative, a story of a middle-aged detective and her Maine coon in their attempts to solve a murder case of a young European lady named Cassandra Chase.

You dozed off in the middle of chapter 21, the part where Dinnie, the cat, discovers a valuable clue to the crime, a rotten limb in the dried basement well.

—

—

Jason settled down on the stairs of his porch; shoulders relaxed and hunched as he leisurely sharpened his machete with a small whetstone. Lines of sunlight kissed him through the leaves of trees, the birds in the area chirped on their perches, and the grass swayed, gentle, as a cool wind passed by.

His day be so fine. No troublemakers to deal wi—

The alarm rang, announcing unwelcomed arrival. As if a switch flipped inside, he's already on his feet, making his way swiftly to their location.

A new batch of wretched youngsters, another day ruined. Hunting them down makes his blood thrum in his veins, yes, but they soured his mood, just when he was at peace. He's dead set on slaughtering them in the most gruesome ways possible, only then he could go back and enjoy the serenity the nature around him brings.

He surveyed the area, camouflaging with the wilderness, silent as he watched and counted the soon-to-be corpses, his mother's voice at the back of his mind, guiding him.

They decided to go either to the main cabins, or the lake...even into the trees.

All but one.

Jason already planned to cut down the couple later as they lose themselves in the forest, doing nasty, dirty things to his camp. The killer shifted his attention to you, curious as to why you didn't join the lot. Instead, you walked back down the road. He followed and saw you approach the small cabin, separated from the rest, your eyes widened...

Adoration?

You were quiet— except for the little gasps of awe you let out in between pants—as you looked around and over the place. The ones you came with were rowdy and destructive, a complete opposite. He hid as he observed you from afar, moving around to adjust his vision on you. You smiled every time you looked to the trees, he noticed.

Why were you smiling like that? Why did you pick this cabin? Were you planning on defiling it?

The last question in his mind made his blood boil. He'll kill you first if that was the case. That cabin you chose was special, it was where he and his mother used to stay. He occasionally visits that one to keep it clean and free of dust. If you even think of—

Jason, sweetie...look closer. She does not have such intentions.

His mother's words rang in his head. Even from where he stood, he could see what you did inside. You looked a little hesitant, touching and drawing back your hand before letting your fingers feel the wood as if it was something delicate. Despite the initial...shyness? You proceeded to make it your home, somewhat, dropping the large duffel bags you carried on your front and back, and a similarly large roller case on your left. It was as if you planned to stay for a long time.

Jason hears you take a long breath and sigh as you went out the backdoor. You grinned wider when you saw the nature around you. You stepped forward, straight in his direction...

For a moment he thought you saw him, seeing your jaw drop. You moved closer, and he just froze there, until you crouched down.

Oh, his plants.

He watched you as you gently picked a fruit, your gaze...soft. You brought it to your mouth, some of the juice spilling on the side and you wiped it with your thumb.

Cute.

You went back inside and continued to unpack your things, carefully maneuvering around the cabin.

Maybe he'll spare you if you continue to be good. You didn't do anything dirty, yet. It's only a matter of time before the camp is shrouded in darkness and his hunt will begin.

Let's see what you'll do before that happens.

-

Jason tracked down the three that went into the forest. He knew the place like the back of his hand, and it was easier to pinpoint them as he heard moans.

What he saw was utmost disgusting, two girls pleasuring a male with their mouths in broad daylight.

Kill them, my boy! Such foul beings need to die! Kill them, kill!

He circled them, steps soundless. Jason gripped his machete and brought it down the guy's neck, embedding the weapon into the bark, the head rolled down, oozing with blood, and fell against the women, drenching them in red. Not a single cry left from their mouths as he sliced both with one swing, blood pouring out of their throats and staining the ground. Jason dragged their bodies and tossed them into a pit he dug beforehand, making quick work in burying them.

A swift end. Now he waits.

[kimannhart]

a belated birthday fic for my sweet jess @lovelyirony. hope you like this!!

~~

Interestingly enough, the Twitter account had been Bruce’s idea. 

“Tony, admit it. This is a great idea! We can talk about how hot...” Bruce paused and looked around for their teammates. After seeing Clint sitting on top of the fridge, he decided to play it safe, dropped his voice down to a whisper, and not mention any names, “... they are without them knowing.”

Tony looked at Bruce unconvincingly. “I dunno, Brucie. Don’t you think they’ll know?”

“Only if we make it obvious.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation before Tony sighs, fully giving into the idea. “Okay.”

“Yes!”

~~

@songsandfoods: Hi, we’re a new Twitter account. I am Sad Songs. I share this account with my friend, Breakfast Burritos, and we will be using this account to mainly talk about our crushes. Hope you enjoy our ramblings! -S.S.

@songsandfoods: I saw a new pap photo of James today. Gosh, he just looked so elegant wearing that navy blue polo of his. The way his arms just looked so buff? I’m swooning. - S.S.

@songsandfoods: I didn’t see Thor today, but I know he looked good. - B.B.

@songsandfoods: Not to be horny on the main, but like... Thor could rail me if he wanted to - B.B.

@songsandfoods: I! Just! Want! To! Hold! James’s! Hand! :( Why must he be so many miles away from me? This isn’t fair. - S.S.

@songsandfoods: Thor went on Instagram Live today, but his himbo ass didn’t know how to work it. He’s so dumb, oh my god I love him - B.B.

@songsandfoods: I wanna run my fingers through Thor’s hair and just braid it. He’d look so cute with braids, don’t ya think? - B.B.

@thorsbby: omg is this like a thirst account for thor and whoever tf james is??

@songsandfoods: @thorsbby “whoever tf james is” Excuse me, but James is War Machine, A.K.A. one of the members of the Avengers. Please have some respect for him. He’s been helping in saving the world for years now. We will not tolerate James/War Machine slander. Thank you! :) - S.S.

@songsandfoods: @thorsbby But to also to answer your question, yes this is basically a “thirst account” - S.S.

@songsandfoods: I saw the tweet that Sad Songs replied to and I would like to reiterate that we will not tolerate any slander/insults/etc of ANY members of the Avengers... except for Steve/Captain America - B.B.

@lolcptspangles: wait, why is steve the only exception???? 

@songsandfoods: @lolcptspangles Because he admitted that he pours his milk before his cereal, and for that he deserves all of the insults - B.B.

@lolcptspangles: ya kno what? that’s fair. steve you’re my fave but that behavior??? no thnx (jk i still love u steve)

@falconsarms: steve when he sees these tweets: 😢

@songsandfoods: James’s arms look so inviting. Oh, how I would kill to be held in those arms. - S.S.

@songsandfoods: Just imagine it: James and I are cuddling in bed together, lazily watching some terrible Hallmark Christmas movie. He gives me kisses on the forehead and gives his funny commentary on the movie. I nuzzle closer into his neck. Ugh, heaven. - S.S.

@songsandfoods: lkasnfdlaksdg THOR IN A SUIT! THOR IN A SUIT! THOR IN A SUIT! IDLKFASDG  - B.B.

@songsandfoods: Okay, I am calm now. BUT LIKE THOR LOOKED SO GOOD WEARING THAT SUIT AT THE GALA TONIGHT OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDD. THE WAY THOSE SUIT PANTS HUGGED HIS ASS OH MY GOD - B.B.

@songsandfoods: The moment I saw James in his floral suit, my heart bursted out of my chest. I just wanted to cry at how handsome he looked. - S.S.

@blackwidowsgirl: @songsandfoods this account is so cute! i love the difference between the two of you. Sad Songs is all about waxing poetics and Breakfast Burritos is just... horny. Anyway! What is your favorite thing about your respective crushes?

@songsandfoods: @blackwidowsgirl Thank you for your love and support! And for me, I just love the way James just seems like a no nonsense person, but really is just a big old dork. Also, love your Twitter handle!! - S.S.

@songsandfoods: @blackwidowsgirl Thanks for the love and support. But to answer your question, idk I just love how much of a teddy bear Thor is, but he can instantly become protective/warrior-like. But also, his hair, love his hair - B.B.

@wintersoldierslove: lkasndfklas thor and james did a joint photoshoot, i can’t wait to see @songsandfoods tweets for it

@songsandfoods: @wintersoldierslove THEY DID A WHAT NOW?! - S.S.

@songsandfoods: OH MY GOD!!!! I’M CRYING. THOR LOOKS SO GOOD!!! - B.B.

@songsandfoods: THOR DID HIS HAIR IN BRAIDS!!! I’M !!!! - B.B.

@songsandfoods: James. James. James!!!! - S.S.

@songsandfoods: James did an entire look of him dressed up as a Jedi! He even had a light saber!! He’s such a dork, I love him so much. - S.S.

~~

Though, the Twitter account only lasted for a year and a half before Thor and James found out about it. In fact the moment that the two found out, that’s the reason they had a photoshoot together.

~~

Bruce and Tony were currently sitting at the dining table on the common floor, tossing various ideas back and forth when Thor and James slid signed photos of themselves to the two men. 

The photo Bruce received said, To my beloved Breakfast Burrito, I hope you enjoy this signed photo of myself. I made sure to pick a photo that showed off my best ASSests ;) <3 Thor

While the photo Tony received said, To Sad Songs, your tweets were cute. I picked a photo of me wearing your favorite polo and flexed my biceps for you. :) Your James

Bruce and Tony’s cheeks instantly turned red. 

Tony clears his throat, “So, uh, you know about the Twitter account?”

Thor and James nod. 

Bruce scratches the back of his neck. “Who told you? Or how did you find out?”

“Bucky told me during our weekly James night like three months ago.”

“And how did he find out?” Tony asks.

“He told me he and Sam like to look for Steve complaints on Twitter to send in their group chat with Steve to tease him and he ended up finding your account. He didn’t know it was your account until he hear Tony asking JARVIS to send a tweet in the lab when he went down for arm maintenance. And then from there it was obvious to who the other person could be.” James explains. “I actually didn’t believe him at first, but then I saw Bruce typing out a tweet as I walked by him one day. And then I immediately went to check the account and sure enough the tweet I saw Bruce typing was there.”

The two men sheepishly smile, a bit embarrassed at their lack of awareness of those around them when they were tweeting.

“Wait, three months ago? So, the two of you knew and didn’t say anything?” Bruce looks at the two in shock.

“Aye,” Thor nods. “We wanted to present you two with a delightful photoshoot of us before we revealed we knew.”

"And since we know now,” James wraps an arm around Tony’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “How about we go out on a double date?”

~~

@songsandfoods: *Photo of Thor and James kissing Bruce and Tony’s respective cheeks.* Our crushes found out who ran this account, but I guess it’s okay because we’re boyfriends now :) - Sad Songs and Breakfast Burritos

[thoughtsofahouseplant]

I definitely agree about the Humbert Humbert comparison. Something I found really interesting is how, if I recall correctly, you compared him (Angel) to Macbeth at one point. Because you’re completely right. I’m assuming you were referring, specifically, to the “That wasn’t really ME committing atrocities” level of cognitive dissonance. I’ve also compared him to Dr. Jekyll before, while we’re comparing him to famous villain protagonists.

Thank you!! And ye, I did! Macbeth is another villianous character who never really sees himself as villainous, and makes elaborate justifications as to why he's making the choices he is.

Dr. Jekyll is a great comparison, omg. The question w Angel is always how morally culpable we can hold him for his actions as Angelus, like Jekyll vs Hyde or Macbeth vs His Girlboss Wife Was Peer Pressuring Him a Lot. Like, how much is real excuses and how much is self-delusion bc the character doesn't want to admit that darker aspect of his personality even to himself? So much of buffy is about that divide between self and shadow self, and Angel/Angelus is one of the most interesting dynamics imo

[missjanjie]

7 + 31 with all stars!au jankie/sportkura? :)))

ok this kinda turned into jankie + third wheel rock but i swear that wasnt my original intent lmao

7. “You are a rotted, evil bitch.” / 31. “You can’t fraternize with the enemy.”

-

The All Stars lineup looked to be a solid cast. Jan, Jackie, and Rock were representing their season, and naturally gravitated towards each other. While they had promised not to make any official alliances, it didn’t take long for Rock to notice that Jan and Jackie might have trouble adhering to that rule.

“Congrats on your win,” Rock said to Jan after the girl group challenge. “Did you get the redemption from the Madonna fiasco?”

Jan smiled broadly. “I like to think so, yeah.”

Jackie came up behind Jan, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “Hey, what have I told you?” he playfully scolded, “you can’t fraternize with the enemy.”

Rock gasped in mock-offense. “Oh, so I’m the enemy now?”

“You were on another team, so this week, yes,” Jackie replied with certainty. He had been the team captain that week, and Ru had hardly gotten a chance to ask who he wanted to pick first before he blurted out Jan’s name. Of course, no one would question his motives when it came to picking Jan for a girl group challenge.

But if there was anyone that might know differently, it would be Rock. And while he wouldn’t blow up their spot on camera, he would still make fun of them whenever the opportunity presented itself. He watched the way Jan leaned comfortably into Jackie’s arms and smirked. “So, what, I have to suck your dick to stay on your good side too?”

While Jan threw his head back in laughter, Jackie turned bright red and hid his face in his hands. “That is slander, Rock!”

“Was it that bad?” Jan teased, pretending to sound sincerely hurt.

“You can’t take her side,” Jackie huffed indignantly, then redirected his attention to Rock. “You are a rotted, evil bitch,” he chastised.

Rock just grinned even wider. “Me thinks thou doth protest too much, Jacqueline,” he cooed before getting called over to do his confessionals.

Once Rock - and anyone else for that matter - was out of earshot, Jackie focused back on Jan. “To answer your question: no, it was fantastic, just like everything else you do.” The change in his tone was almost comically obvious, especially when he followed it up by pressing a kiss to Jan’s forehead.

Jan hummed contently, leaning back into him. “Good save, babe.”

[honeypiehotchner]

Beautiful Stranger (Chris Evans x OFC) -- part thirteen

Hello, I come bearing an extra-long chapter (3.5k words, in case you wanted to know) full of fluff and of course, angst. The gif is 100% stolen from a Google search because my tumblr is glitching and wouldn’t show me any gifs??? But it’s from his movie Before We Go.

Warnings: This isn’t a serious trigger warning, but it is a trigger warning. Toward the end of the chapter, there are mentions/talks that allude to a suicide attempt/that kind of dark mindset. Please be safe as you read xx.

Jack might have a heart attack. I’m genuinely concerned that he might.

I told Camile and Jack to come to my apartment first. Mainly because I’d rather walk them to Chris’s apartment than have them get lost trying to find it. I also need Jack to get all of his questions and excitement out of his system before we go over to Chris’s.

“Will there be wine?” Camile asks, leaning against the doorway to my bedroom while I grab some stuff.

“Probably,” I shrug. “Do you want some? I’m sure he can get some.”

Camile gives me a look.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she smiles. “Just glad to see you so happy.”

“Stop that,” I scold her quietly, flipping the light off and backing her back out into the living room, where Jack is practically vibrating with excitement from my couch. “Hey Jack.”

“Hey!” He says, a little too loudly, and stands, a wide grin on his face. “Is it really Chris Evans?”

“Jack,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “You know I love you, but you’re going to have to calm down.”

“I’m calm.”

Camile gives her soulmate a pointed look. “Honey.”

“What?” Jack counters. “I’m calm.”

“Okay, well,” I sigh. “I need you to get all of this,” I wave my hands around, “out of your system. Please?”

“Okay,” he takes a deep breath. “So, it’s really Chris Evans?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, it is. It’s really Chris Evans, Captain America, Steve...Rogers?”

Jack’s eyes widen. “You don’t even know?”

“Okay, please, don’t,” I laugh. “It’s not a big deal. My soulmate is Chris Evans, not Captain America.” I pause. “Scarlett and Sebastain are coming, too, just a warning.”

“Oh, Camile told me,” he waves his hand, trying to play it cool. “I won’t pass out.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes-- No. I’ll be fine.” He shakes his hands out. “When are we going?”

I check the time and shrug a little. “I’m cool with going now if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” he gives both of us a look like we’re the crazy ones.

“If you say so,” Camile walks over and smooths her hands down his arm, linking her fingers with his. “You’re not going to pass out.”

He nods firmly. “I’m not going to pass out.”

+++

Jack almost passes out.

Well, he really doesn’t come close. He does go pale and freeze, though. Which causes Chris to have some mild concern.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Chris asks, whispering right into my ear -- which he really shouldn’t do because let’s just say it makes me want to tackle him in the least appropriate way possible.

But I keep myself under control. “Yeah,” I nod. “Give him a minute.”

Meanwhile, Dodger is jumping on Jack’s legs, and I swear the dog has magical soothing powers, because it breaks Jack’s frozen state enough for him to join the conscious world again.

Once Jack stands, he’s still got the deer in the headlights looking at him, but he actually looks Chris in the eyes. “Hi.”

Chris has to try not to lose it and laugh right there. I shove his shoulder when I hear his noise of resistance.

“Hey man,” Chris sticks out his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” Jack asks, shaking Chris’s hand. “You know about me?”

“Sure,” Chris shows his blinding smile, slipping his arm around my waist. “She talks about you guys a lot.” He presses a kiss to the side of my head and I try my hardest not to blush.

He didn’t even kiss me when we got here and it made me question my decision of coming over with Jack and Camile instead of having them find his place.

“A lot, huh?” Camile teases.

“I told him how you Googled him and Instagram-stalked him,” I snicker.

“I have zero shame,” she counters.

“Scarlet and Seb should be over any minute,” Chris interjects. “Dinner is in the oven and on the stove, but you guys can move the party to the living room.”

“Oh, it’s a party now?” I joke.

“A very small party,” he clarifies. “Wanna help me with dinner?”

I see the hint of another question in his eyes, so I nod. “Of course.”

Camile and Jack run off with Dodger into the living room while Chris tugs me by the hand into the kitchen. He waits until we’re around the wall to pull me closer, nudging my nose with his.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, then flicks his eyes to meet mine.

“Please.”

That’s all he needs to hear and I swear I hear him sigh in relief when he presses his lips to mine, his hands cradling my face. My hands have a mind of their own, smoothing over his chest and shoulders, wrapping around his neck when he shifts to wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. 

The timer on the stove interrupts us, and scares Chris a little because I feel him when he flinches, pulling away with a laugh. “Duty calls.”

“Mm, does it have to?”

He pecks my lips once before turning around, checking whatever it is in the oven. “Unless I want the smoke alarm going off, then unfortunately it does.”

“Fine,” I pout, mostly in jest. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he nods, turning back around to face me. “Had to go in for some reshoots, but they just took an hour.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Why’d you have to reshoot?”

He smiles, steps closer and grabs my hands. “Someone,” he says softly, leaning in until he’s so close to my ear it might as well be sinful, “was laughing and it showed on my face.”

“I’m sure that someone is very sorry,” I chuckle.

He shakes his head. “She shouldn’t be.”

I raise an eyebrow. “No?”

He shakes his head again. “No.” He kisses my forehead tenderly, his smile infectious. “I never want to stop hearing you laugh.”

“Cheeseball,” I chuckle, smiling up at him. “I never wanna stop hearing you laugh either.”

Just like that, he’s pulling me back in for another kiss, hands smoothing over my back and pressing me closer to him. You’d think he hasn’t seen me in more than a few days with the way he’s kissing me.

“Alright, alright, break it up, you two.”

Chris pulls away and the only way I can describe his face is annoyed as he looks at whoever spoke. I turn my neck and find the culprit, and it’s none other than Sebastian Stan.

“The infamous Sebastian,” I snicker, turning around to face him.

“Infamous?” Sebastian grins wide, eyes twinkling. “I like her already. You must be the infamous Eva.”

“In the flesh,” I nod, feeling Chris’s arms loop around my waist. “Where’s Scarlett?”

“Right here,” she says when she rounds the corner, bottle of wine in hand. “I brought wine.”

“A woman after my own heart,” I breathe, stepping out of Chris’s arms to give her a hug around her neck. “How’d you know?”

“Wine is always needed,” she replies seriously.

Camile and Jack come filtering into the kitchen, Jack looking just about as pale as he did when he met Chris, causing me to chuckle.

“Scarlett, Seb, this is my best friend Camile and her soulmate, Jack,” I gesture to the couple. “Jack is a super fan, so give him a few minutes.”

“He’ll warm up in a second,” Camile promises. “It’s so nice to meet you guys.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” Scarlett gives Camile a hug. “Chris has told me about you. You stalked him on Instagram?”

“You told her about that?” I give him a look.

“It was so funny,” he admits. “Scarlett got it out of me.”

“Of course she did,” I tease, and she winks.

“Well, I approve,” Scarlett nods firmly. “I’ve done the same to all my friends. Big shot or not, I have to know everything.”

“Anyone else feeling a little uncomfortable being stalked?” Sebastian holds up his hand, but his smile stretches across his lips.

“Oh, shut up, Seb, you deserve to be Googled,” Chris interjects.

“The slander,” Seb places a hand over his heart, looking to me for help. “Are you hearing this?” 

I nod. “I’m hearing it.”

Chris laughs loudly, his arm resting around my waist to tug me in for a kiss on my temple. The small gesture is enough to make me blush and bite back a smile.

Scarlett shoos us all into the living room, leaving Sebastian and Chris with Jack, who has slowly come back to us. Scarlett brings the wine with her, and Chris brings glasses a moment later, kissing the top of my head one last time before disappearing into the kitchen.

I flash a smile to him over my shoulder as he goes.

And as soon as he’s gone, Scarlett is pouring wine and handing me a glass. “Spill. All details.”

“What?”

Camile nods vigorously. “Took the words right out of my mouth. Spill.”

“What am I spilling?” I ask, taking a sip of the wine. Chris must’ve told her my favorite is white. This is good.

“Details!” Camile urges, tapping my knee. “He’s kissed you by now, hasn’t he?”

“He better,” Scarlett chimes, handing Camile a glass of wine. “If he hasn’t, he’s practically all over you already--”

“He has!” I confess, wanting to end that sentence before it got even wilder. “Okay? We have. We were,” I lower my voice, a heat settling over my cheeks, “making out when he pulled me into the kitchen earlier.”

“I knew it!” Camile almost yells, pointing an accusatory finger my way. “When did he?” She pauses. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sorry,” I smile, feeling bad now. “Just...slipped my mind, I guess. I wanted-- I don’t know, to keep it to myself, I guess? It felt too-- Oh, this is stupid.”

“No, it’s not,” Scarlett interrupts. “It’s sweet. Chris didn’t tell any of us either, not even me, and I usually get all the secrets.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Chris and I have known each other way too long. And when I say way too long, I mean way too long.”

I snicker into my glass. “He’s told me. He said you call him out on his bullshit.”

“Damn right I do!” Scarlett laughs. “You know, before he met you, he was on set one day and could barely focus. And it was because he hadn’t heard you that day, and he was so down because he was so worried about you. All it took was me telling him that you hadn’t heard him either if he was moping around, and then he quit it.”

“I remember that day,” I think a little. “I hadn’t heard from him. I mean, that wasn’t why I wasn’t laughing, but it was strange not hearing from him. I felt a little better when I did. So, thanks for that,” I tease, nudging her arm.

In our lull, we hear Jack laugh loudly about something the guys must’ve said, and Camile visibly sighs in relief.

“I was wondering when he’d get comfortable,” she shakes her head. “I’m just glad he didn’t pass out.”

“Me too,” I chuckle.

“Was that Jack?” Scarlett asks.

Camile nods, listening for a moment, hearing them talking about something. “He’s thawed out now, I guess.”

I hear Chris say, “Watch this,” before I hear the familiar clicks of Dodger’s paws against the kitchen tile. I roll my eyes, knowing Chris is showing off Dodger’s tricks to Jack. Hearing Jack’s voice though, sounding much closer to how he normally sounds, makes it worth it.

+++

Dinner comes and goes, everyone enjoying Chris’s cooking -- and Camile making some comment about how lucky I am to have a man that cooks, earning her a look of hurt from Jack. He’s never been able to cook, and burns even toast. It’s a running joke.

We retire to the living room, Dodger asleep on my lap with his head on Chris’s knee. We’ve slowed down on the wine, not wanting to get completely drunk off our ass, but the buzz is a little nice.

It’s reminiscent of the buzz I had when I first met Chris, and I tell him.

“Oh, I remember,” Camile interjects. “We had been out at dinner and had...too much wine.”

“You didn’t look drunk,” Chris offers.

“I wasn’t drunk,” I defend. “Just buzzed.”

“You didn’t tell me she ran off the elevator!” Sebastian smacks Chris’s arm. “That’s like the opposite of the normal effect you have on women.”

Chris shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Fuck off.”

“It’s fine,” I nudge his ribs. “I’m not oblivious to you being a ladies’ man.”

“Just yours,” he assures me, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You guys disgust me,” Seb says, but he’s grinning around the neck of his beer bottle, and says, “Hey!” when Scarlett reaches over and shoves the back of his head.

“I think you’re adorable,” Scarlett corrects him. “And I’m really glad you found each other. Chris was about to drive me crazy.”

“I was not,” he groans.

“Man, you were,” Seb confirms. “He couldn’t focus. I swear, it was like pulling teeth trying to get him to snap out of it.”

“Wait, Bucky and Steve have scenes together?”

Jack’s question brings all conversation to a halt. We had honestly all forgotten he is as big of a fan as he is because he finally settled into himself as the night went on -- and as he had a beer or two.

Seb glances back and forth between me, Chris, and Jack. “Uh.”

“You can’t say anything anywhere,” I blurt, knowing how serious spoilers are. “You can’t even-- Please, don’t go talking about this dinner at work, either, please.”

“Okay,” Jack nods seriously. “No problem. Never mind.” He pauses. “I want to be surprised when I see the movie, anyway, so no spoilers.”

“Don’t need to worry about that,” Sebastian chuckles awkwardly. “I barely know what’s going on.”

“And Chris never talks about it,” I tease.

“I don’t like coming home and talking about being a movie star,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders. “I like to just be normal.”

“He also doesn’t get the full script,” Scarlett juts in, earning laughs all around.

“Wait, so that’s true? They don’t give you guys the full script?” Camile asks. “I thought it was some rumor to make it more mysterious.”

“It’s mysterious, that’s for sure,” Scarlett nods. “We get blacked out scripts and things. It’s weird.”

“How do you even know what to do?”

“We wing it,” Seb winks.

“That’s not comforting at all,” I joke. “Maybe now I know why I never watched the movies.”

“You never watched them because you told me Chris was too hot.”

“That’s not what I said!” I give Camile a look. “Not what I said.”

“What did you say?” She grins.

“Okay,” I breathe, glancing over at Chris’s blinding smile. “Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I roll my eyes at Chris’s expression. “I just said that you were too… Okay, Camile said you were my ‘type’ or whatever that means, but I said I didn’t have the time to get...involved.”

“Involved?” Chris’s curious tone is enough, but then everyone else looks curious, too, and I really don’t want to explain this any further.

“I used to fantasize about...people I found attractive a lot because I didn’t know you yet,” I gesture to Chris, “and because I wasn’t-- This isn’t supposed to be dark, this is supposed to be fun!” I protest.

“It’s fine, we’ve all heard worse probably,” Seb shrugs. 

“You don’t have to,” Chris ignores his friend.

“Yeah,” Camile nods. “I’m sorry.”

“No, girl, you’re good,” I smile. “Point is, I thought you were too pretty,” I tease Chris. “Too pretty to watch the movies.”

“Who would’ve known that Chris’s good looks would steer viewers away?” Seb jokes.

And just like that, the party is back on track.

+++

Chris doesn’t bring it up again until after everyone has left, leaving just me, him, and Dodger in his apartment. I’m sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in hand while he loads the dishwasher -- he wouldn’t let me help -- when he finally asks.

“I knew you were going to ask,” I chuckle, hanging my head.

He stops putting the plate on the rack and gives me a serious look. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” I smile, sipping the wine. “It’s a little stupid.”

“No, I doubt it’s stupid.” Chris plays Tetris with the pans and plates. “But we really don’t have to talk about it. I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m okay,” I pause. “It’s just-- I mean, I told you already that I never really thought I’d ever find my soulmate -- that I’d be better off just...staying alone.”

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Well, I mean, my parents never really...had a good relationship, I guess. A lot of screaming, a lot of fighting, a lot of wishing they’d never met.” I focus on my wine, swirling it in the glass. “It gave me this really bad connection to soulmates and it was about a year or two ago, I think, when Camile showed me your face. Well, Steve’s face, it was your first movie. I barely saw a glimpse and I’ve never heard of this happening but I just felt something. I don’t know, but whatever it was, it scared the shit out of me.

“I didn’t avoid watching the movies because I thought you were too pretty -- even-- even though I do,” I snicker, looking up to see he’s smiling a little, too. “I avoided it because I guess I had this subconscious fear that it really was you and that you did exist, and I didn’t like that feeling, even the idea of it. I talked myself out of it super quickly. Because I had never heard of anyone feeling the connection to their soulmate’s appearance, and because the idea, I guess, that I really did have a soulmate scared me.”

“I’m sorry…”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I was in a really bad place at the time.”

“About a year ago?”

I look up at his question, nodding slowly. “Why?” His expression is unreadable, but I can tell he’s thinking.

“That makes a lot of sense.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “Why?”

“It was really-- You were really quiet a year ago. I thought I’d lost you.”

My heart feels like it physically broke. I didn’t even think about the fact that he would’ve been affected by that, too. I wasn’t thinking about a soulmate then, if I’m honest. I’d given up on the idea and just...given up on myself.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, not wanting to meet his eyes anymore. “I-I didn’t think--”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he interrupts me, stepping forward to get me to look at him. “Are you okay now?”

“I’m a lot better now,” I nod seriously. “I’m sorry I was so quiet, I was...I wasn’t myself. You can ask Camile, even she was...worried.”

“Worried?”

Better to tell him now while we’re on the subject, than to let it almost slip out again at a a party.

“You didn’t lose me,” I say slowly, quietly. “But almost.”

“Almost?” Chris asks, taking another step closer. 

I finally look up, setting my glass to the side as I watch it all dawn on him. I watch the sadness swarm his eyes and I see his frown so deep I worry it’ll become permanent. And this was exactly what I didn’t want to happen. For him to look at me differently, for him to see maybe I’m not the soulmate he wanted -- or expected.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that year was-- I didn’t know you’d be able to feel that because I just wasn’t even thinking--”

My words are cut off by the weight of Chris’s arms around me, enveloping me in the warmest hug he’s ever given me. And maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the way he makes me feel, or maybe it’s a combination of everything, but tears well up in my eyes and spill over.

Chris’s hold on me tightens after I sniffle the first time, and then he’s kissing the top of my head while I’m sobbing into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry--”

“Shhh, stop,” Chris’s voice wavers. “Stop it.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing more tears out. “I--”

“Stop,” he scolds gently. “You don’t need to say sorry to me. You were hurting. I just wish I--” He pauses, his voice breaking, and he takes a deep breath, his hand holding the back of my head. “I wish I knew you then so I could’ve helped you.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. I press my face into his neck, taking a deep breath, hating the way it shakes when I let it go.

“Stay tonight,” he says suddenly. “Please.”

I’m already feeling drained, but it doesn’t take any energy from me to reply. “Okay.”