#i watch scenes with roger and imagine him....

[aaimlesss]

hmmk week day 5: free day i've been meaning to redraw screenshots from 101 dalmatians with them for SO LONG

[meraki-sunset]

I imagine Steve and Pyronica like that one scene from Roger Rabbit

Pyronica: I have to find my darling boyfriend. I am so worried.

Bill: Seriously, what do you see in him?

Pyronica: He makes me laugh.

i love "Who framed Roger Rabbit" so fucking much Grew up watching it and as an animator and having learned about it in film class, i need to watch it again

[amethystarachnid]

Hey there! Can I request for Marvel Bingo “marriage of convenience” for Steve Rogers and female reader.

I’m not sure if you’re still taking requests, I just want to share what I have in mind, it’s up to you if you want to consider it.

So, Steve and reader both belong to influential families and Steve picked reader over her elder sister (Sharon/Peggy) to marry. They’ve known each other since childhood and Steve has been secretly in love with her but he doesn’t show and doesn’t even know if she likes him. So he gets married to her to protect her from her family. His love language is taking care of her… like a slow burn, a build up towards a passionate and beautiful confession of their feelings. If you wana make it spicy, that’ll be cherry on top.

MARRIAGE

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.3k

ᯓ★ TW(s): some little spicy scenes (2)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The polished mahogany table between you gleams under the dim light of the private study. You sit with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you try to keep your expression neutral. Across from you, Steve Rogers leans forward, his broad shoulders casting long shadows across the room. His blue eyes—soft, concerned, and endlessly patient—are fixed on you, but you avoid them, focusing instead on the crest embroidered into the sleeve of his finely tailored jacket.

The Rogers family crest.

The room is too warm, the air heavy with the scent of aged leather and wood polish. You’ve been in this study a hundred times before. It’s where your father and his friends would discuss business deals that shaped entire industries, where your sister Sharon would charm visiting dignitaries with her effortless wit and poise. You, on the other hand, always felt out of place here, like a child wearing shoes too big to fill.

But tonight, you are here for something far more personal.

“I won’t pretend this is how I imagined things going,” Steve begins, his voice steady but tinged with something unnameable—regret, maybe, or resignation. “But it’s clear to me that... things can’t continue as they are.”

Your breath catches, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something foolish. Of course, he doesn’t mean you specifically. He’s talking about your family, your situation. You know Steve well enough to recognize when he’s treading carefully, picking his words with the precision of a man dismantling a bomb.

“I know your father,” he continues, his jaw tightening briefly, “and I know what kind of man he is. The kind of... expectations he has for you and Sharon.”

You flinch at the mention of her name, your elder sister, the golden child of your family. Sharon was meant to marry Steve, not you. Everyone knew it; the whispers at gala events, the approving nods from their respective parents, the way Sharon carried herself around him like a queen certain of her crown.

And yet, it was you Steve had chosen.

The memory of that announcement still makes your heart race, even now, months later. It had been surreal, watching your father’s barely concealed fury, Sharon’s stunned disbelief. You hadn’t been able to look at Steve that night, terrified your face would betray the feelings you’ve kept locked away for years.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself back to the present. “Steve, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the intensity of his gaze makes it impossible to breathe. “You don’t deserve what they’ve done to you. What they’re still doing to you.”

The words hang in the air between you, raw and unvarnished.

“I want to help,” he says softly.

Your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice. He means it. He always means what he says—one of the many reasons you’ve loved him since you were too young to understand what love even was. But you can’t let him see that now, not when everything is so precariously balanced.

“Marriage,” you murmur, testing the word as if it might shatter on your tongue. “You think that’s the answer?”

“I think it’s the best chance you’ll have to get out from under your father’s thumb,” Steve replies without hesitation. “And it’ll keep you safe.”

Safe. The word feels foreign, almost mythical, like something out of a bedtime story.

“And you?” you ask, folding your hands tighter to steady them. “What do you get out of this, Steve?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, his expression unreadable. Then he leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

“Peace of mind,” he says finally. “Knowing you’re not being hurt anymore. Knowing you’re not... alone in that house.”

Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard to keep the emotion at bay. You can’t let him see how much his words affect you, how desperately you want to believe in the future he’s offering.

“And what about Sharon?” you ask quietly.

Steve’s lips press into a thin line, and he looks away, his gaze settling somewhere over your shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he says after a moment. “She doesn’t... need me the way you do.”

The words hit you like a lightning strike, and you’re sure he can hear the hitch in your breath, even though you try to hide it.

You force yourself to nod, your mind racing. If you agree to this, you’ll be tying yourself to Steve in ways you’ve only dreamed about—and yet, it won’t be real. Not for him.

But then again, isn’t that better than nothing?

“Alright,” you say softly, the word barely audible.

Steve’s gaze snaps back to you, his brows knitting together in surprise. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gentle but insistent. “You don’t have to decide now.”

“I’m sure,” you say, more firmly this time. “If it’ll... help, then I’ll do it.”

He studies you for a long moment, and you wonder if he can see through the careful mask you’re wearing. If he knows how much of this decision is driven not by logic, but by the love you’ve kept hidden from him for so long.

Finally, he nods, a small, relieved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright,” he says. “Then we’ll make it work. Together.”

Together.

The word echoes in your mind, a promise and a torment all at once.

And as Steve begins outlining the next steps, his voice steady and reassuring, you can’t help but wonder how long you’ll be able to keep your feelings buried now that the future you’ve always wanted is so tantalizingly close—and yet, still out of reach.

The weeks pass in a blur of arrangements. You’d never thought a wedding—your wedding—would be so impersonal, a series of carefully orchestrated events where your opinion seems to matter the least. Your family dominates every decision, from the floral arrangements to the guest list, while Steve listens patiently, occasionally intervening with quiet authority when the plans grow too elaborate or stray too far from practicality.

“We don’t need a five-tiered cake,” he says during one such discussion, his tone calm but firm. He sits beside you at the long dining table, his fingers grazing yours briefly under the polished surface. “Something simpler will do just fine.”

Your mother sniffs delicately, clearly displeased. “Simpler isn’t what people expect from a union like this, Steve,” she says, as if this is the most pressing concern. She doesn’t even glance at you when she says it, her sharp gaze fixed on Steve as if she can convince him to reconsider with sheer willpower.

He doesn’t flinch. “They’ll have to manage their expectations,” he replies smoothly, leaning back in his chair.

You catch yourself staring at him, your heart swelling with a quiet gratitude you don’t know how to express. Moments like this, small but significant, remind you why you fell in love with him in the first place. Steve Rogers has always been unshakable, a solid presence in the chaos of your life.

Still, your mother isn’t the type to back down easily.

“I just think,” she says, her voice laced with sugar-coated venom, “that Sharon would have been better suited to manage the kind of attention this marriage will bring. She’s always been... more poised under pressure.”

The words are a knife, slipping between your ribs before you even realize it. You glance down at your hands, your fingernails biting into your palms. This isn’t the first time she’s made such a comment, and it won’t be the last.

“Y/N is perfectly capable of handling herself,” Steve says, his voice cold enough to frost the edges of the room. “And if anyone has an issue with her, they’ll have to take it up with me.”

The silence that follows is heavy, your mother pursing her lips in annoyance but wisely deciding not to push further. You feel Steve’s gaze on you, but you keep your eyes fixed on the tablecloth, unwilling to let him see the cracks forming in your carefully constructed composure.

Later that evening, when the guests have gone and the house has fallen silent, you find yourself standing by the window of the guest room Steve insisted you use whenever you stayed over. The city lights shimmer in the distance, blurred by the tears you refuse to let fall.

You don’t hear him enter, but you feel his presence before he speaks.

“Y/N?” His voice is gentle, almost hesitant.

You wipe at your eyes quickly and turn to face him, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

He doesn’t buy the act for a second. He never does.

“They shouldn’t have said those things,” he says quietly, his expression shadowed with anger and something deeper, something protective.

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” you say, trying to brush it off. But the tremor in your voice betrays you, and Steve’s jaw tightens.

“It’s not nothing,” he says, stepping closer. His hand hovers near yours, as if he’s waiting for permission to close the distance. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that, not from them or anyone else.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s fine, that you’re used to it��but the words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of years spent trying to live up to impossible expectations.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you whisper instead, your voice barely audible. “How you always seem so... steady, even when everything’s falling apart.”

His lips curve into a faint smile, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m not as steady as you think,” he says. “But when it comes to you...” He trails off, his gaze softening. “I just want to make things easier for you, Y/N. Even if it’s just a little.”

The vulnerability in his voice undoes you. Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and take his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a way nothing else can.

“Thank you,” you say, the words simple but heavy with meaning.

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small, comforting gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to stay like this forever, to let go of all the fear and doubt and simply trust in the man standing before you.

The moment doesn’t last.

The wedding approaches faster than you anticipate, each day bringing new challenges and fresh reminders of your family’s disapproval. Sharon, in particular, takes every opportunity to remind you of what she sees as your inadequacy, her words barbed and cutting.

“You should really work on your posture,” she says one afternoon as you stand for yet another fitting. “You’ll be photographed from every angle, and we wouldn’t want people to think you’re uncomfortable in your own skin.”

You grit your teeth and force a polite smile, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Steve, however, is less inclined to stay silent. “I think she looks perfect,” he says from where he’s leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed. His tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it that makes Sharon’s smile falter.

“Of course,” Sharon says smoothly, recovering quickly. “I’m just offering some advice. You know how the press can be.”

Steve doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you instead. “Ready to go?” he asks, his expression softening.

You nod, grateful for the excuse to escape.

In the car, the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, the quiet hum of the engine a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the day. Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console.

“You okay?” he asks after a while, his voice low.

“I’m fine,” you say automatically.

He glances at you, his blue eyes full of quiet concern. “You don’t have to be fine all the time, you know.”

The words hit you harder than they should, and before you can stop yourself, the tears you’ve been holding back spill over.

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road without hesitation, cutting the engine. He turns to you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you’re afraid he might say something that will break you completely.

Instead, he reaches out and takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Y/N,” he says softly, “you’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for. But you don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”

His words unravel something deep inside you, and you let out a shaky breath, the weight of everything finally catching up to you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, ashamed of your tears.

“Don’t be,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much to bear, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

The wedding day arrives sooner than you expect, the morning a whirlwind of activity and last-minute preparations. Your family is on their best behavior, their smiles polished and their words carefully measured. But you can feel the tension simmering beneath the surface, a reminder of all the unspoken grievances and unmet expectations that have defined your relationship with them.

Steve, however, is a calming presence throughout it all. He stays by your side whenever he can, his quiet strength a constant source of reassurance.

When you finally stand at the altar, his hands holding yours, the world seems to fade away.

“You ready?” he whispers, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You nod, your heart pounding. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steady.

And for the first time in years, you feel like you might actually mean it.

The moment the car pulls up to Steve’s penthouse, your breath catches in your throat. It’s not that you didn’t know it would be beautiful—everything about the Rogers family speaks of understated elegance and wealth—but seeing it in person is something else entirely.

The building is sleek and modern, towering over the city with floor-to-ceiling windows that glint in the afternoon sun. The lobby is quiet and luxurious, with polished marble floors and discreet staff who greet Steve with quiet deference as you walk through.

The elevator ride to the top floor feels endless, even though you know it’s only a matter of seconds. Steve stands beside you, his hands in his pockets, his expression calm and unreadable.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he says softly, glancing at you.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, gripping your clutch like it might save you from drowning.

He doesn’t call you out on it, just offers a small smile as the elevator doors slide open.

The penthouse is breathtaking.

The first thing you notice is the light. Floor-to-ceiling windows span almost the entire space, offering an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The open-concept design is modern but warm, with sleek furniture in neutral tones and touches of warmth in the form of rich wood accents and soft throws draped over the sofas.

But what strikes you most is how... lived-in it feels. There are signs of Steve everywhere: books stacked neatly on a low table, a well-used leather armchair in one corner, and a collection of vintage records on a shelf near the fireplace.

“You don’t have to unpack everything today,” Steve says as you step inside, his voice cutting through your awe. “Take your time.”

You turn to him, unsure of what to say. “It’s beautiful,” you manage.

He smiles, a little sheepish. “Thanks. I had it redone a few years ago. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s home.”

Home. The word feels strange on your tongue, foreign in a way that makes your chest ache.

Steve seems to sense your hesitation. “Come on,” he says gently, nodding toward a hallway. “I’ll show you to your room.”

You follow him, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors. The hallway leads to a series of doors, and Steve stops in front of one near the end.

“This is yours,” he says, pushing the door open.

The room is spacious and bright, with soft, neutral tones and a large bed that looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel. A vase of fresh flowers sits on the nightstand, their fragrance subtle but soothing.

“It’s perfect,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m glad you like it.” He hesitates, then nods toward the door across the hall. “That’s my room. I figured you’d want your own space.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. I... thank you.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly awkward. “I meant what I said before,” he says. “I’m not expecting anything from you, Y/N. This arrangement... it’s about giving you a chance to breathe, not making you feel trapped.”

The sincerity in his voice is overwhelming, and for a moment, all you can do is nod.

That night, as you lie in the unfamiliar comfort of your new bed, you think about his words. About how, for the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel like you can finally exhale.

The first few weeks of married life are surreal.

Steve is considerate to a fault, never overstepping boundaries or making you feel uncomfortable. He leaves early for work most mornings, though he always makes sure there’s coffee brewing and a note on the counter with a simple message—Take your time today or Call if you need anything.

You spend your days exploring the penthouse, slowly making the space your own. Steve encourages it, even going out of his way to pick up little things he thinks you might like—a throw pillow in your favorite color, a set of candles that smell like lavender.

At night, the two of you settle into a routine of quiet companionship. Sometimes you watch movies together, sitting on opposite ends of the couch with a bowl of popcorn between you. Other times, you talk about nothing and everything—his work, your favorite books, the quirks of city life.

It’s easy, in a way you never expected.

But the outside world is harder to ignore.

The first time the two of you go out together as a married couple, the paparazzi are relentless.

You’re having dinner at a quiet restaurant Steve picked specifically for its privacy, but as soon as you step outside, cameras flash like fireworks, and voices shout questions you’re too overwhelmed to process.

“Steve! Over here!” “Y/N, how does it feel to marry into the Rogers family?” “Any truth to the rumors that Sharon was the first choice?”

The last question hits you like a slap, and you flinch despite yourself. Steve notices immediately, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back as he steers you toward the waiting car.

“Don’t listen to them,” he says quietly as the driver pulls away from the curb.

“It’s hard not to,” you admit, staring down at your hands.

He doesn’t respond right away, but when you glance up, you find him watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he says finally. “Least of all them.”

His words linger in your mind long after you return home, and you find yourself replaying them whenever the gossip columns grow particularly vicious.

It’s not all bad, though. There are moments of levity that catch you off guard, moments when Steve’s dry humor or unexpected playfulness makes you laugh so hard you forget the world outside entirely.

Like the time you catch him trying to teach himself how to cook.

“Steve,” you say, barely holding back a laugh as you step into the kitchen and find him staring intently at a cookbook, his apron already dusted with flour. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make pancakes,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“At eight o’clock at night?”

“Breakfast for dinner is underrated,” he says with a grin.

The pancakes are terrible—burnt on the outside, raw on the inside—but you eat them anyway, laughing together at the absurdity of it all.

Moments like these, small and unexpected, are what make you realize how dangerous this arrangement is becoming.

Because the more time you spend with Steve, the harder it is to ignore the feelings you’ve spent years trying to bury.

It happens gradually, the way you and Steve grow closer.

He starts leaving his door open at night, and sometimes you find yourself lingering in the hallway, talking until your voices grow soft and drowsy. Other times, he joins you on the couch, sitting closer than usual as the two of you share a blanket and argue over what to watch.

The tension between you is subtle but undeniable, a quiet hum that grows louder with each passing day.

One night, after a particularly long dinner with your family—where your mother spent most of the evening hinting that it wasn’t too late for Steve to change his mind—you come home feeling like you might shatter.

Steve finds you sitting on the floor of the living room, your knees pulled to your chest as you stare out the window.

“They’re not worth this,” he says softly, sitting down beside you.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice thick with unshed tears. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

He doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. The warmth of his embrace is comforting, and for the first time that night, you feel like you can breathe.

“You deserve better,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

You don’t respond, but the way you lean into him says more than words ever could.

The months slip by, and the world outside continues to watch, speculate, and gossip. But inside the walls of the penthouse, you and Steve carve out a life that feels uniquely yours.

It’s not perfect—there are moments of doubt and miscommunication, times when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under. But there are also moments of joy and connection, moments that remind you why you agreed to this in the first place.

And as you sit together one night, sharing a quiet meal and laughing over something inconsequential, you realize that somewhere along the way, this marriage stopped feeling like an arrangement.

It started feeling like home.

The nights blur together in a haze of quiet companionship. You and Steve continue to drift closer, though neither of you acknowledges it outright. It’s in the little things: the way he pours your coffee just the way you like it without asking, the way you find yourself lingering in the kitchen just to hear him hum softly while he cooks.

And then there’s the night everything changes.

It starts innocently enough. You’re sitting on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs as you both watch a late-night movie. Steve looks as relaxed as you’ve ever seen him, his long legs stretched out on the ottoman, his arm resting along the back of the couch.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” he teases when your head droops for the third time.

“I’m not,” you mumble, though the weight of your eyelids betrays you.

He chuckles softly. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

You barely manage to shuffle down the hallway, exhaustion tugging at your every step. When you finally collapse onto the edge of your bed, you don’t even bother to change out of your clothes, too tired to care.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Steve says from the doorway, but you’re already slipping into unconsciousness.

When you wake up hours later, it takes you a moment to realize what’s different. The room is dark, but the steady warmth beside you is unmistakable.

You turn your head, your breath catching as you see Steve sprawled on his back, one arm draped over his face. He must have come to check on you and fallen asleep without meaning to.

For a moment, you think about waking him, but something stops you. Maybe it’s the way his face looks so peaceful in sleep, or maybe it’s the comfort of his presence. Whatever the reason, you close your eyes again, letting the soft rhythm of his breathing lull you back to sleep.

The next morning, you expect things to feel awkward, but Steve acts as if nothing unusual happened. If anything, he seems more relaxed, his smile a little softer, his touches lingering just a fraction longer.

That night, as you stand in the doorway of your room, you hesitate.

“Steve?” you call, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looks up from his place on the couch, his book resting in his lap. “Yeah?”

“Would you—” You hesitate, your cheeks flushing. “Would you mind sleeping here again? I just... I slept better with you there.”

You half expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he closes his book and sets it aside, his expression unreadable.

“Of course,” he says simply.

The warmth that spreads through your chest is almost overwhelming.

That night, you fall asleep with the quiet reassurance of his presence beside you, and when you wake up to find his arm draped lightly over your waist, you don’t move.

The next few weeks are a delicate balancing act. You and Steve don’t talk about the nights you spend together, but they quickly become a routine. He starts reading in your room before bed, and you find yourself looking forward to the quiet moments before sleep when you can hear the low timbre of his voice as he reads aloud.

But the outside world isn’t as accommodating.

It begins at a family dinner, one of the infrequent but mandatory gatherings your mother insists on hosting. The Rogers family is there, Steve’s parents a picture of poise and sophistication. Your own family is on their best behavior at first, their voices sugary sweet as they discuss inconsequential topics.

But then the conversation shifts.

“So,” your mother says, fixing you with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “How are you settling in? Married life seems to agree with you.”

“It does,” you say, keeping your tone polite.

“It must be so exciting,” Sharon interjects, her voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm. “Starting a life together, building a future...” She pauses, her eyes gleaming. “Planning for children.”

Your fork stills on your plate, but before you can respond, your mother jumps in.

“Yes, children are so important, aren’t they?” she says, looking pointedly at you. “I’m sure you’ll want to start soon, won’t you? After all, a family name like Rogers needs an heir.”

Your stomach churns, but you force a smile. “We’re taking things one step at a time,” you say evenly.

“Oh, but don’t wait too long,” your mother continues, ignoring your words entirely. “Sharon always said she wanted at least three. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Sharon smiles sweetly. “Of course. I’d already have one by now if I were in Y/N’s position.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a pointed reminder of everything they think you’re failing to be.

Steve’s fork clinks against his plate, and when you glance at him, his expression is stony.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Y/N and I will handle things in our own time. And I’d appreciate it if we could leave it at that.”

Your mother’s smile falters, but she quickly recovers, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “Of course,” she says, her tone saccharine. “We’re just so eager for you two to start a family. It’s such a big responsibility, being part of the Rogers legacy.”

Steve doesn’t respond, his jaw tight. You don’t miss the way his mother raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your family’s behavior.

The rest of the dinner passes in strained silence, and by the time you return home, your nerves are frayed.

“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as the door closes behind you.

Steve frowns, shrugging off his jacket. “What are you apologizing for?”

“For them,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself. “For the way they act, the things they say... It’s not fair to you.”

Steve crosses the room in two strides, his hands coming to rest gently on your shoulders. “Y/N,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t have to apologize for them. None of this is your fault.”

You nod, though the knot in your chest remains.

He hesitates, then pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with a quiet strength that makes your knees weak.

“They don’t get to define you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. “Not them, not anyone. You’re more than enough, Y/N. You always have been.”

The words break something inside you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry.

Steve doesn’t let go, holding you tightly until the tears finally subside. And when you pull back to look at him, the tenderness in his gaze steals the breath from your lungs.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Always,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

That night, as you lie in bed with Steve’s arm draped protectively around you, you feel something shift. The walls you’ve spent years building are starting to crumble, and for once, you’re not afraid.

The nights you share become a solace, a quiet refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Steve is patient, never pushing, always letting you set the pace. And though neither of you says it outright, the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, speaks volumes.

Your family continues to hover on the periphery, their expectations weighing heavy. But with Steve by your side, the weight feels a little easier to bear.

And as the days turn into weeks, you find yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, this could be more than an arrangement.

Maybe it already is.

The penthouse is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city below. You’re curled up on the couch, your laptop balanced precariously on your knees as you type furiously. Working from home has its perks—no dress code, no commute—but today, your focus feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

The ache in your neck reminds you that you’ve been hunched over for hours, so you decide to take a break. Stretching out your legs, you grab your phone from the coffee table and unlock it.

Scrolling aimlessly through your feed, you skim past news articles, memes, and a few updates from friends. And then you see it.

A headline that makes your blood run cold.

“Steve Rogers Spotted Cozying Up to Wife’s Sister: Is Trouble Brewing in Paradise?”

Your thumb hovers over the screen, trembling. Against your better judgment, you click the link.

The article is riddled with speculation, but it’s the photos that steal the breath from your lungs. One shows Steve and Sharon standing close in what looks like a cozy café, their heads tilted toward each other as if sharing an intimate moment. Another shows Sharon touching Steve’s arm, her smile coy.

The accompanying text twists the knife deeper: Sources say the two have been seen together frequently in recent weeks, sparking rumors of a secret affair. Could Sharon have been Steve’s first choice all along?

Your stomach churns. You know it’s ridiculous—you know Steve, the man who has been nothing but kind and devoted to you, would never betray you like this. But the images... the way they seem to tell a story you don’t want to believe... it’s too much.

Tears blur your vision as you toss your phone aside.

The door clicks open a moment later, and you hear Steve’s familiar footsteps in the foyer.

“Y/N?” he calls, his voice warm but tinged with concern. “I’m home.”

You don’t respond, your hands clenched into fists against your lap as you try to hold back the sob building in your throat.

When Steve appears in the living room, his expression shifts instantly. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He’s beside you in an instant, crouching down so he can look up into your tear-streaked face.

You shake your head, but the tears spill over anyway. “I... I saw something,” you choke out.

His brows knit together in worry. “What did you see?”

You reach for your phone with trembling hands, pulling up the article and thrusting it toward him. He takes it from you, his eyes scanning the screen with growing disbelief.

“Y/N,” he says after a moment, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“How can it not be?” you whisper, your voice breaking. “The photos... they look so—”

“They’re misleading,” he cuts in gently, his hands reaching for yours. “Please, let me explain.”

You look at him, searching his face for any hint of deceit, but all you see is the same Steve you’ve always known—the man who has been your rock through every storm.

“I ran into Sharon a few weeks ago,” he begins. “She approached me. She wanted to talk, to clear the air about everything that happened between us.”

“And you went to a café with her?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Yes,” he admits, his gaze unwavering. “Because I wanted to make it clear that my choice was you, Y/N. It’s alwaysbeen you. She was upset, and I didn’t want there to be any lingering tension. But that’s all it was—just a conversation. Nothing more.”

The sincerity in his voice is undeniable, and yet your heart still aches. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he says softly. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning because, to me, it didn’t mean anything. But I see now that I should have been honest with you from the start. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You look down at your hands, your tears falling silently onto your lap. “I felt like such a fool,” you admit.

“You’re not a fool,” he says firmly, his hands tightening around yours. “You’re the smartest, strongest, most incredible woman I’ve ever known. And I would never, never do anything to hurt you.”

The weight of his words sinks into you, and when you finally meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes takes your breath away.

“I love you, Y/N,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And this marriage—it started as a way to protect you, but somewhere along the way, it became so much more. You’re my everything.”

Your breath hitches, tears spilling over anew. “Steve...”

He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I need you to know that my heart is yours. It always has been.”

You shake your head, your hands clutching at his shirt as a sob escapes you. “I do,” you whisper. “I love you too, Steve. I’ve loved you for so long, but I was so afraid you didn’t feel the same.”

A soft, disbelieving laugh escapes him, and his forehead rests against yours. “God, Y/N,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”

The air between you shifts, charged with unspoken longing. His hands slide from your face to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips hover just inches from yours.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

You nod, your heart pounding as his lips finally meet yours.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid to push too far. But the moment your hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer, the restraint breaks.

Steve lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you as he lays you gently on the bed.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion.

“Yes,” you whisper, your hands trembling as you reach for him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

What follows is a blur of heat and emotion, the culmination of years of unspoken love and longing. Steve’s hands explore every inch of you, his touch reverent, as if memorizing the very essence of you.

He whispers your name like a prayer, his lips tracing a path along your skin as he worships you with a devotion that leaves you breathless.

And when he finally joins you, the connection is so overwhelming, so all-encompassing, that it feels as if the pieces of your heart are finally falling into place.

Afterward, as you lie tangled together in the sheets, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you feel a sense of peace you’ve never known before.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice soft but sure.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.

And for the first time, you realize that the life you’ve built together isn’t just an arrangement. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted—and so much more.

Things change between you and Steve in ways that are both subtle and monumental. Gone is the polite distance, the carefully maintained boundaries. In its place is something real, something undeniable.

Steve is more affectionate now, his touches lingering longer, his kisses coming more frequently. He pulls you into his lap when you’re watching TV, twirls you around the kitchen while dinner simmers on the stove, and presses his lips to the back of your neck as you work at your laptop.

You, in turn, find yourself doing little things for him—pressing his shirts for work even though he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, surprising him with homemade cookies when he mentions a craving, sneaking into his office at lunch just to kiss him.

The shift doesn’t go unnoticed, especially at family dinners.

On the next one, held at your parents’ estate, the tension in the air is palpable from the moment you walk in. You and Steve arrive arm in arm, his hand resting comfortably on your lower back. When you lean into him slightly as your mother greets you, Sharon’s eyes narrow.

The evening unfolds as expected: your parents ask loaded questions about your life together, Sharon hovers like a shadow, and the Rogers look vaguely unimpressed by everything.

But something’s different.

You’re not the quiet, uncertain woman who let her family’s jabs and comparisons chip away at her. Not anymore. Steve’s presence beside you, his unwavering support, has given you a strength you didn’t know you had.

When your mother comments on how lovely Sharon looks, her gaze darting toward Steve as if to gauge his reaction, you smile sweetly.

“Yes, Sharon’s always been so polished,” you say, lacing your fingers through Steve’s. “But I think I’ve been glowing lately. Don’t you think, Steve?”

He looks down at you, his eyes warm and amused. “Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “You’re the most beautiful woman in any room.”

Your mother’s smile falters, and Sharon’s fork clatters against her plate. You don’t miss the way her cheeks flush with anger, nor the way she glares at you when she thinks no one’s looking.

Dinner continues in much the same way. Every time Sharon tries to draw Steve’s attention or steer the conversation in her favor, Steve redirects it back to you.

“You must miss being on the dating scene, Steve,” Sharon says at one point, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

“Not at all,” Steve replies easily, his hand resting on your knee under the table. “I’ve got everything I could ever want right here.”

By the time dessert is served, Sharon looks ready to explode. You sip your coffee with a smug smile, enjoying the rare satisfaction of seeing her knocked off her pedestal.

After dinner, your parents pull you and Steve aside.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” your mother suggests, her tone saccharine. “It’s been so long since you spent any real time here. We could all have breakfast together tomorrow.”

Steve hesitates, glancing at you. He’s always careful not to push you into situations you might not want, but tonight, you feel bold.

“That sounds lovely,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Your mother beams, clearly pleased to have you under her thumb for a little longer. Sharon’s jaw tightens, and you can’t help but enjoy the way her evening seems to be going from bad to worse.

Your old bedroom hasn’t changed much. The floral wallpaper, the antique vanity, the plush pink comforter—it’s all a reminder of the girl you used to be.

Steve steps inside, looking almost out of place in the overly feminine space. He closes the door behind him, his eyes sweeping over the room before landing on you.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, his voice low.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m more than okay.”

His hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer. “You were amazing tonight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Did you see Sharon’s face?” you ask, grinning. “She looked like she wanted to scream.”

Steve chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple. “You were enjoying that a little too much.”

“Maybe,” you admit, your grin widening. “But can you blame me?”

He laughs again, his hands sliding up your back. The mood shifts as his laughter fades, replaced by something deeper, something more intense.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your lips.

The heat in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is slow and deliberate, his hands roaming your body with a reverence that leaves you breathless. When he lifts you onto the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress, you feel a thrill of anticipation.

You arch against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses a trail down your neck. The sounds you make are uninhibited, each gasp and moan spilling from your lips without thought.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your hands gripping his shoulders. “I want this. I want you.”

Your heart pounds as he takes his time, his touch both gentle and insistent. Every caress, every kiss, every whispered word is a promise, a reminder of the love you share.

When he finally moves within you, the sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. The headboard creaks against the wall, and you can’t help the sounds that escape you—louder, more desperate, as you lose yourself in the moment.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that Sharon’s room is on the other side of the wall, but instead of holding back, you let the knowledge fuel you.

Steve seems to sense it too, his movements becoming more deliberate, his mouth capturing your cries in heated kisses.

Afterward, as you lie tangled together in the aftermath, your skin slick with sweat and your heart still racing, you can’t help but smile.

“You’re incredible,” Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“So are you,” you reply, turning to kiss him softly.

The satisfaction of the night lingers as you drift off in his arms, the weight of your love for each other wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

The next morning, Sharon avoids you entirely, her lips pressed into a tight line as you join the family for breakfast. You sip your coffee with a serene smile, enjoying the quiet triumph of knowing that for once, she’s the one who’s been bested.

Steve catches your eye across the table, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. You’ve never felt more certain that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

[officialundertakersmoocher]

Hi, I was so excited when I saw there is still someone writing for Kuroshitsuji and, more specifically, for Undertaker (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ since your fixed post said you're accepting requests, I hope you don't mind if I send one. @yaboisbullshit wrote something that won't leave my mind (I hope they don't mind that I have tagged them, I'm new on Tumblr and don't know the proper etiquette ╥⁠﹏⁠╥). Anyway they wrote about a scene in "Who framed Roger Rabbit" in which we have, basically, Jessica Rabbit simping over Roger Rabbit and I would love to see Undertaker, Sebastian and Ciel's reaction to some girl who is basically a Mary Sue (beautiful, smart, maybe a noble) who's Undertaker's partner and a total simp (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) like, he's just eating his biscuits and she's giving him heart eyes lol. Anyway, sorry for the long ask and thanks a lot for your writing, whether you do my request or not (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

and i would love to write it!

Undertaker's Not so Secret Admirer

Synopsis: The Undertaker's shop is filled with odd visits, but he never expected one such as this.

It started as a normal day in the Undertakers shop, slow as usual for the small funeral parlor.

A certain earl makes his way down the streets of the late 18th-century England, a black clad butler by his side and a mission underway. The earl strides himself with purposeful intent and a will that cannot be stopped by many, but as Ciel entered the familiar establishment that day-he stops in his tracks at the sight that he catches before his eyes.

A young woman with a bright aura sits by herself at the center of the parlor on a plush couch in the center of the parlor, giving a giddy wave to the Phantomhive boy.

Not only had Ciel never seen anyone besides his own company adorning the parlor, he also had never seen the parlor fit for human company in such a way.

Ciel gives his butler companion a puzzled look, though receiving nothing but silence from the female counterpart.

The two boys stand in the doorway in stunned silence before the younger boy decides to take charge, yelling into the darkness, "Undertaker...!"

The man in question bursts through the side door, holding a platter of tea and cookies which was obviously prepared in advance.

"Phantomhive, perfect timin', make 'rself at home." He states with a mischievous grin glittering his lips.

The earl seats himself with his butler near and watching. Ciel notices that on the opposite side of the couch, the woman has now adorned a doding expression at the sight of the funeral parlors owner.

She sits with her legs crossed and her palms holding her chin, heart eyes practically bearing through her head. Meanwhile, The Undertaker giggles as he seats himself opposite to them. The young earl starts to feel as if he is witnessing a game that he was not invited to play.

The Undertaker, on the other hand, seems to be more than entertained by these ongoing events.

"I apologize for interrupting you while you have guests, however, I have some business to di-" Ciel starts, however he is quickly interrupted by the sounds of the seemingly love-struck young woman sitting across from him.

Practically squealing in her seat from excitement, the young woman seems to be giddy to speak to The Undertaker and at the notice of his silence, the mystery woman jumps up from her seat and slams her hands on the table.

"Oh gosh, i'm sorry! I've just been so excited to meet you...!" She is now leaning over the coffee table, practically soaking in the rest of personally space that Undertaker has to spare.

The Undertaker bursts into laughter at the sentiment.

"Oh god, I've just heard so much about you. They said you were good looking, but I could've never imagined how right they were," she continues, voice growing more and more smitten as she trails off.

The Undertaker cannot seem to stop his fit of laughter now.

"Actually, young master, I believe we shall leave The Undertaker to this company. It would simply be improper to do otherwise..." the butler spoke, silently guiding his master up from his seat. The earl mutters some very confused phrases on his way up out the door.

The Undertaker tilts his hat towards the earl on his way out and he watched as the young woman seats herself once again. She tries to hide her flushed expression, sipping from her tea cup once again.

The Undertaker clicks his tongue several times as he raises from his seat and heads towards the door which had been left agape. "Ahaha.. Oh dear," He says, wiping a stray tear from his eye from giggling too much.

The Undertaker leans his back against the door, closing the remaining gap between you and the outside world.

"Now, if you planned on coming here to present such a hilarious show such as that one in hopes that I would tell you about myself.. you could have just asked." His voice lowers more and more as he goes on and begins to slowly creep towards where you stay seated.

The sudden realization that all of his attention was now placed on you had you blushing profusely. You attempted to cover your face with your gloved hands, however your sense told you that he already knew how flustered you were.

You let out a nervous giggle as The Undertaker approaches you, placing one hand behind you on the back of the couch and the other on the arm of it- you were essentially trapped.

"So, my dear, what is it that you wanted to know...?"

[xoxosimp]

Right Person, Wrong Time

POV: You break playboy!Bucky’s heart 

Pairing: Bi!Bucky Barnes x Bestfriend!Reader

Part two: Perfect Timing

Warnings: angst, not beta’d, mediocre writing

A/N: This is heavily inspired by this sound on tik tok and one of my favorite scenes in a Disney channel show I used to watch LOL.

~~~~

If there is something about life, you like things to be simple. 

You flourished when you had a consistent and simple routine. Where others feel bored with things being the same everyday, mundaneness gives you a certain type of peace you never wanted to give up.

Bucky Barnes was a part of your routine. Every day after work, you and Bucky would run at the park. Sometimes it was one mile, other days it was five. 

Your workout routine with Bucky was never stale. Warm up, run, (Bucky insists that he always runs behind you for whatever protective reason he has. And looking at your ass is a great motivator, not that you know the latter). Then you would have dinner together, either one of you would cook or you would go out to eat. 

The sound of you and Bucky’s steps echoed against the pavement. Sweat clouded your vision and your lungs were begging for a respite but you were halfway to your checkpoint point. You picked up the pace, challenging him to keep up from behind. 

Bucky caught up to you and gestured to your foot, “ Your shoe is untied, angel,” he panted out.

You furrowed your eyebrows and glanced at your feet, breaking your stride. “ Well, I guess we can take a break now,” Bucky said as he came to a stop.

You smiled, “ You freaking liar!”

Bucky holds up his hands as if he was innocent. “ Don’t hate me just because you stopped, beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned against the rails of a bridge you so conveniently stopped at.

“ What do you wanna do for dinner?”, you asked Bucky, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

“Anything you want, I want, angel.”

You asked him everytime and every time he gave the same response.  He always wants what you want. “ Then let’s get Peruvian food, I could kill for lomo right now.” 

Bucky chuckled to himself, like he had something to say. “ Do you not want lomo, Buck?”

“ That’s fine, angel, just..” he trailed off. “ At least this dinner won’t have a side of tension.”

Bucky alluded to a dinner you had with your other friend Steve Rogers, and his significant other, Lililian. Steve isn't the one to argue in public, but his girlfriend kept picking fights. You and Bucky would attempt to dissolve the tense atmosphere, but it always seemed to thicken again.

“ Yeah, I couldn't imagine going through all the drama they’re going through. Steve looked like he wanted to explode,” you recalled.

He nodded his head. “ I think Steve needs someone less…in your face, you know?”

“Elaborate.”

“ Steve has a … strong personality, angel. He needs someone to soothe rather than excite.”

“So what, he needs someone to tame his inner alpha?,” you quipped. 

Bucky chuckled and looked at you. After a pause, he said, " You know, we wouldn't be like that.” 

You raisd an eyebrow, standing up straight, “ Like what?”

“ Complicated. If we were together, it would just be me and you, plus together.”

Your stomach fluttered. The notion of dating Bucky wasn't completely foreign to you. Bucky was an attractive person, inside and out. It was something about the way he looks at someone, the way he looked at you, that you knew you could trust him with the darkest parts of yourself. His huge fucking arms were always open if you needed a hug, and his beautiful blue eyes were always on you.

But if Bucky Barnes was anything, he was a player. He knew how to play a woman ( or man) like a finely tuned instrument, and make them melt into his hands. 

Bucky Barnes didn’t date. Bucky Barnes didn’t settle down. He thrived in spontaneity. 

You shook your head, “ We’re friends, Jamie.”

“ But I want more. I want more of you, angel. You’re the first person on my mind when I wake up, and the last thing before I go to bed. I can’t go a day without you. Would it really be that much of a difference if we were together?”

He spoke with so much conviction that you almost trusted him.

“ Bucky , ever since I met you, you’ve always been a player,” you explained. “ We have the perfect relationship and I don't wanna lose you just because you wanna try something new.”

You could have slapped him and Bucky still wouldn't have looked so shocked. His expression makes your heart drop into your stomach. 

“ What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he countered.

“ You get bored easily,” you crossed your arms. “ If we started dating you would get bored of me, then we would break up and our relationship would never be the same.”

“ We’re friends, Bucky,” you reiterated. “ You can have as many boyfriends and girlfriends you want, and we can still be best friends.”

Usually you could tell what mood Bucky was in. He had a “ I’m Hangry” glare and a “ I’m tired of this bullshit “ glare. You couldn't make out what he was feeling.

“ I don't feel like Peruvian food today,” he uttered “ Let me walk you to your car.”

“Are we good, Jamie?” 

“ We’re good, (Y/N).

He didn't call you angel, or beautiful, or any of the other pet names he would call you. Bucky didn't give you a kiss on the cheek and tell you to drive safe once you got in your car. The feeling of hurting him weighed heavy on your chest, but the relief of speaking your truth was liberating. 

Maybe you made a mistake, telling Bucky you didn't trust him with your heart.

No, it’s for the better. 

[alexa-fika]

This idea is living in my mind rent free and won't leave me alone!

So Roger pirates (also young shanks and buggy) x puppet!child!f!reader.

Can you do some lyrics from the song "Puppet boy?"

Reader is from a circus, a dangerous one. The Ringmaster has a power where he can control people like puppets and most of the performers are adults who don't get in the way but the ringmaster prefers reader and controls the most in stunts and performances and very dangerous ones, even for adults, like flying trapeze in a very high hight with no support and other crazy things. The audience members don't sense anything only seeing the reader as talented. They don't see reader controlled as the puppet strings are invisible to them. Roger pirates was visiting an Island, saw that s huge event at a circus and decided to go. They see reader who has clown makeup on their face and a circus outfits preforming with adults in VERY dangerous acts. The circus decide to take a quick break to set up for the new act and the ringmaster wants a talk with reader. Reader has to do every dangerous stunt on her own with no help to gain more money for the circus.

Roger pirates save her from the circus and set the performers free. You can add how they save her and how'd they know that she was being controlled. I want an very actiony,angsty thing, if it's alright.

Thank you

The apprentices apprentice (Roger pirates x child!reader)

Ps mad and throwing a tantrum cause tumblr just deleted my draft. ANYWAY GUYS FINALLY I FINISHED IT, there are some parts im still hesitant about but other than that I think I like this one. I’m not good with action so let me know what you think; also tell me why it wasen’t until now that I saw the end of the request like it din’t register on my brain until now so HERES YOUR ACTION ANGSTY PIECE, TOTALLY HAS ACTION AND ANGST BECAUSE YOU ASKED FOR IT AND NOT BY ACCIDENT 😀Another also! I was writing this at work so at first I was just looking at the lyrics and I was like ‘okay this must have a really melancholic sound’ tell me why the somg is so upbeat 😂

Execution scene…

Chp1, Chp2

This piece has one line that hints to having at least medium length hair, if this does not fit you you can always imagine it is a wig as I made sure it wasen’t explicit that it was their hair or you can also take it as their hijab being arranged rather than hair

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics and @/drinkthesky

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese for my ease lf writing and the enjoyment of oc readers

The man behind the child let out a hum as he looked at the mirror and tried different hairstyles on them.

“Perhaps we should do a half-up-down style; what do you think, dear?

“…”

“Aww, come on, don’t tell me you are still throwing a tantrum?” He teased looking down at them

“Well, dear, if you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have to hurt you the way I do; it is quite simple,” he carelessly added as he continued working on their hair, eventually turning them around to begin working on their make-up.

“Oh, how I wish you didn’t make me have to punish you; now look, your skin is all stained. That’s alright, nothing some makeup can’t cover, right?” he spoke as he forcefully pulled their chin up and began to apply powder on their face paying extra attention to the dark bruises that litter their face

“You will do today’s show without any nets or supports,” he informed them.

“W-What?”

“Don’t move.” He sneered as his words caused the small child to flinch back

“Don’t act so surprised, dear; the audience paid a lot to watch you, so it’s only fair to have something at stake.”

“B-But what if I fall?” They cried, slapping his hands away as they jumped off the chair

“Enough.” He growled making, putting his hand out and wiggling his finger in a ‘come here motion’ a dark grin growing on his face as they were pulled towards him as he did

“You seem to be really defiant lately. Do you want the strings to come back? Perhaps I was too benevolent in giving you free will,” he sneered

“Well? Do you?!” He boomed

“No!” She cried

“Good. Next time, I won’t be as nice,” he said, walking out of the room and glancing back at the crying child on the floor.

“Enough with the tears. Your makeup will get damaged. Get ready for the show; you will be out in a few minutes.”

They sighed, looking at themselves in the mirror, trying to calm the erratic beating of their hearts at the stunts they were forced to do minutes before. Eventually, a few sniffles escaped them, sniffles turning into small hiccups and small hiccups turning into a cascade of tears as the events of the day began to catch up to them.

“Wait, Buggy, you idiot!”

It wasn’t until the sound of something crashing behind them that they were pulled out of their spiral and stared at the two boys standing there.

“Me?! You were the one that shoved me!” A voice cried

“Did not”

“Ye-

“Who are you?” The child asked, staring wide-eyed at the couple of teens bickering in front of them

“Sorry to barge in, we just were looking around,” the redhead answered, turning his attention from his friend to them.

“You can’t be ere!” they hissed.

“I know, I know, this is backstage, but we wanted to see what it was like. Buggy here was really impressed by your act, so we wanted to take a peak.”

“I was not!” the red-nose boy protested, shooting up.

“No! No! You can’t be ere!” Dokucha cried, jumping down from the chair

“Hey, Hey, it’s okay. We were just leaving,” Shanks assures them with an easy smile on his face despite having been caught.

“N-

“Dokucha!” A voice angrily boomed

“Ah!” the child looked at the sound of the voice with a terrified look on their and back to the two boys, quickly running towards them and pulling them to a nearby closet, ignoring the confused protests of the two.

“H-Hey!”

“Shhh!” they called, closing the door just in time for the ringmaster to storm in

“Wha- Agh!” they cried as the man sent them flying back with a punch to their face. A livid expression on their face as they did

The child looked up at the man, holding their cheek in pain as they did; despite this not being a to them, it did not make this treatment any easier on the child.

“R-Ringmaster?” they questioned

“You useless brat!” he growled, kicking them back and watching as the child crashed against the masts of the tent at his actions.

“I’m soy! I’m sory. I can make it better, please!”

“You think I didn’t notice?! What have I told you about hesitating when making your jumps, you worthless piece of shit!”

Tears started to fall from Dokucha’s eyes as they slowly picked themselves up, looking up at the monster in front of them.

“P-Please, I wasn’t h-

“Shut up,” He roared.

“It’s obvious I was too lenient on you in giving you some kind of free will; it’s time you remember your place,” he muttered, a dark look growing on his face as he snapped his fingers. He grinned, satisfied at the child’s cries as they were pulled into the air, strings slowly enveloping their bodies.

Ignoring the cries and pleas of the child, he tightened his hand into a fist, watching as the strings seemed to follow their lead as they painfully tightened against the child until they began digging into their skin.

It was their cries that prevented the ringmaster from hearing the scuffle that seemed to occur behind him as this went on. As a livid Shanks started struggling against Buggy, who held the teen back from storming into the scene

“Buggy, we have to do something,” he growled, struggling against his friend’s holds.

“I know, idiot! But look, the guy is a devil-fruit user, a strong one!” Buggy hissed with terrified tears pooling in his eyes at the terrifying scene they had found themselves in

“He’s going to kill them!”

“And us if we run in there!” Buggy shot back

“So what we just watch as he kills they bleed to death?!” he hissed, breaking free from his friend’s hold and turning towards him.

“N-No! I sent a hand to fetch the captain; we have to wait until they get here!”

“They don’t have that kind of time, Buggy!”

“Just wait, you moron!”

Before Shanks could throw another retort toward his crewmate, loud bangs and screams rang outside of the tent, something that the ringmaster also took notice of. As he let out a few curses as he gave one last look at the child and made his way out of the tent to investigate the commotion.

“They’re here!” Buggy exclaimed with a relieved smile

Not a second later, the two pushed their way out of the closet and ran towards the child, who by now had fallen unconscious, no doubt due to the amount of blood that slowly trickled from their body and down the strings that held them up in a morbid resemblance to a fly trapped in a spider’s web.

Pulling out his throwing knives, Buggy made quick work of the strings, watching as the child fell into Shanks’s awaiting hands as he ran next to the redhead to check on the child.

“H-Hey, are they d-dead?” he questioned, looking down at the child.

“H-Hey! Wake up! Hey!” Shanks cried, trying to shake awake the lifeless body of the child

“Now then, what have you lads gotten yourselves into?” A voice cut into as they walked into the tent, interrupting the teens fretting over the child

“Captain!” Buggy cried, looking at the man at the door of the tent

“Captain! Please! Help!” Shanks begged, looking up at his captain, terrified as he hugged Dokucha’s body closer to them

Roger stared at his apprentices agape, quickly taking in the scene in front of him as he hurried towards them.

“Crocus! Get in here!” he hollered.

It had been a week since those events took place; since then, Crocus had managed to save the child but was unsuccessful in pulling them out of the unconscious state they had been placed in. According to the Doctor, it was likely they had fallen into a comma as a response their body had to the stress undergone due to the torturous treatment at the hands of the ringmaster.

After they had been stabilized, the crew had another problem on their hands; their interference in the circus had caught the attention of the marines, and as such, they needed to set sail. The original plan was to leave the child under the care of the now-freed performers and set off; this, however, did not go as planned. Much to the crew’s surprise, the two apprentices had begged their captain to bring Dokucha along rather than leave them behind at the circus.

Some crew members objected to this idea, concerned with the child’s well-being if they were to be brought upon the ship. Unlike when the two current apprentices were taken in, the crew now sailed more dangerous waters with perilous missions, enemies, and much higher notoriety than a decade prior.

Roger, ever having a soft spot for children, agreed to the teen’s requests under the promise that they had to take part in the caring for the child, something the two had agreed to in an instant. It was clear to the crew that the apprentices had developed a bond with the small child, perhaps reminded of their own origins when they were brought aboard the Oro Jackson; regardless, in the past week, they had made true to their promise as the two were often found hanging on the sick bay watching for any new updates on the state of Dokucha. Despite being out of their element when they first woke up terrified and in tears against all odds, the teen had managed to assure the child, promising to remain by their side.

It had taken a few more weeks for the child to adjust to their new life and leave behind the fear that came with their old life. Still, with time, they had slowly reverted to a gleeful three-year-old once again, ready to join Shanks and Buggy in any mischievous adventures the two went on.

“Who’s that?” Dokucha questioned from their position on Buggy’s lap as both him Shanks sat with them on the Deck of the ship as they scanned over a piece of Newspaper

“They are a bunch of nobodies!” Buggy sneered, watching as the Whitebeard pirates had once again taken over the headline of the newspaper

Dokucha looked up at the paper once again, a grin on their face as they took the picture of the pirates in

“They look prety cool!”

“That’s what they want you to think, Dokucha! They may look cool, but they are nothing compared to us.” Buggy Boasted

“Yes! Cause Roer pirates r e best,” they cheered.

"Dhahahaha good Job Dokucha!" Shanks grinned as he stood up, throwing the child in the air and causing them to let out gleeful squeals at the action.

“Still, what a bummer, those guys are getting all the glory,” he stated as he put Dokucha on his hip and continued to Scan the newspaper, only for it to be snatched from his hands.

“A samurai, huh?” their captain laughed.

“I would love to meet him!” he exclaimed

“Capi!” Dokucha cheered, extending their arms towards the man, laughing as he complied with their silent request and grabbed them from Shanks

“Hey there, champ!” he exclaimed, lifting them up in the air.

“How are you feeling today? What are you up to with the lads?”

“I’m good! Shans-nii and Buggy-nii are showing me the whybear pirates.” They grinned.

“Whitebeard,” Shanks Scoffed out with a snicker.

“Whiebeard!” they parroted

“Wahahahaha! I’m glad you’re in good spirits today!” he called, putting them down and watching as they ran their way back to Buggy, hugging their leg happily and letting out a giggle as the clown picked them up and placed them on his hip as he made silly faces to the child.

“Where are we heading now, Captain?” Shanks questioned

“We’re on the way to a nearby summer Island. I have received reports of the Whitebeard crew being spotted close. It will be the perfect chance to meet this Samurai fellow!”

“We’re going to meet the Wildboars?!” Dokucha called excitedly

Shanks sighed, giving up on correcting them and pulling on the cheek of the child.

“Dokucha, you have to stay next to us, okay? I don’t trust those guys!”

“Oey! Shans-nii!” they whined, slapping his hand away with a frown, promptly being replaced by a smile.

“But it’s okay cause Capi and bothers are gonna be there!” they cheered.

"Wahahaha! That's right Dokucha! Just stay near us and everything will be fine!"

“Yes Capi!”

Okay yes that last part highkey dosen’t fit the whole action pace of the story and much less the narration that followed after but listen I could not in good conscience not add wholesomeness! I couldn’t, just lil Dokucha hanging from shank’s hip or cuddle in his lap as he read or Buggy’s faces to make them laugh 🥹 and omg the capi, im so smart yall 🤭

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

[demonpiratehuntress]

Good to know you're doing great, and that's fine (and Yes Inumake Toge 😍😍 🥺🥺) How about Zoro x reader (reader is the daughter of Gold Roger but uses a different last name she's two years older than Ace and her identity is a secret, she does tell Zoro in private after they get together) them having triplets together all look like Zoro (all have his sense of direction lol) just the shenanigans of reader having three lost Marimos 😂 she's very amused by it (it makes sense considering her sense of direction is non existent too 😂 the crew has five direction challenged members yikes) also she's a fighter (has Uzui Tengen's swords lol... I'm only adding this part cause I don't really like reader not being a fighter sorry if that's inconvenient you can remove it, I'm not asking for battle scenes just a note to point out) she's his height (the struggles of my tall ass constantly having to imagine how tall a character is for them to be taller than my 6'4 ass 😂) and kinda hot headed

i love the idea of Zoro's and reader's children being directionally challenged just like him lol. i can do this idea, because i am also directionally challenged :) i just don't know who Uzui Tengen is, but I did google him to make sure! i hope you enjoy this :) so sorry it took so long!

taglist - @kabloswrld

it runs in the family

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

summary - the ask ^-^

warnings - not proof read

It was hard enough having one lost soul to take care of. Watching Zoro was like watching a child, needing constant focus and attention to keep him from wandering off. Everyone takes turns watching him, but it ultimately ends up being your job most of the time because it's so exhausting.

"I'm going to that weapons store over there, be right back."

Your head snapped up when you heard him say that, eyes going wide as you immediately lunged forward to grab his wrist.

"It's right over there!" He protested, "I won't get lost."

You snorted and raised an eyebrow, "Babe I've seen you walk across the street and get lost. I don't believe you for a second. Sit down."

He grumbled and complained, but listened and took his seat next to you again. The two of you were waiting for the others to come back from their respective tasks, having finished your own (no thanks to Zoro, you had done it yourself). You swore you looked down for two seconds and when you turned to say something to him, he was not there. You shot up instantly, looking around for a mop of green hair.

"That idiot-"

You found him soon enough, and he was making his way to the weapons store just like he wanted. You were quick to scramble after him, knowing if you lost him now it would take you a whole day to find him. Maybe two.

"Zoro!"

The man grunted as you grabbed his ear, shooting you a pained glare as you twisted it and pulled him in the other direction.

"Dammit woman, at least let my ear go!"

"You need a leash!"

"..."

And that's pretty much how it goes every time you have to babysit your husband. It only got worse when you found out you were pregnant, and produced three exact copies of the swordsman. Three little menaces with his hair, his features, his personality, and your eyes. That's about the only thing they got from you.

To absolutely no one's surprise, they turned out to have a horrible sense of direction just like their father.

To be honest, you were a little relieved they hadn't inherited anything from you. As the daughter of the famed Gol D Roger, you were just as much at risk of being captured and locked up forever - or executed - just because of your parentage, like your younger brother. Only Zoro knew who your father was, as you kept the secret as possible. Even then, you only told him because you wanted no secrets between the two of you, which you'd promised each other on your wedding day. It seemed so long ago, with everything you'd been through, but you were more than grateful for the swordsman.

Not just for keeping your secret (you were pretty sure he forgot the day after you told him) but for protecting you to a point. He knew you could take care of yourself, he'd seen how skilled you were with your blades. He wasn't overbearing, because you were already a strong fighter, but he protected you in other ways, like keeping you from getting into dangerous situations that risked exposing who you were - like that one time in Water 7 when Garp absent-mindedly noted that you reminded him of Gol D Roger, Zoro quickly changed the conversation. He was dumb, but he was more perceptive than he led people to believe.

All these memories, of meeting him and dating him and eventually marrying him, flooded your mind as you gazed down at your sons. A soft smile on your face, you admired just how much they looked like their father, something you had hoped for but the others teased you for.

But you found out soon enough that although having three little kids running around was hard enough, it was made worse when you and the crew found out about their lack of directional sense.

"Zoro!"

You smacked the back of your husband's head hard, immediately waking him from his nap. He glared up at you for a moment before seeing the furious look on your face and immediately became nervous.

"Where are the boys?!"

"They were right over-" He pointed to the nearby swing, "-there."

"Uh huh, and where are they now?" You crossed your arms.

He scratched the back of his head, getting to his feet, "Uh..."

You smacked him again, "Dumbass. You're just lucky this island isn't as big as all the other ones we've been to!"

But as it turned out, searching for your lost children wasn't hard. They were only a block away from the small park Zoro had taken them to, huddled together on the side and looking around in confusion. In true Roronoa Zoro fashion.

One of them spotted you and yelled happily, dragging his siblings towards you and your sheepish husband. You smiled and scooped two of them up, leaving the third to be lifted into Zoro's arms.

"You guys know you're not supposed to go anywhere without me or your father," you scolded, holding back a smile at how cute they looked glancing at each other before looking down.

"Sorry, mommy. It won't happen again."

And they sound so cute, so sad, you just have to smother their little faces with kisses until they're laughing and pushing your face away.

"Ew, mom!"

But of course, it does happen again. Because they're Roronoa Zoro's children, they always manage to get themselves lost. The next time it happened, you were visiting Vivi in Alabasta. As you and the others were caught up in greeting the princess, your overeager kids found some other kids to play with and went off with them without telling you or Zoro.

Your husband, bless him, tried to go after them but got himself lost in the process. How you know? Sanji found your kids and brought them back, but said he hasn't even SEEN the swordsman.

"Babe you are the LAST person who should go looking for lost people!" You sighed when you found him, shaking your head. "It always ends up like this."

"Those are MY kids-"

"Clearly," you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Anyway Sanji found them, so let's just go." You dragged him back to everyone else, ignoring the way his eye twitched at the mention of the cook.

That's not to say you were good with directions, because you were also bad with them. Sure, you had a better idea of direction than Zoro did, but the crew was still a little wary about sending you anywhere alone.

You and your family tended to butt heads about it, especially when you were all shopping for things you needed. Zoro would claim what you were looking for was in one aisle, while you asserted that it was in another.

It was quite funny for the crew actually, watching the five of you argue and then run off in different directions, only to forget which way you came from and struggle to get back. They had a blast when you took the kids to a carnival where there was a maze, because they found their way out relatively quickly. All the while you, your directionally-challenged kids and your even more directionally-challenged husband went in circles.

"I think it's this way."

"No, no, it's definitely this way!"

"Trust me, I know where I'm going!"

"So do I!"

You two were so busy arguing about where to go that you didn't notice your mischievous children sneaking off to try and find their own way out. Much like Zoro, they hated arguing and they wanted to just take action instead of thinking. By the time you realised it was too quiet, they were nowhere nearby.

"Oh my God, not again!" You face-palmed, then whirled on the swordsman, "This is your fault!"

"Mine?! You wanted to argue!"

Steam was practically coming out of your nose and ears, but you took a deep breath and calmed yourself. One of you had to be reasonable here. So without a word, you turned and walked in one direction while your thick-headed husband went in the other.

"(kid 1 name)! (kid 2 name)! (kid 3 name)!" You tried calling, hearing their voices call back out to you every time you did. But as soon as you thought you were getting close, you would call again and their voices would be even further away.

They were going in the opposite directions.

"Hey, kids!" You called again, "Just stay right there for mom, okay? Stay where you are."

Eventually you do find them, but now you have no idea where you came from so you have no idea where to go. Outside the maze, the rest of the crew is fast asleep as they wait for the five of you to figure it out, Nami being the only one staying awake just in case you made it out earlier than they expected.

You didn't.

"We can't take you guys anywhere," the redhead complained, making you laugh.

Yeah, that was pretty much what the Straw Hat crew had to deal with.

A/N: i hope this lived up to your expectations! i wasn't sure how to piece it all together so just tell me if i missed anything in your request, or if you're not satisfied with any of the parts! :) im open to criticism!

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading. This chapter contains violence and sexual content.

FIVE SEVEN

SIX (+18)

A few days later, after several visits to the hospital pretending to be Steve Rogers' wife, he is finally being discharged today. His recovery has been remarkable; he no longer needs support for his arm, only a brace. Naturally, you came to pick him up from the hospital, ready for your last performance as his wife and to return his car that you've been using. Sure, you have your own car, but it doesn’t quite compare to Steve’s. As soon as you walk into the hospital, you spot your fake husband bidding farewell to the medical staff.

"My beautiful wife, light of my life. Come and thank these wonderful people with me for the excellent job they did taking care of my arm and ensuring I’ll never have financial stability again," Steve says playfully, as he bids farewell to a group of nurses escorting him to the hospital entrance. You laugh as you approach him, and he pulls you into an embrace. You nestle gently against his chest, placing his arm around your shoulder so he can lean on you for support.

"Your husband is a very kind man, we’re going to miss him; he has some great stories," one of the nurses says, sounding quite interested in Steve. You smile faintly, imagining the nonsense Steve must have shared while he was either drugged or simply bored.

"He really is great at telling stories. Thank you all for taking such good care of him, I don’t know what I’d do without my precious husband," you say, placing a lingering kiss on Rogers' cheek. He looks into your eyes, as if you were a forbidden fruit he longed to taste. After the goodbyes, you both head to the parking lot.

"Where did you leave your car?" Steve asks, his arm somehow still draped around you. You smile a bit sheepishly and point to his car, just ahead of where you stand.

"As your wife, I had to borrow something personal of yours, you know, to make it seem real," you explain, trying to justify yourself as you watch Steve pull away and rush to his car, checking it over to ensure everything’s intact.

"No one would’ve known that your car belongs exclusively to you, my dear fake wife. But since there’s no damage, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now hand over the keys," Steve says confidently, as if he's ready to drive. But you shake your head, denying him the keys.

"The doctor said yesterday that you need to rest your arm for the next few days, and that’s why I came to pick you up—to take you home. After this, I suggest you call a ride service, a taxi, or use public transport," you say, opening the passenger door for him. He gives you a reluctant look, clearly displeased with not driving. Yet something in your fierce gaze and impatient grunt convinces Steve to get into the car, and soon enough, feeling victorious, you get in as well. In no time, you’re driving toward Steve’s house.

"My house is nearby. You must be wondering how I'm already living in a place, considering I just got back to the city," Steve says, fidgeting with his fingers, his voice a little slurred as if still under the influence of painkillers. "I'm staying in Bucky's old place. He's probably furious that he can't go back there—it would’ve made a good hideout. Maybe that's why he shot me. Or maybe it was Natasha's idea." He mumbles some of his words, and you try to keep a neutral expression, knowing full well that he’s aware it was either one of them who shot him.

"How do you know it was one of them? It could've been anyone. And if you don’t mind me asking, who is Natasha?" Your award-worthy performance of feigned ignorance seems almost convincing even to yourself. You watch as Steve stops fiddling with his fingers—despite the brace—and looks at you, as if carefully considering his response. He lets out a heavy sigh before speaking.

"As for the shot, you already know. Even when I’m not all here, I can still tell when you're lying. But Natasha... she was Bucky’s partner before he started working with the wrong people. They had a pretty close partnership, you could say. It was the first time in years I thought Bucky could actually have a healthy relationship with someone. They loved avoiding unnecessary emotions, obsessed with fieldwork, and even today, they’re both still great marksmen."

Steve pauses, his frustration palpable, and continues, "Their partnership ended when Bucky took on an undercover mission that was too dangerous for Romanoff. She didn’t want to lose herself in the disguise. I’m betting he ran straight to her for help, and that pisses me off. He could’ve come to me—I would’ve helped him. Now it’s my job to bring him in for questioning." His frustration boils over as he bangs his braced arm against the car's dashboard, letting out a grunt. You can’t quite tell if it’s the pain or the possibility of a scratch on the car that bothers him more. As he speaks, you finally start piecing together the puzzle of Barnes' past life and who Natasha is to him, though only on a surface level.

"Surely he must have had a good reason for not reaching out to you. As for him being your possible shooter, it seems foolish to believe there's any justification for him to have put your well-being at risk. Maybe he’s no longer your best friend; perhaps he’s just a reckless man." You speak, carefully holding back your true thoughts. This might be the perfect moment to reveal everything you know to Steve Rogers, to make it clear that you’re aware of much more than you let on. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. You feel like a pathetic fool, unwilling to risk your crush being put in jeopardy.

"You two had a fight while I was in the hospital, didn’t you? Your words are so sincere; you must really believe Bucky is an idiot for shooting me. Well, know that he isn’t. The shot was practically perfect, it didn’t do much damage. He’s just trying to keep me away. But he’s not a cruel or reckless man." Steve says, looking at you as if searching for a reaction that confirms his suspicions. You park the car in front of the address Steve gave you and lean closer after unbuckling your seatbelt, then do the same for him.

"Mr. Rogers, understand once and for all that your friend and I have nothing. Why would a man with such a dangerous life want anything to do with a mere bakery owner? It doesn’t make sense. But I hope things get clarified between you two soon. Now let me help you to your house, and then we’ll part ways and never see each other again," you say, locking eyes with him as you undo his seatbelt.

Steve's face, which was almost smiling, turns serious. "I want another date; our last one was definitely interrupted." He leans in slightly closer, your faces mere inches apart. You’re taken by surprise, trying to fathom what Steve could possibly want from you now.

"Let's get inside your house quickly; the painkillers must be talking for you. In case you don't remember, your only interest in me is to know about your Bucky, nothing to do with wanting my company," you say firmly, noticing him staring at your lips as he contemplates his response.

"That was before you saved my life. Now my interest in you is personal. I promise to try not to expose your lies on this second date. How about I pick you up in a week when my doctor says I can start putting effort into my arm again?" Steve replies, a hint of determination in his eyes.

"You just said that whoever shot you didn't intend to kill you, Mr. Rogers. I merely took you to a hospital," you say as you exit the car, then open the passenger door and lean toward him. "And I don't understand the need for your arm's recovery. Now, put your arm around my neck, and let's go inside; it's getting cold out here." It really is getting colder since you left the hospital. He leans on you, remaining silent, likely fearing that you might let go if you get annoyed or uncomfortable with something he says. It’s only when you both enter his house with some difficulty, and you lay him down on his large, comfortable sofa, that he grabs your hand before you can step away.

“I need my good arm to be free so I can give you all the fun and pleasure a real date with me could offer. Give me that chance, and I promise I won’t bother you again,” Steve says, smiling as he looks up at you.

You contemplate his face for a few moments, considering whether you truly want to go on a date with Steve. Gently, you caress his hand before moving it away from your arm.

"Next week, make that proposal to me again—with your arm fully recovered. Let’s see what my answer will be then. For now, I'm going home. Take care of yourself, Mr. Rogers," you say as you watch him give you a victorious smile. Before leaving Steve’s house, you place his car keys on the kitchen counter.

As you hear him shout a "See you next week," you take a rideshare back to your apartment, eager to rest. However, upon arriving at your door, a sense of alertness washes over you. Given the recent events, you had decided to keep a can of pepper spray in your bag for self-defense. If some thug were to try to rummage through your things or rob you, they would certainly regret it. Without hesitation, you slowly open the door and spray pepper spray at the first figure you see in front of you. Barnes lets out a grunt of pain, murmuring "fuck, fuck, fuck" repeatedly as he covers his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing? This stuff got in my eyes!” Barnes growls, writhing as he tries to rub the pepper spray out. Without hesitation, you rush to the kitchen, grabbing cold water and a cloth.

“Hold still, I’m trying to help,” you say, but he pulls back sharply, resisting your touch. Your patience snaps. Pushing him against the counter, you press your body firmly against his, taking control of the situation. You pull his hands away from his face with swift determination and begin gently wiping his eyes with the cold, damp cloth. As you carefully clean the remaining spray, his tense frame finally stills, allowing you to tend to him without further protest.

"Apparently, you must have suffered some kind of brain damage if you think trying to shoot me compares to me simply defending myself from an intruder. We're nowhere near being even, Barnes." You place the cloth down on the kitchen counter and turn to take in your apartment. Bucky had brought a bouquet of roses, most likely as a peace offering.

"I missed having you around, even when it feels like you want to hit me," Barnes says, his gaze fixed on you. You immediately turn to face him. You so dearly wish to trust his words, but lately, it seems as though he’s been toying with you.

"There’s no need to come at me with your charm, trying to use me again. I have no intention of continuing to be manipulated by you," you say with firm resolve, attempting to distance yourself from Bucky, though you don’t truly wish to. Yet, he pulls you closer, pressing you against the kitchen counter before lifting you onto it. He positions himself before you, standing between your legs. You lock eyes, both wearing expressions of seriousness.

"As if much evidence were needed to reach that conclusion. You hid in my restaurant because you had likely already noticed my little crush on you. Then, you must have used me to provoke your partner, with whom you had a relationship—so much so that she thought it necessary to nearly shoot me. And finally, you are using me to distract Steve. It's all clear now: I’m just a simple woman you decided to manipulate because I’m naïve enough." You spill your conclusions, struggling to contain the sadness welling within you. He shakes his head as if to deny everything, his body language betraying his discomfort under the weight of your accusations.

"You must think I’m a monster. If you believe I’m manipulating you because you’re an easy target, you’re sorely mistaken. You simply fail to see what’s right in front of you," he says, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. He is clearly irritated, yet there is a hint of sadness in his expression. "The day we met, you asked me how my day was going. I told you I was having a tough day. You said everything could be fixed with a cup of coffee and then handed me one. I sipped your bitter coffee and told you it was delicious. Do you know why? Your eyes—they told me you were worth the effort of pretending to enjoy it. I don’t live near your bakery; I was there while working undercover, and even then, I used my real last name because I didn’t want to lie to you. I fought against the urge to ask you out for months because I knew I would have to deceive you. But I returned almost every day to your bakery because I wanted to see you. To drink your bitter coffee and taste your new recipes. Because seeing you made me feel normal," he confesses, his face just inches from yours. For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt, realizing you may have crossed a line.

"I want to say that I don’t trust a word of what you’ve said, but the truth is, even if you’re using me, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. And if my accusations have offended you, I apologize. It’s just that you’re not sincere with me. You didn’t tell me about Natasha, and I…" You pause, contemplating your next words. Should you admit that you feel somewhat jealous? Or that you’re considering accepting a date with his best friend? At this moment, everything feels so confusing to you.

"You’ve drawn your own conclusions. I don’t blame you, but I can’t reveal more than what you already know. So, in the end, you’re right to conclude that I’m using you. What other justification could there be for all of this, right?" Bucky’s expression and tone reflect a certain weight, a gravity that hangs in the air. It’s amusing how you find yourselves engaged in this relationship discussion that doesn’t truly exist, all while so close to one another. He continues to occupy the space between your legs, positioned right beside your body, as if holding you in place. The question remains: do you want him to step back?

"If that is all you have to say, then you had best leave," you reply, unsettled by the casual way he speaks, as though he isn’t erecting a wall between you. Yet, instead of stepping away, he draws closer, a tension growing between you that had not fully existed before. His hands gently cup your face, and you close your eyes, trying your best not to give in just yet.

"Do you truly want me to leave?" Barnes asks, his fingers brushing over your cheeks, then tracing your lips. You open your eyes to meet his gaze—those blue eyes, the most beautiful you’ve ever seen, fixed intently on you. You shake your head no, still watching him, unable to look away.

"I want you to want me. But nothing suggests that we’ll cast aside reason and embrace this mutual attraction," you say softly, as though too shy to openly admit your desire for him.

"To hell with reason," Barnes replies, pulling you toward him. His lips, possessive, devour yours as though he were savoring your taste. You return the kiss, urging Barnes to press even closer to you. Your hands explore his body while he holds your face, deepening the kiss with fervor. Your hands trail down Barnes' back, when you reach his rear, you squeeze his ass. He lets out a drawn-out moan near your ear as he starts to reach for the opening in your pants. With impressive agility he manages to help you take off your pants while holding you closer to him.

"Fuck me on the couch, Barnes. I want a reminder of you every time that I sit on it," you say with your mouth still pressed against his. He immediately picks you up, carrying you to your couch. You let out a little laugh, as if you were getting nervous but at the same time excited. Which was true, she'd wanted to have this moment with him for so long her mind was almost exploding. Barnes leans you against the edge of the couch as if he wants to support you there to continue where you left off. You reach for the hem of his shirt, ripping it off his body immediately. He's definitely as ripped as you'd expect him to be. Gently, you begin to kiss his belly, from bottom to top. When you kiss near his neck, he holds your face; pulling you in for a kiss. A slow kiss, as your tongues find each other's rhythm. He only breaks the kiss when he realizes that you still have a lot of clothes on.

"I hope to make you have a pleasant memory of our time together," he kisses your neck as he removes the rest of his clothes and yours. When he lowers the strap of your bra, he places small kisses on your shoulder. While with one hand he opened the clasp of your bra, as it fell to the floor, he massaged your breast. His cold fingers made contact with the tip of her breast, pulling it lightly. Then he ended up grabbing the other breast while massaging the other. His warm tongue sucking your left breast while his cold fingers pinched your right breast. Between your moans and his grunts, you were being deliciously explored by Barnes.

"I want your cock, Bucky. Inside me, fucking me; I want to feel you," you say almost as if you were pleading. The smug smile Barnes gives you makes you almost regret what you said.

"Your wish is my command," Barnes says, stopping whatever he was doing and spreading your legs, positioning himself at the entrance to your pussy. "Tell me how much you need me, Y/N. Tell me what you want from me," Barnes whispers as he teases you by lightly thrusting his cock into your pussy. His fingers stimulating your entrance too, massaging your pussy that is already wet, by the feeling of almost having his dick there.

"I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you, I want to feel you deep inside me," you say almost as a mumble. Your fingers scratch Barnes's six-pack, making him let out a groan. His eyes light up the moment he looks at you and finally, he penetrates you. His cock is completely inside you almost as if it were throbbing with pure lust. You let out a loud sigh, grabbing his bare ass with your hands. You help him with the movements, while he thrusts into you. The feeling of grabbing his ass while he puts his dick in you, it's almost divine. Your moans increase with each thrust of his, as you feel an explosion of pleasure take over you. At this moment it doesn't matter that your ass is hurting a little, that your back is in a almost uncomfortable position. The pleasure of being fucked by James Barnes is far greater than any momentary discomfort.

"Hold on to me, princess. My body is yours to do with as you please," Bucky speaks and you grab his neck, scratching him as you feel your orgasm form as Barnes continues to thrust his cock into you. As if he notices that you are about to cum, he starts thrusting more slowly, as if he wants to prolong the moment. You hold him close to you, nibbling on his ear and then kissing him. Finally you both come, almost in sync. You melt in his arms, not feeling strong enough to pull away from him.

"How about we take a bath together and then we can go to bed?" Bucky says while you don't even have the strength to answer him.You just nod your head and let him carry you to the bathroom.

You wake up in bed, uncertain whether what happened on the sofa was reality or merely a figment of your desire. Yet, your body confirms that you and Barnes truly slept together. But the other side of the bed is empty—he left while you were still asleep. Perhaps it’s for the best; this way, you won’t foster false hopes. Maybe it will hurt less if you pretend it was just a dream. You rise, though standing proves a bit difficult, and upon seeing the time, you rush to open the bakery. After a refreshing shower, you slip into a loose dress, tie up your hair, and hurry out to open your bakery.

But something feels off—you sense that someone is following you. Perhaps it's paranoia, yet the feeling lingers. Just before grabbing the keys to open the bakery, you turn around. It turns out you weren’t paranoid after all. A strange man, wearing a cap and dark sunglasses, stands right behind you. He pulls a knife and thrusts it into your stomach. The force of the blow causes you to stagger slightly as you lock eyes with him.

"Tell Barnes he can’t hide forever. Tell him Alexander Pierce sends his regards," the man sneers, twisting the knife deeper. "Hail, Hydra!" he exclaims before yanking the blade out of you and running off.

It feels as though your world has stopped, your life flashing before your eyes. All the times you wanted something but let it slip away, all the moments you couldn’t be who you were meant to be. The mistakes made, the victories earned. Your eyes grow heavy as you clutch the wound, feeling your blood spilling from you. Then, through the haze, you see a figure rushing toward you, and you recognize him instantly. A weak smile forms on your lips.

"I knew you'd be my hero," you whisper, as the strong arm of the man holds you steady. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you," is all you hear before you lose consciousness.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Take Me To Church ||

Pairing: Skinny Choirboy!Steve Rogers | Dark!Reader.

Description: You're the giggle at a funeral; everybody's disapproval, and yet, all Steve wants to do is to give you his life. 

Disclaimer: This is a dark AU. It will contain dark and mature content. Browse at your own discretion. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): None in this chapter. But they will contain noncon/dubcon and the like. Reader intimidates Steve but that is what he subconsciously likes so much. 

Note: No physical descriptors will be used for the reader but she has a gothic fashion style because of the plot. I humbly request your feedback as it motivates me. And I appreciate reblogs because they help circulate my work, thank you!

MASTERLIST

I

Mass was almost over. And as Steve watched the preacher with a content and almost proud smile -for the man at the dais was no other than his own paternal uncle, the whispered chatter that was followed by the brief opening of the church doors made him turn his golden head in the direction of the ‘suppressed’ commotion. 

The minute Steve's eyes found the source of the little disturbance, his blue eyes narrowed at the scene that Mrs. Y/L/N did her best to cover up with a much too enthusiastic smile coupled with the directing of a laser beam hyperfocus upon his uncle the minute she sat back down in her seat. When the brooding figure next to her did not budge and continued to loom over her in the same spot it had been dragged inside to stand in, the woman roughly pulled it down beside her without averting her gaze. 

And just like that, regardless of how obscene you looked in your smeared violet lipstick that your mother had tried to wipe off before hauling you back into mass when she realized you had snuck off while she was busy making small talk with your neighbors, Steve's heart fluttered. Oblivious to his tender gaze watching you in the most profoundly wholesome way one could muster, -as he had liked you his whole life but to think immorally of you without the sanctity of marriage safeguarding your dignity and consent was a sin he could never even imagine to commit- you curled your lip in disdain and pretended as though you were very happy to be there. The jab of your mother's elbow that had caused you to do so both made Steve snort before he caught himself in time and worry if the older woman had hurt you too badly. 

Heat began to creep up his ears and cheeks and Steve knew it was his cue to look away. He didn't want to, but he had to. You were too dangerous and he was too vulnerable to you. Immoral thoughts always began to cloud and pollute his mind if he stared at you for too long. And that, he could not have. Both for your sake and his own. 

A labored sigh of longing left his pink mouth as he quickly averted his eyes when he caught himself staring at you again. You were picking at your fingers now. He could literally visualize you counting the seconds before you could leave. Steve's stomach did that thing where his affection for you made him want to pull at your cheeks to express the adoration that he felt for you. 

Preferably after he cleaned off some of your… fashionable makeup choices, of course.

. . .

“Dude, you're really serious about the Y/L/N psycho from up the road, aren't you?” Steve frowned at his best friend's back whilst the taller, broader and healthier boy crouched in front of his Harley Davidson.

“Buck,” Steve sighed in frustration. All he had wanted to talk about was how cute you looked with the messy remnants of your lipstick in the most respectful way he could. But Bucky just had to be like this. “I told you not to call her that” his eyes watched his friend's muscles flex under the thin material of his tank top and though the golden haired boy knew that envy was one of the seven deadly sins, he couldn't help but wonder if he would be more noticeable to you if his physique bore more likeness to his friend's. “You know what Father Jameson says…”

The scoff Bucky let out at that ended in a laugh as his long fingers spread over the rim strokes that he was taking his time cleaning with much care. “Yeah, right” Steve sighed again as he leaned against the brick wall behind him, crossing his humble arms over his small chest. “Fix the creepy satanist by turning the other cheek, because that would work out so well” Bucky was not as enthusiastic about religion as his best friend, but he was not on the heresy spectrum either. 

“Dude,” Steve found the town rumour about you being a satanist both outlandish and absolutely ridiculous. “That is a stretch and you know it” but he could not help but mutter afterwards, mostly to himself. “Besides, no one is beyond saving or redemption.” 

. . . 

The little bell at the top of the coffee shop entrance dinged another arrival in but Steve, who was busy taking a rather complex order, didn't look up. He had worked after school part-time long enough at this place to both get used to and grow almost ignorant of the signal during busy hours. 

But when the line moved to the point where a similar scent and shadowy figure appeared at the horizons of his senses, Steve's busy hand froze and his much practiced, nearly mechanical greeting died on his tongue at the rather shocking sight that welcomed him. 

“Y/n~!” You looked up from your phone out of concern for how breathless the cashier sounded. “W- What… what can I… I…” You narrowed your eyes from under the dark brown hood that was pulled over your head, wondering if the blonde boy at the other side of the counter was having some kind of a fit. “I…” It was not that you cared whether the little dude died or whatever, but rather you preferred he did so after taking your order so you could be on your way. 

“Coffee, black” and so you hurriedly uttered out your order in a near panic. The boy seemed like he didn't understand you at first. As if you were speaking a language alien to his very red ears. But then he did a weird double take and nodded quickly before looking down and punching your order in the machine with such force that it appeared as though he was trying to crush the buttons with his skinny little fingers. 

You raised an eyebrow, not out of concern but more at the comical absurdity of this queer little boy that you felt like you had seen somewhere before but could not pinpoint where. You dug inside the pockets of your black skinny jeans and took the money out to pay because you knew the rate and he was malfunctioning way too much for your patience.  

“That’ll be—” you slid the exact amount on the counter before he could finish his sentence. “Oh, thank you…” You rolled your eyes to yourself. It was bad enough that your usual cafe was closed today and now you had to deal with an overly nice, glitching twink. “N- Nice day out… huh?” 

The way your eyes moved from your phone to his face and then down to his nametag caused the thick black false eyelashes you wore over the smoky eyeshadow to move rather dramatically. 

Steve decided he liked it.

“Uh…?” You squinted as you made out his name from under the frilly church badge that he wore in honor of something you couldn't care less about. “... Steve…?

“Yes!?!” Steve's bright blue eyes were wide as he gripped the edge of the counter as if he was on the verge of exploding. “Something you wanted?!”

You leaned in, tilting your phone to the side to look at him properly. “The receipt…” His flashing blush was so deep in shade that it seemed for a second as though the heat would start to steam out of his ears next. 

“R- Right, right!” Steve's voice was embarrassingly loud as he snatched the token-bill out of the machine before holding it out to you with too much force than he intended, not that it was much coming from someone like him. 

You just gave him a weirded out look before accepting the paper by pinching at one of its edges and taking it from him and moving out of the way. You were not sure if Steve noticed it or not, but the people behind you were groaning out of frustration because of his little display that had made you hold the line up for way longer than was needed. You rolled your eyes again, both at him and the people. 

What an inconvenience.

But Steve's mind was way too occupied with something else to notice the unhappy customers. As he tried to go back to his work with no awareness of how the elderly lady in front of him frowned at him, he felt his heart leap up from how you paused and half-turned. He could not decide why you tilted your head the way one did when they were considering something the person next to them was saying. Because there was no such person with you. You slowly further craned your neck to look behind you before your eyes found him again. You narrowed your dark eyes on him as if… perhaps… you could hear someone saying something about him. There was literally no one there but Steve subconsciously focused on you, unsure of what outcome he expected to achieve by doing so. 

But the shrill voice of Mrs. Jackson nearly gave him a heart attack as it brought him out of his little bubble and he blinked to recalibrate before shaking his head at the absurdity of his thoughts and then willing his hands to return to their work. 

. . .

“Ma…” Steve muttered under his breath as he closed his eyes in frustration, sighing into his orange juice. “It was one time” he put emphasis on the quantitative adjective before crossly shooting his best friend a sharp look. 

Bucky was not bothered in the least as he scarfed down Mrs. Rogers' morn cooking with full satisfaction after ratting her son out to him. 

“It's not about that!” She put both his and Bucky's lunches -who was basically her unofficial son and Steve's unproclaimed sibling at this point- with a force not violent or traumatizing on their still young minds but harsh enough to add effect to her words. “It's about you not even mentioning it to me!”

“Mom…” Steve's ears were red. “You're embarrassing me…” He felt like kicking his friend's happy form.

“I am embarrassing you?! Me?!” Bucky chuckled in a manner aimed at further encouraging his mother before shaking his head at his best friend. “You're the one keeping secrets from me!” 

“You tell him, Sarah!” Bucky smirked when Steve glared at him. As if adding fuel to the fire wasn't enough, he was calling the woman by her name. Mrs. Rogers didn't mind because it made her feel young but her son didn't like it when his best friend did it with that cocky playboy expression of his. 

Steve knew Bucky too well. 

And the plethora of information was a rather mortifying one. 

“Dramatic much?” Steve chose to say instead, shaking his head at the both of them.

“Steven!” And he stood up at that, swiping his mini-package from the table as he did so. 

“Ma, it was one time and only because her usual coffee shop was closed. She usually doesn't come by the place at all…” As he stuffed his lunch in his bag before zipping it, he added for good measure, “I promise.” 

“Notice how he knows that?” Bucky swung his bag over his shoulder after doing the same thing and laughing as he ran by Steve to avoid being hit.

“Mom—” the golden haired boy began after glaring at the way his best friend had left but the older woman cut him off.

“Just… be careful and stay away from that girl, okay?” Mrs. Rogers took his soft face in her hands and looked into his eyes. Steve's heart melted from the affectionate gesture right away and all ire transformed into guilt for feeling annoyed simply because his mother was looking out for him. “Because Mrs. Johnson told me the most horrific thing! Her younger daughter goes to school with her and—” Mrs. Rogers treated you like you were one-who-must-not-be-named and whilst it was funny to an extent, it never failed to drag Steve's spirit down. “She told Mrs. Johnson that that devilish girl said the most heretical—”

“I will, mom. Don't worry. Gotta run now, bye” Steve did not like it when anyone spoke ill of you or mistreated you. Even if the person was his own dear mother. “I love you!” The short boy rushed out. 

Only, he was met with a very angry Bucky who was cussing out an anonymous offender because the tires of his motorbike that the brunette had parked in front of Steve's house had been very intentionally slashed while he was inside. Usually, the two friends rode to school together even though it wasn't considered very cool by their peers but they didn't care. The blonde bent to pick up the brunette's backpack that he had angrily hurled on the pavement before beginning to push his vehicle down the road and to the nearest garage without another word. Steve sighed as he jogged back up to his front door since Bucky lived in the opposite direction of school and the golden haired boy was already short on time. So he dropped Bucky's bag on his mother's rocking chair that was adjacent to the door before beginning his hopefully short walk. 

Although Bucky was popular both around the neighborhood and at school, the same could not be said about Steve despite his good grades. So as he made his way down the sidewalk, hands gripping the straps of his backpack with his head down and eyes mindlessly watching how his feet moved, he did not expect to hear his name being called until the class attendance. Consequently, he missed the whistle that prompted his attention. 

When he did not pick up on it and walked on, the person grunted before speaking up. “Hey, you!” He still didn't stop or raise his blonde head, so the husky voice hailed again. “Rogers!” He froze. 

Was he hearing correctly?

No…

This couldn't be…

“What, you deaf too?” Steve's eyes widened and his head whipped to seek you out, too shocked to notice your jab at his physical ailments. The bright blue of his orbs excitedly twinkled in reaction to his rising adrenaline. 

“Y- Y/n…” He breathed out when he found you at last, turning in your direction to look at you properly. 

“So he hears! Praise the Lord!” You sarcastically teased from where you were leaning against the narrow alley wall next to the local grocers. 

Steve flushed, both shocked and mildly offended. He had never seen you speak to or approach anyone before let alone him. Especially after the scene he had made during your last meeting. 

He raked his mind for words but none came to him. All he could do was blink at you with his pretty pink lips agape, cheekbones red. 

“They're playing A Nightmare on Elm Street at the local theater tonight…” You tilted your head to the side with a ‘friendly’ smile, waiting for him to catch on.

Steve vigorously nodded like an eager little puppy, shooting you a big smile like you had just imparted some great universal truth upon him. You raised an eyebrow at him as you tapped your crossed arm with your index finger, feeling your lips break into an amused smirk at how he malfunctioned. 

His eyebrows eventually furrowed when he slowly realized your expression and let his mind replay what you had said. 

“H- Huh?!” Was all he could let out once he did so. “Uh… okay…?”

Of course. You thought to yourself before sighing and rolling your eyes. 

“The cashier didn't have change so he ended up giving me two tickets” you dangled them between your fingers after fishing them out of your jeans, the hood you wore on your head casting a shadow over your dark makeup. “And who would be better company than the nice barista who lives down the street, right?”

Steve's throat felt as though a hundred thorns had coiled around it. “N- Not a… barista…” He did not have to, but he felt the need to do so for the sake of being honest with much difficulty, blushing up a storm. “Just… the cashier…” You snorted as you let your shoulders push you off the wall. “A- And down the road… not s- street…”

You gave him a considering nod. “Tomato, to-mah-to” now you walked closer to him, unknowingly pulling the very air from his lungs as a result. “7pm, sharp. Don't be late.” And you walked off with your characteristic coolness, not looking back and leaving Steve to his disbelief and eventual nervous breakdown due to the shocking turn of events. 

. . .

Everything Tag <3: @rosecentury

[adrixivy]

Steve has lived in ice for 70+ years. Due to that, he missed several generations of trends, news, references. Every time someone mentions a reference from a show or movie. he’s always confused. So imagine someone mentions something he knows or understands where the references came from. He’s immediately pointing it out that he does know. And the Avengers don’t know whether to adore the man or roll their eyes. (Tony is the one that mainly rolls his eyes)

The Avengers are in a mission. And suddenly a giant robot, nearly as tall as the Avengers tower is released onto them. And they’re hitting it with their weapons which does damage yet it’s not showing any indication that it’ll shut off. And Peter being Peter, realised this is something familiar that happened in a movie

Peter, swinging around the robot looking for something: Have you guys seen Despicable Me 3? It’s basically Minions 3 but anyway, you guys know it?!

Steve, having watched it with Peter, (Peter got up to get popcorn and let the movie run and Steve decided to just seat on the couch and watch. Peter did not realize Steve was there after he got his popcorn either. He jumped up onto the ceiling after Steve stood up and walked away after the end of the movie, absolutely startled) replied immediately enthusiastically: I know! I know that! The tiny yellow beings!

Tony sighs and the rest of the team chuckles or rolls their eyes. Peter giggles at the man’s excitement and he carries out the plan with reference from it.

Peter, who found what he’s looking for: Mr Rogers! Remember that one scene where Dru breaks into the robot and breaks its core? Well I found it! At the lower back of the bot, there’s a circular panel! Break into the robot and break the core please! I’ll get you up! Avengers, I need your help restraining its movements so Cap can do it easier!

Immediately, the Hulk and Thor is holding one of the bot’s legs and Tony and Rhodey is trying to hold down the other too. Peter swings by Steve and grabs his hand. He swings with one hand to the panel and throws Steve directly onto it. Steve sticks his shield into the back of the bot and punches the panel open till it makes an opening big enough for him to fit through.

Peter is immediately down at the legs, swinging around it a few times to wrap its legs with webs and help Tony and Rhodey with holding the legs back. The robot seem to be going straight to some destination, which Friday had concluded that it was the President’s home, the white house. So they’re all desperately trying to stop it but Peter’s webs was easily torn apart and the robot is able to walk smoothly again.

Tony, seriously annoyed of the robot and wants to go home, shouts sarcastically: Anytime now, Steve!

Steve who had to climb up all the way to the bright red square that seems like the same core in the movie and genuinely believes it is it as it stands out: God, I hope this is it.

He smashes the bright red square with his shield and it shatters. The robot sputtered and soon enough, shuts down and was falling over. Steve quickly jumped out and was caught by Tony and Rhodey, grabbing one of his arms. Peter is immediately cheering.

Then suddenly Friday finds out the whereabouts of the mastermind who released the huge robot and the Avengers teleport there thanks to Stephen. Peter is immediately cackling and Steve is trying to hold in his giggles before he gave up and laughed too at the sight of the mastermind. Who has obnoxiously big goggles and their entire theme is yellow. The Avengers are looking at them weirdly and the mastermind is confused and furious because why are they laughing?

Peter, in the middle of laughing: HE-HE’S YELLOW-HAHAHA-LIKE THE MINIONS AND THE MINIONS LOVE TO-BAHAHA-BE DESPICABLE

Steve, trying to stop laughing with a hand on his mouth but can’t help it and looks away: S-stop it Peter *giggles right after*

Peter, can’t help but say one more joke: What’s your catchphrase? Oh, Despicable me?-HEHEHEAHAHAH

Peter is on the floor, clutching his stomach and Steve is hiding his face behind the shield, embarrassed that he can’t control his laughter. The avengers either have a grin on their face or are chuckling at the scene right now.

The mastermind is immediately yelling at them to ‘Stop it!’ and Peter laughs louder at the villain’s high pitched voice. He looks and sounds exactly like a minion that it’s incredibly more hilarious to Peter and Steve. Steve is embarrassed of himself for not being able to hold in his laughter. He’s literally a soldier but he can’t help it so he’s hiding his face behind the shield and giggling away. The two laughing Avengers are out of commission for the time being as the others take down the mastermind and bind him up.

The mastermind is brought along with them in the Quinjet and whenever Peter looks at him, he can’t help but laugh and whenever Peter laughs, Steve laughs too. And the Avengers are honestly tired of the villain screaming at them to tell the two to stop so they forced Peter and Steve to one side and not even allow them a glance at the yellow midget with the weirdest goggles.

The Avengers learnt that day that Peter and Steve knowing movie references makes them a dangerous duo

Peter and Steve start watching movies together more often after that day since Peter has made it his personal mission to make Steve know more movies when he found out that Steve barely knew any when they were forced to one corner together. Tony doesn’t know if he should be threatened that Peter’s spending more time with Steve than him or happy that Peter’s golden retriever energy is being spread everywhere or concern when the next mission comes up and they use a movie reference for the next mission.

Probably all three.

[studio-of-woof]

Honest to god it has been a while. Ok. Let’s do this.

BEHIND THE CIRCUS. EPISODE 3.

So I’d like to imagine this episode was very resourceful for props and CGI. Even in a Roger Rabbit esque universe, some things just gotta be done by people you know?

Pomni and Kinger got to work together more in this episode which was good for both their in-character relationship and out-of-character relationship. Before episode 3 they haven’t really spoken much offset.

[Pomni Interview]

“Both Ragatha and Gangle had told me that Kinger is like, the dad of the cast. Now that I’ve worked with him one on one I see what they mean by that!”

This was also the episode that Kinger’s wife, Queenie, watched go down from behind the cameras, seeing as she was mentioned in the episode. Kinger wanted to bring her to the studio and she was thrilled to see her husband absolutely nail his role, and it was nice to be important to his character, even if in the show she’s canonically dead.

[Kinger interview + Queenie]

“I recall Goose asking during the pilot’s production if I was married. I brought up my wife and she asked “Would she like to audition?” I asked for what? And I was told that my character had a wife who abstracted. I called up Queenie, asked if she wanted to be an important plot point- [chuckles]… and she said yes! So we managed to get a portrait of her for the hallway before that scene was shot.”

“I did get paid for my cameos before anyone asks. I got paid.”

“Yeah best to- clear that up. [laughs]”

“Yeah no- I totally didn’t get paid for being an important part of my husband’s character.”

“You- You get paid in exposure and that’s it!”

“[Laughs] You’re canonically dead, there’s your exposure!”

Now Martha and Ghostly, coming in from The Haunted Regions of ToonTown. Ghostly is a small streamer over on Twitch and is good friends with Goose. Martha and Gangle worked with each other on other projects so they’re familiar with one another. Others have even stated Gangle could do impressions of Martha, given how their voices are so similar.

Gangle was the one who brought up Martha to the directors and managed to get her the role when she auditioned. Baron Mildenhall was voiced by Tim Alexander.

[Martha Interview]

“So… sorry if this comes off as a personal question but, do you have a husband?”

“No, I never married, honestly Tim’s character, Baron, pretty much says why. I’m just happy being within my own company.”

The Angel was done using a large, mechanical puppet which was then overlayed by a CGI model. It’s body was animated using a mocap suit.

Now, Zooble and Caine’s side plot was a lot easier to record. It was mentioned in previous interviews that Zooble isn’t too fond of how they look. They’ve been vocal about it and has encouraged people on social media to find their own identity and be proud of who they are. So when they were acting the scene out, there were some genuine emotions coming out where their character self mentioned that they don’t like their body. After that scene was shot, Zooble had to take a few minutes to recollect themselves a bit, with some genuine comfort from Caine now that he wasn’t in character.

[After scene]

“You did really good! You feeling okay?”

“Yeah just- just need a moment. I’m alright.”

“Hit close to home?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Well hey you did really really great out there. And also someday I hope you find the parts you’re looking for.”

“Man— you’re too sweet, the fuck?”

“[Laughs]”

[During production]

“So there’s a trophy room in the mansion. And there’s creepy head mounts of the main cast- you guys.”

“Ohh my lord.”

“What the fuuuhahahuck?”

“DUDE I swear I saw that exact Jax head in my nightmare once!”

“… HUH??-“

“Gangle what-“

“[Laughing hysterically]”

“I’M NOT KIDDING— Jax I’ve told you about that nightmare didn’t I??”

“You did- you did.”

—————————

“Isn’t this the part where Jax gets tied up?”

“This is the part where Jax is tied up-“

“Oh my god I forgot. I’m getting tied up- Goose what have you done?”

[Gangle, Goose and Ragatha laugh]

“You do realise what the internet’s gonna do with this.”

“To that, I deeply encourage it.”

“Ohhh I’m gonna be seeing a lot of twitter notifications.”

“People will be tagging you.”

“SO MANY NOTIFICATIONS.”

————————————

“I have a shotgun.”

“… and I want the front seat—“

[Pomni giggles]

“… whuh?”

“It’s- its-“

“Is this a reference to something I’m apparently too old to know?”

“It’s- it’s from Vine! You’re never too old to reference Vine.”

“I probably didn’t see it then. They really need to bring it back.”

“Right??”

——————————

“Man I’m glad there’s like, cushioning in that vacuum. Have you ever been inside a normal vacuum? It’s hard and uncomfortable.”

“I- I can’t say I have. I’m not a ghost!”

“You’re in a- a very tight space. You’re gonna want it to be comfortable if you’re gonna be in it for a few minutes to shoot a scene-“

“Yeah? Yeah?”

“And like- even then it depends on the kind of ghost like- me? I have no issue, I’m small- but if we’re talking like. If we’re talking Martha, she’d have to really fit herself in there.”

“I see.”

“Right.”

—————————

“That- That jumpscare from Ghostly? I wasn’t told that he was going to do that. I was legitimately frightened. I wasn’t too mad though? As a toon you can’t really fake the “eyes popping out of head” trick. They had to get an authentic scare out of me. I just had trouble getting them to go back in, even Kinger was confused. But I mean, it worked for the scene so we just ran with it.”

“And what about the effects you all have when holding your breath? Does that actually happen to you or was it post editing?”

“No it does. That all happens. I’d tell you what happens to Jax when he holds his breath but seeing everyone’s interpretations is funnier.”

“I will never tell.”

[holylulusworld]

Aahp (7) - Fooled

Summary: You end up being a pawn.

Pairing: Mobster!Andy Barber x fem!Reader, Mobster!Nick Fowler x fem!Reader, Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Characters: Jake Jensen, Lloyd Hansen

Warnings: angst, I mention daddy kink (only the words), character’s death, blood, mafia business, fluff, Lloyd being Lloyd, flirty Nick, mentions of pegging/finger up the ass, jealousy

Angel and her protectors masterlist

Catch up here: Part 6

“We have a winner!” Jake throws his hands in the air and snickers. “Pierce checked on every single transaction Ransom made. Even the ones with the kinky porn I faked.”

You giggle at Jake’s enthusiasm. He just loves fucking with people’s internet activities.

“That was my idea,” you say, and grin at Nick. “Everyone will believe Ransom likes to get pegged.”

Lloyd leans back in his chair, chuckling loudly. “I knew it,” he snorts. “That guy looks like a pillow princess loving to get his ass whipped.”

Bucky throws his head back, laughing loudly. “I can imagine him lying on a pillow while some dude shoves his finger up his ass.” He dips his head to watch Nick bring you onto his lap. You got more comfortable around Nick lately, and Bucky doesn’t like it one bit.

‘I saw her first. Nick mouths, a cocky smirk on his lips when you lean your head against his shoulder, yawning. It’s past two am, and you’re ready to fall asleep sitting. While you snuggle in Nick’s chest, three pairs of eyes are watching you.

“Buck, no,” Steve warns, watching his friend tense. Bucky is about to jump up to grab you and bring you in his arms. Nick may have seen you first, but this doesn’t mean Bucky is less interested in you.

“What?” Bucky grunts. “I didn’t do a thing.”

Steve laughs. “I can see the wheels in your head spinning, my friend. Give them a moment of peace. She’s been through enough, and if she feels relaxed with your brother, let them.”

Lloyd watches the scene unfolding in front of him with amusement. He dips his head to get a better look at Bucky’s pissed expression. Lloyd chuckles before he says, “If I were you, lover boy, I’d grab the girl and feel her cute ass up.”

“No one asked you, Hansen,” Andy hisses in Lloyd’s direction. Only because he hired the man, and pays him doesn’t mean he likes Lloyd’s antics, or the way he stares at him.

“Barber, don’t be jealous my sexy, bearded, daddy kink unlocking friend,” Lloyd looks the other man up and down, licking his lips. “I’d do you any time. Just say the word and I get some lube to help you with the stick up your ass.”

Andy rises from his seat. He puts his hands on his hips and glares at Lloyd, who still grins at Andy. “You should be careful what you’re wishing for, Hansen.”

“Andy, stop playing with him,” Steve grunts. “You know he’s into that shit. We don’t have time to fool around. You are smarter than falling for his trap.”

Lloyd rolls his eyes. “Man don’t be a spoilsport. I got more than enough lube to get a stick up your ass.” He snickers when Steve angrily glares at him. “Just saying, I’m always at your service.”

You lift your head to look at Lloyd. He’s not too bad to look at. Well, if you forget about the awful porn stache attached to his upper lip.

“Hmm…I don’t think Steve likes getting his ass fingered, Mr. Hansen. Maybe if it was a pretty girl fingering him.”

You look Steve up and down, humming to yourself. You’ve never been very adventurous in the bedroom, but you cannot deny Nick, his brother, and his friends are very handsome, and undeniably sexy. You assume they’d be open to letting you explore your sexual desires with them.

“Pookie, you’re drooling,” Nick whispers in your ear. He watches you, watching his brother and friends, with an amused smirk on his lips. "You still like me the most, right? I saved you from heartbreak and being all alone.”

“Where did you find that cute bug?” Lloyd doesn’t know when to shut his mouth. “I wouldn’t mind taking one home myself. Do they come in pairs?”

“Uh—guys. Can we get back to bringing Drysdale and the others down?” Jake has had enough of their banter. He typed his fingers bloody to fuck Ransom over, only for the others to ignore his masterpiece of a hack.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat and points at the large monitors showing the livestream of Ransom’s mansion. Or rather the mansion he stole from his grandfather after he killed him.

“I’d advise you to watch and learn,” Jake leans back in his chair. He has a pencil in each hand, moving them like a conductor.

Jake points at Ransom with one pencil while pointing the other at the other monitor showing the gate protecting Ransom’s mansion.

Pierce’s men crash an SUV into the gate, taking it down with ease. Armed men jump out of the car and run toward the entrance.

“Okay, I think I’ll bring Pookie to bed,” Nick says and wraps your arms and legs around his body before he gets up from his seat. “Tell me how it ended.”

“Bloody,” Lloyd snickers while watching the monitors with morbid curiosity. “Hmm…that guy isn’t the worst with a gun.” He admires the fighting style of both parties. “I’m better, though.”

Nick doesn’t wait for the unavoidable to happen. He carries you out of the room, murmuring your name as you are half-asleep in his arms.

“BINGO!” Bucky claps his hand when a knife ends up in Ransom’s shoulder. He laughs and steps closer to the monitor showing Ransom. “Yeah, that one got him good.”

Jake hums, proud of himself for manipulating Pierce. Said man, steps inside the room and aims a gun at Ransom’s head. Blood covers the small camera in the room seconds later.

“Another one bites the dust—” Everyone groans at Lloyd’s comment. He cocks a brow and huffs. “What? You gotta loosen up one day, guys. He’s dead, the deed is done. Now go and plow that cute bug’s field.”

Jake rolls his eyes while the other men look at each other.

Ransom is dead, and Pierce will be out of the picture as soon as his partners find out he killed Ransom out of greed.

Jake made sure there would be enough evidence leading them to Pierce. They have time to think about what to do with you now…

Part 8 - FIN

Tags in reblog.

[jintaka-hane]

Jewel of the Sea

Heat x Tobiuo (Snail's OC)

Masterlist

Summary: There’s nothing better than unwinding at the bar, dancing and drinking with the allied crews. That is, if you can keep your jealousy in check when the girl you’ve fallen for turns her attention to another guy. Will the commander of the Kid Pirates and the Heart Pirate security officer come to terms with their feelings? Will they find the courage to confess what they keep hidden in their hearts? Word count: 4000 Notes: Snail, honey, I can't wait any longer!!! And since I imagine that as the date approaches you will have thousands of gifts, I'll say now HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!! I wish you all the best on your special day! And I hope you like this gift of these two lovebirds. 🐦 🐦 They wouldn’t stop yelling at me to make them kiss and… I just couldn't say no!! I absolutely ADORE Tobiuo!! Tags: Friends to lovers; a bit of angst; pinning; confessions of love; idiots in love; kissing; heated kiss; a little jealousy.

HEAT

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound lost in the heavy silence of his cabin. Rain-soaked hair stuck to his neck and shoulders as he stood still, his normally sad eyes now burdened with an even deeper sorrow as he gazed into the dark, empty room ahead. He didn’t bother with the lights. Faint threads of moonlight slipped through the round window, bathing his hammock in pale silver, and that was enough for him.

He trudged across the room, his leather boots dragging heavily on the wooden floor. With a long, weary huff, he sat on the hanging bed, his head bowed, back hunched, and arms hanging limply at his sides.

“How did I end up like this?” he asked himself as an unsettling feeling clung to him, the same one that had been tightening in his chest over the past few weeks. He raised his hands and stared at his palms, a sigh leaving him as he found them so empty, when just hours ago they had held his most precious treasure. Her.

He growled, leaning back against the hammock, and rubbed his hand over his scarred face, unable to stop replaying the haunting music and fleeting scenes that had filled that summer night at the bar.

****

The crowded bar buzzed with energy, filled with the smell of beer and the sound of laughter. As the music thumped loudly, strobe lights flashed through the haze, inviting everyone to lose themselves in the celebration on the dance floor.

Heat laughed with Killer and other friends, raising his voice to be heard above the din as he brought his mug of cold beer to his lips. A quick glance at the crowd was all it took for him to immediately spot the beautiful Heart-Pirate security officer, her taut and athletic body clad in the boiler suit emblazoned with her crew's Jolly Roger. The fishwoman radiated happiness as she let loose with her crewmates on the dance floor, her body twirling and her waist swaying with an elegance that was distinctly her kind.

The blue-haired commander couldn’t help but stare, his hand still gripping his beer mug in midair, entirely unaware that Killer was watching him with a knowing smile hidden behind his mask.

It had been a few weeks since the alliance between their captains was struck, and the two crews had spent more time together than any of them had expected. Friendships had blossomed during that time, some light and casual, others much more profound, and Heat and Tobiuo belonged to the latter.

Their deepening friendship was clear in the many hours they spent together, talking, laughing, and learning from each other. Wanting to communicate directly with her without needing Penguin or Sachi, Heat decided to learn the basics of Auslan, the sign language Tobiuo used to express herself on land. He wasn’t proficient, not by a long shot, but his fascination with her drove him to learn faster than anyone could have imagined. And, at times, he secretly used learning the language as an excuse to spend just a little more time by her side.

Their friendship deepened over the days, and the pirate found himself thinking about her a little more than he expected. Anything curious he saw made him long to show her; any joke that came to his mind felt incomplete without sharing it with her. And with every conversation, every look, and every moment of silence that felt heavier than it should, a knot in his stomach tightened more and more.

“Come on, girls!!!”

His reverie was interrupted by the shouts of the women from his own crew, shoving their way through the crowd to join the Heart-Pirates on the dance floor. He followed the group with his gaze, and without thinking twice, slammed his beer mug onto the table, stood up, and moved to join them, letting the rhythm of the music guide him.

He made his way through the bar, navigating the throngs of dancing people, his hands occasionally catching spontaneous girls who leaped into his arms. With a grin, he spun them around before continuing on his path, his eyes locked the entire time on the silhouette of the fishwoman, her white boilersuit shifting colors with each flash of the lights that cast their glow upon her. He dodged Penguin’s clumsy, flailing arms and felt Ikkaku grab him by the waist, pulling him toward her with a laugh. He accepted, catching a glimpse of Tobiuo from the corner of his eye as she playfully bumped hips with Hop.

The blonde twirled her long ponytail in the air, and as Tobiuo dodged past, her back collided with Heat's, causing both of them to turn and face each other. The security officer’s eyes widened when she saw him there, and a radiant smile lit up her face as she threw her blue, scaly arms around him, wrapping him in a hug around his corseted torso. Heat grinned, and as the music’s tempo quickened, he decisively took her hand to guide her movements.

Their bodies moved perfectly in sync, carried away by the rhythm. Their feet shifted back and forth, lost in the music, and she followed his lead, attuned to his every movement. As the melody softened, Tobiuo turned and pressed her back against his chest. Heat’s hands slid down to her waist, feeling each subtle shift of her body as their hips swayed together to the beat. She brought her hands to his neck, her webbed fingers sensually sinking into his blue locks, and as she pulled her hand away, Heat seized the opportunity to twirl her, the motion ending in a beautiful embrace. Tobiuo pulled away, her smile never fading, and gestured with her hands.

“Make me fly, pretty boy.”

As soon as he registered the word "fly," his hands slid to her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. She gasped in silence, revealing her pointed teeth in a smile as her feet left the floor. He held her aloft, his arms extended, her dark navy hair brushing against his face as she hovered just above the crowd. Then, with a playful grin, he began to lower her, their bodies touching as she descended, every curve and muscle felt between them. Heat felt something strong pounding against his chest, and whether it was the deep bass of the music or the thumping of his own heart, he couldn’t tell.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she cast him one last smile before spinning away, lost to the rhythm and the crowd. He watched her silent laughter bubble forth as a stranger twirled her. She didn’t seem to mind; she was enveloped in the moment, exuding freedom and radiance as her body swayed effortlessly to the beat.

Heat stepped off the dance floor with the music still pulsing in his ears. Spotting Killer leaning against the bar, he went over to order a new beer. They exchanged a few words, but Heat’s attention kept drifting back to Tobiuo, how her wide smile glowied as she danced effortlessly with another man.

He wasn’t the type to get jealous. But something stirred within him as he watched the way the stranger danced with her, the way his hand lingered on her waist, and the way their bodies touched. He took a slow sip from his drink, his eyes never leaving them, and chuckled at the thought that for just a brief second, she had been his and his alone. In the swirl of bodies and music, he saw the stranger lean in, and when his lips neared hers and she didn’t pull away, his jaw tightened, the corners of his Glasgow smile shifting into a sullen pout.

“Heat?” Killer called after him.

“Headin’ back to the ship,” the tattooed pirate muttered dryly, tearing his gaze away from the pair.

And before his friend could stop him, he strode toward the entrance of the bar, the light summer drizzle kissing his skin as he slipped into the night.

*****

WIRE

The Victoria Punk’s galley filled with the bitter aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Wire always made himself the strongest caffeine-laced drink when it was his turn to take the night watch, and that long, lonely night was not going to be any different.

Pouring the coffee with a slow tilt of the pot, he recalled how just minutes earlier, Heat had stormed back onto the ship, shutting himself in his cabin without a word. With a click of his tongue, Wire raised the cup to his lips, allowing the dark coffee to warm him as it slid down his throat in a slow, thoughtful sip. After so many years of friendship, he knew Heat like a younger brother, and the moment he rushed past without a glance, Wire knew exactly what had gone down at the bar.

“Tsk, pair of idiots,” the tall man muttered, his eyes flicking toward the ceiling as the soft patter of rain drummed lightly on the upper deck. 

He settled onto a high stool, intending to enjoy his coffee, but just as he was about to take another sip, a familiar smoky smell drifted from the cabins, hitting his nostrils and causing him to close his eyes in resignation.

"Okay," he mumbled, leaving the cup on the table to make his way down to the crew’s quarters, knowing he would have to reheat the coffee later.

"Heat?" he called, tapping gently on the door with his knuckles, seeing wisps of smoke curling through the crack. "Do you want to talk?"

“Leave me alone,” a broken voice came from the other side of the door. 

Wire rubbed a hand over his face, cursing himself for being there instead of drinking his beloved coffee, then carefully pushed the door open, crouching to peer inside.

What he saw was exactly what he expected. Heat was sprawled miserably across the hammock, staring blankly at the ceiling while clutching a small emergency fire extinguisher tightly against his chest. 

“Heat... come on, get out. You know I can’t fit in here.”

His friend didn’t answer. Instead, he curled up and turned his back, pretending to ignore him. Wire let out a resigned huff, and bowing his head, stepped into the room. 

“You know,” he said, his gaze drifting from the small fire extinguisher to the charred, still-smoldering mark on the wooden panel before the hammock, “you really should talk to her.”

A loud chuckle escaped Heat’s lips. “What for?” he asked, propping himself up to sit on the bed, looking at Wire with wide, skeptical eyes.

“To be straight with her and tell her how you feel,” Wire's voice sounded flat and unwavering.

Heat released the most hopeless sigh, tilting his head down so that his vibrant blue dreadlocks cascaded over his face. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floorboards, slowly shaking his head in defeat. 

“How head-over-heels are you?” Wire asked, leaning in toward his friend, attempting to coax his gaze away from the floor.

The tattooed pirate raised his head, and gave the fire extinguisher a slight shake as he offered his friend a bittersweet smile.

“OK, that much…” Wire closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Listen... I’m NO expert on love, and honestly, I couldn’t care less about it. But I can tell you that a connection like the one you share doesn’t come around often. You guys are lucky, man. Are you really going to do nothing about it?”

“WIRE,” Heat replied in a warning tone, “she was with another guy at the bar. She left with him, and—”

“And?” Wire cut him off. “You’re seriously just gonna sit here and do nothing? That’s your plan? Laying around like some lovesick kid while she fucks guys who’ll probably treat her worse than you ever could?”

Heat’s scarred lips curled into a sour pout, his brows knitting together in a frown as he processed his friend’s words. 

“You really gonna just stand there, watching her stroll in every morning, counting the hickeys on her neck?” The taller man kept pushing, planting scenarios in Heat’s mind that he knew would provoke a reaction. “You cool with being the one picking up the pieces like a good buddy when she falls for some random guy who leaves her hanging?”

Wire paused to study his friend's reaction. He seemed to be weighing his options, nervously raking a hand through his hair and bouncing one leg anxiously, making the metal rings on his belt clink.

“You know what?” he smirked, playfully rubbing his sideburns, determined to give him one final push to get him moving, “Maybe I’m the one who’s gonna hit on her and get her all hot and sweaty in my bed.” 

Heat’s hands curled into claws, and his eyes blazed with rage. But Wire continued, unfazed.

“It’s gotta be one hell of a ride to bang the security officer of—”

Heat shot up like a coiled spring, the fire extinguisher clattering to the ground as he lunged at his friend like a beast. His hands clamped down on Wire's harness, and his lips twisted into a snarl that bared his teeth. For a few heart-stopping seconds, their faces hovered mere inches apart.

“That,” Wire grinned, “that’s the look I was waiting for.”

The enraged pirate blinked several times, his sharp, erratic breaths slowly calming as he released his grip on his friend. “Wire... I—I’m sorry...”

“Look,” Wire shook his head, trying to speak with patience. “You can sit here and be miserable. Burn the whole ship down if you want… ” He paused, placing his hands on his friend’s shoulders, “or maybe you could just talk to her.”

And giving him a light squeeze on his shoulders, he watched him nod.

*****

TOBIUO

The Victoria Punk was so different from the Polar Tank, Tobiuo thought as she saw it in the distance, making her way down the harbor toward where the allied ships and submarine were docked. The dinosaur skull figurehead looked even more menacing in the darkness of the night, its jaws open in a threatening grin that could terrify anyone who laid eyes on it. But not her.

The only thing that frightened the Heart Pirates' security officer that night was the thought of the conversation she would have with the red-haired captain’s commander, if she managed to find him.

The evening’s lighthearted dancing and laughter at the bar had been abruptly interrupted by his sudden disappearance, and she was left with a nagging sense of worry about where her friend had gone and what state he was in.

She wasn’t sure what she’d say to him, but the knot in her stomach kept tightening, and it would only get worse if she couldn’t speak to him and figure out why he’d left so unexpectedly.

As she reached the steps leading up to the Victoria Punk, she whistled to announce her presence. She knew Wire had stayed behind to guard the ship, and with no sign of opposition from him, she climbed the wooden stairs. It was astonishing how, thanks to the alliance between their captains, something once unthinkable like stepping foot on the deck of a rival ship had become so normal and accepted.

She had hoped to find the tall commander with the sideburns on deck and ask him about Heat, but no one came to welcome her.

Uncertain of what to do on a ship where she felt like an outsider, she stood at the edge of the deck, her fingers lightly grazing the wet railing as she stared out at the sea. The gentle summer drizzle barely disturbed its surface at first, but soon it thickened, each drop tapping against the wooden deck like a soft, relentless drumbeat. Her once-soft hair clung to her blue skin, framing her face in dark tendrils, and her boilersuit hugged her curves, heavy from the rain.

“Iyo?” a familiar voice called from behind, and Tobiuo felt her heart leap in her chest. The night was dark, the pale glow of the moon barely cutting through the heavy clouds, but she had no trouble recognizing those slow, hesitant steps, accompanied by the clink of metal rings.

“Why are you here?” the man in crimson trousers asked in a low, gravelly voice, his deep-set eyes peering at her through the relentless rain.

"You ask it like it’s a bad thing," Tobiuo’s hands moved with the response, a smile flickering across her lips as she signed her words.

Heat focused on the movements of her webbed fingers, then lifted his gaze to meet hers again. “No… no. It’s just…” he ran a hand over the back of his neck, “surprising to see you back from the bar so soon.”

“I was surprised you left so soon too. That’s why I’m here,” she signed very quickly, an unexpected wave of nervousness making her forget that he was still learning the language.

He watched her hands intently, his long lashes damp with rain. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he moved to the edge of the ship, resting his arms on the railing as he stared out into the distance. 

“The guy you were with… was he a good dancer?” he tilted his head slightly to glance at Tobiuo’s hands.

“He was not bad,” she signed.

Heat turned his face back toward the horizon. His expression was serious and contemplative, his long hair soaked by the rain, dripping water onto his shoulders.

“He kissed you,” he added, his voice almost breaking. 

The statement made Tobiuo, unwavering officer and feared fighter of the seas, freeze.

“Yes,” she finally signed. But Heat’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his brows furrowed in a frown. 

The fishwoman had a hundred things she wanted to say, but the storm of feelings churning wildly in her chest paralyzed her hands. It was as if the air around her had thickened, making it impossible to lift her fingers and express the words that clamored for release.

“Why did you leave then?” The commander of the Kid Pirates turned to face her, his gaze darting between her face and her hands. “Weren’t you having fun with him?”

“Yes, he was fun….” Tobiuo’s hands faltered for a moment, her fingers straining against the weight of her thoughts. “But he had a problem.”

“What problem?” He raised an eyebrow, staring at her intently, his scarred lips pressed into a tight line. The fishwoman’s hands quivered, her striking white eyes dropping to the rain-soaked floor, and Heat reached for her chin, gently urging her to look up at him. The moment their eyes met, he raised his hands, signing in Auslan with exaggerated gestures, as he always did when trying to make himself understood. “What problem?”

Tobiuo's webbed fingers danced slowly in the air, and carefully traced her response. 

“He wasn’t you.”

The relentless rain hammered against Heat’s face, but he remained still, staring intently at the officer with a grave and serious expression. 

“Heart Pirate,” he warned, “don’t laugh at me—”

“I’d never laugh at you,” she hurriedly replied, finding the courage to step forward even though her strong legs felt weaker than ever. 

As soon as her hands finished tracing the last word, Heat's hands pushed through the rain, urgently reaching for her. Warmth flooded her veins as their chests collided, and with their faces so close, he smiled down at her with something hungry flickering in his eyes. The moment hung in the air, heavy with vulnerability and longing, and when she grinned back at him, he could see those sharp teeth he was so fond of. Heat watched in awe as the rain danced on her glimmering skin, cascading down her diamond-shaped scales. The deep blue of her body glistened like wet ink under the stormy sky, making her a living jewel of the sea caught between the storm and the starlight.

“Iyo… I…” Heat pulled her close, his hand moving up to her nape, causing Tobiuo to shiver as his fingers brushed against the gills of her neck. “I want to kiss you.”

Tobiuo's heart pounded in her chest, racing as she closed her eyes under the rain and began to feel the soft brush of Heat’s scarred lips against hers. She was on the verge of losing herself on his touch, when the damn sense of responsibility hit her like a wave, causing her to lift a hand and place a finger against Heat's parted lips, stopping him before they crossed that line. The pirate looked at her, confused, his eyes immediately dropping to her hands in an attempt to understand.

“Heat, I don’t know if we should,” she signed, her eyes filled with concern. “What if we lose what we already have? What if we don’t work?”

Heat’s lips curved into a smile, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, we’ll work…” he whispered, “I mean, look at us…” his fingers twisted a small lock, crafting a tiny braid. “Look at you…”

A warmth spread through Tobiuo’s chest, igniting a fluttering sensation in her stomach. Braiding hair was an intensely intimate gesture among her kind, and feeling Heat make such a sweet gesture sent a rush of emotion surging within her.

"We're from different crews..." was all she managed to sign, letting herself go once again, her cheeks flushing and her heart racing.

“We’re pirates,” his nose brushed against her neck. “Our whole life is a risk; we could die tomorrow, and I…” He pressed his lips to her skin, unable to contain himself. “I don’t want another day to go by without you knowing my heart is yours.”

A thrum of adrenaline coursed through her veins. She desperately cupped his face, feeling the rain run down the lines of his jaw, and as her lips throbbed with sweet, unbearable longing, she closed the distance between them, their lips finally meeting in a tender, loving kiss. Heat hummed as she traced his scars with her lips, his hands roaming over her small back, pulling her close. The rain fell harder now, drenching them both, but neither of them cared. The only thing that mattered was the urgency of their mouths, slowly devouring and exploring each other.

As their breaths quickened, the intensity grew; their thirst for one another giving way to more passionate and desperate kisses. Tobiuo's hands traveled up his neck, her fingertips brushing over the lines of his tattoos as her lips pressed into his with burning intensity. Her fingers tangled in his wet hair, instinctively pulling him to deepen the kiss, swallowing the low, muffled moan that escaped him. Heat’s hands moved down to her ass, grabbing it in firm handfuls, making her smile against his mouth, and as she felt his lips curve into a matching grin, she slid her barbed tongue deep into his mouth. He let out a low growl at the sensation of her rough muscle teasingly brushing against his own, and leaned into her, completely lost in the kiss.

Tobiuo kept kissing him, her body responding to the way his hands explored her skin, but when an unusual heat flared across her tongue, she slowed. The intensity of their kiss spread a fiery sensation through her, scorching from the depths of her throat to her lips. As she sensed the growing heat ignite in her lover’s mouth, she opened her eyes, and her ability to perceive body warmth revealed that Heat was losing control, the wildfire building in his throat. Alarmed, she pulled away, breaking the kiss.

“Big guy," she smiled, pressing her hand against the laces of the corset covering his chest, "be careful, or you’re gonna get us burned."

Heat smirked, leaning in again, his lips seeking hungrily hers, unwilling to let any distance separate them. “My beautiful sea jewel,” he whispered, unable to stop devouring her, “let’s head to my cabin and see how much heat we can handle...”

And as he scooped her up in his arms, Tobiuo laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, letting him guide her to the sweet intimacy of the lower decks.

..........................................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin <3

I have just one question for you, snail. What song are they dancing to in the bar? Do you know it? Because I don’t!

[not-wholly-unheroic]

A Comparative Analysis of Hook's Ship and Cabin in Popular Media Portrayals

They say a man's home is his castle, and that is perhaps more true for Captain James Hook than most. Amid all the wildness and chaos of Neverland, the ship (and particularly the captain's cabin) is the one space where Hook exerts any real control over his environment, and upon close inspection, it reveals a great deal about who he is, what motivates him, his time period, and perhaps even whether or not any given "Hook" is intended to be "real" or a figure of the children's imagination. In this series of posts, I will be examining the Jolly Roger in five of the most well-known adaptations of Peter Pan: Disney's 1953 animated classic, Fox's Peter Pan & the Pirates (1990), Spielberg's Hook (1991), P.J. Hogan's Peter Pan (2003), and Disney's recent live-action remake, Peter Pan & Wendy (2023).

Part 1: Disney’s 1953 Animated Film

The Jolly Roger herself in the ‘53 film appears to be a Spanish galleon. This type of ship, though perhaps the “stereotypical” pirate ship that immediately comes to mind when we think of pirates in film, would have been highly impractical for any actual pirate. A good pirate ship needed to be sleek and fast, whereas galleons were great for carrying a lot of goods but unfortunately also very slow…and a large target for an enemy attack. Still, Hook has a tendency to prefer aesthetic beauty over function, so perhaps we can merely chalk this part up to the captain’s personal tastes.

On the other hand, Disney Hook has a ship that pretty blatantly screams “pirate” to anyone who might see it coming between the skull and crossbones you can see carved into the woodwork and the skull figurehead…which is definitely something that would seem more at home in a child’s imagined version of a pirate ship than any actual vessel.

For all the fancy, over-the-top outward style of the Jolly Roger in the ‘53 film, Hook’s cabin is surprisingly modest. His bed, which can be seen in the background during the “sick scene” post-Skull Rock, is the standard sort you might expect on a ship—a small bunk built into the side of the ship for practical reasons. There are, of course, chests of treasure (less practical/realistic) too, but aside from that, the cabin space seems nice but not excessive. We can see a sword lying against one of the treasure chests as well as a gun rack near the door over what looks like a large globe. (We see a closer, brighter version of this gun rack a few scenes later as the captain is switching out his usual hook for a golden one.)

There appear to be some nice silver plates in the background of the image with Smee, and there are a few other frivolities that Hook allows himself, such as the piano, a small table with fruit and wine set out, and several nice rugs on the cabin floor. But his desk appears to be rather small and simple, cluttered only with maps of Neverland, pens and an inkwell, some useful measuring tools, a few books, and what would appear to be a jeweled set of binoculars.

Overall, Disney’s Hook does a nice job of balancing the luxurious and fanciful with the more practical and mundane in his personal space. It might be a stretch to imagine this Jolly Roger in the real-life Golden Age of Piracy, but it’s not totally out of place. Thus, Disney’s Hook straddles that line between reality and fiction that leaves us wondering—as Wendy and her parents do at the end of the film as they watch a cloud formation that looks remarkably like a ship pass in front of the moon—whether it was all a dream or perhaps there is more to it.

[beanghostprincess]

Not to keep beating a dead horse so to speak, but circling back to how the anime handles the Shuggy breakup it is personally the first time I've fully understood people who say the manga is way better & the "true" story because on the whole I think the anime is a really good adaption....except for this omg. I haven't read the manga fully either yet so now I'm wondering what else got a totally different vibe than intended & how that colors the perception of the story & characters. For instance, I'm already seeing anime onlys completely misinterpret Buggy's feelings in the shuggy breakup probably because of how brief it was.

I've had arguments in comments sections about people who do not think Buggy wanted to be Pirate King himself & his anger with Shanks isn't tied to him secretly sacrificing his OWN dream to follow him. To me the manga made it very clear that Buggy was making a great personal sacrifice in order to stay with his friend & how that all ties into his own insecurities, but a ton of anime onlys only saw it as Buggy being a whiny baby & not realizing how deep of a conflict Shanks refusing to look for the One Piece was for them 😭 and it's so frustrating! They just think Buggy is being "ungrateful" for everything Shanks did for him. I'm tired of the Shuggy dynamic being viewed so one sidedly in Shanks's favor & Buggy's detriment because they both narratively hold equal amounts of significance to each other. We just haven't been allowed to explore Shanks's side of it...yet. Oda kept Shanks's face obscured for a reason I'm sure.

And since the anime didn't frame it correctly Buggy's speech to Cross Guild about reigniting your dreams & setting sail for Laugh Tale loses all seriousness & comes off as just another gag instead & it breaks my heart because in the Manga while there is humor in it Buggy's tears are REAL & you can literally feel the spirit of One Piece flow through his speech. That speech shows us Buggy is a TRUE pirate! He ALSO inhereted Roger's will! I could literally feel the "I'm gunna become king of the pirates" OST from the anime play as I read it, but the anime framed it like another one of Buggy's "upward fialures" 💔 and it breaks my heart anime onlys don't get that. Imagine if Luffy gave up on his dream & finally after 30 years decided to believe in himself again? Imagine If Usopp really did give up in Water 7 & we didn't see him find the will to believe in himself until 39 years later? Buggy is an example of forgotten dreams & a lesson on it never being too late to go after them.

So I completely agree with you that it doesn't matter how little panel time a moment gets because if Oda can convey all of THAT in like 3 panels then the anime can do so and then some in a minute or 2. I also can't help but think this will confuse viewers later on because I'm certain Buggy is going to get to do some really cool & meaningful stuff in the last arc & a lot of them will feel blindsided because the set up was executed weirdly.

Sorry for sending such a long post & feel free to ignore If ur tired of discussing this I just wanted to give you some validation &let you know you're not the only one who thinks this way. Adaptation has a lot more going into it than just copying manga panels & the a good anime should definitely know when to expand on brief scenes & how to set the correct mood for them.

Oh, please, if it's not a negative ask you can keep sending me stuff about the episode and the breakup all you want!!! I'm just tired of having to defend my opinion. As if it wasn't just that, an opinion. But I'm sooo open to talk about it!!

And you're right!!! It bothers me so much to just think about how Anime Onlys are going to perceive this episode... If Buggy is already misunderstood within the fandom, I can't imagine what's gonna happen now that HIS episode has gotten this awful pacing and explanation (I complain but I've watched the episode so many times already lmao)

People misunderstand their relationship so much and in such levels... I don't get it because it's literally right there. You can't miss it. They're canonically crucial for each other no matter how you see it. It IS mutual whatever they have going on. I know we don't have much of Shanks' POV but you don't even have to read between the lines to see it.

And Buggy being seen as whiny because he has... Feelings... And is emotional... After his whole life crumbles down... Idk about you but if I lived in my best friend's shadow for years and gave up on my dream to trust in his instead, and suddenly when our captain dies he says he won't follow it... I'd be pretty fucking emotional too tbh. I could defend Buggy all day long and explain his character, but I believe I've done that already... So many times... (I love it it's my favorite thing ever)

I love your comparisons to other characters giving up on their dreams because it's so real. Buggy is the representation of people who once gave up on their dream and now are getting the courage back to follow it again. His speech is so emotional I think I know it by heart at this point with how many times I've read this chapter. I always cry-- Every time-- And I'm sooo angry Toei made the episode for laughs basically. It frustrates me in unimaginable ways.

Buggy is gonna do something incredible and people will complain and say it was out of nowhere because his speech in the Anime seems for jokes and like one of his schemes to get away from his problems. But this man was literally having a breakdown in the middle of a torture session and made an impulsive, emotional decision that came from the depths of his heart, because he had been holding onto it for his whole life. That's what bothers me about the animation. The pacing is bad and the way they treat him is even worse...

Don't apologize!!!!! I loved reading this. You expressed yourself sooo well and in such a polite way!!! Basically, you wrote everything I thought about the episode and I'm so glad to finally talk to someone with my same views 😭💖💖

[antvnger]

The more Tony talked, the more that sick feeling in Scott’s stomach shifted from an instinctive something’s wrong to a clarifying reality is far worse than I expected kind of sickness. The words…Scott heard them, but he was having a hard time processing it all. It’s a slap in the face. Not from Tony, oh no. From Steve Rogers, Captain America, the hero Scott had admired ever since he was a kid…how quickly that image started to crumble with this knowledge.

Steve Rogers didn’t have the damn decency to treat Tony with respect and tell the truth. Come clean and make things right. Self-righteousness over actual righteousness.

And what was it all for? Nothing, it felt like. It all felt…empty. What happened in Germany felt empty. Rhodey getting injured like he did felt empty. Scott in feeling like he was taking a stand and doing what was right because Captain America called upon him to fight, now it all felt empty. His own house arrest. Was that all for nothing too? Two years of his life wasted because Steve should not have kept a secret.

And Tony…oh God, the thought of all of that just made Scott’s heart physically ache. He couldn’t fathom what it was like. But watching Tony’s eyes while he told the story betrayed enough depth of pain that Scott could grasp a semblance of how much it hurt. To say it hurt like hell felt like an understatement.

Scott’s horrified by all of this. And he’s angry. “I…” Unable to stand still, too jumbled up with strong emotions to stay still, he started to pace. “I don’t know what to say, I…” He stopped long enough to look at Tony and say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve that, any of that. None of that is right. Hell if I had known a shred of this in Germany I…” He ran his hands over his face a few times and growled as he paced again. “I was on the wrong side the whole time and I had no idea.”

Most of the time, nights at home weren’t too bad. Scott could keep his mind occupied long enough until he went to sleep that he’s not bothered being alone. He’s been in therapy long enough to take care of any negative, intrusive thoughts that pop up in his mind.

But sometimes the house was too quiet and his mind was too loud. Sometimes the quiet of the house and the volume of his brain liked to tag team and remind him of what he’s lost, how he’s messed up, and how little worth he sometimes thought he had.

Hope’s out of town; Cassie’s at her mom’s; and Luis would definitely be asleep by now. Scott needed a friend, and he needed one pretty badly right now. Hell, he knew exactly who he needed - and wanted - to talk to, but it took him longer than he would care to admit before he actually called Tony. Not necessarily looking for reassurance or anything, but Tony is is good friend and he just has a knack for making Scott grin. He needed that the most right now. And he hoped to God he wasn’t actually interrupting Tony’s sleep. @youknowwhoiamaskblog

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