#noth blue men specially but not limited to

[madmachaca]

Men only want one thing, and it's disgusting 🙄🙄

[dreamescapeswriting]

Whispers Of Belonging ~ KSM [MATURE WARNING]

CONTINUATION OF THIS PIECE

WORD COUNT: 4.6K

GENRE: mafia AU, cinderella(ish), feelings of not belonging, people speaking down to the reader, Seungmin being the soft boy he is meant to be and making her feel welcome,SMUT MINORS DNI, protected sex, above a crowd, seungmin making the reader feel wanted and special,

PAIRING: Seungmin X Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - March 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

As the two of you stepped out of the boutique, Seungmin watched you closely, your hands clutching the bags of clothes he had just purchased for you, not a single thing even breaking his card limit and nothing felt enough for you.

Seungmin felt guilt weighing down on him after one of his men tried to kick you out of the changing room in your underwear and he was determined to make up to you even if it was the last thing he did.

"I'm sorry about Bailey again, he can be overzealous at times," Seungmin added as he shot his guard a glance who was looking anywhere but at the two of you.

"No harm, no foul." You laughed nervously not wanting to make it into a bigger deal than it was. Seungmin had already bought you so much that he didn't need to continue to be sorry.

"Will you still save me a dance?" He arched his brow at you, extending his hand as he carefully lifted it to his lips and kissed your skin softly.

"It would be an honour to dance with you," He added, your heart fluttering as you stared at him. You'd heard stories of the man but you'd never come face to face with him until now. 

"I will try, I'm working at the event as well as attending so it might be a little hard," You admit shyly. You weren't ashamed to admit you'd be working the event, everyone needed to work after all, but you weren't sure you'd even have time to grab a glass of water never mind dance with someone.

"I'm sure we can arrange something with your boss," Seungmin countered as you nodded a little, smiling at him before heading in the direction of your car. 

Seungmin watched you the whole time, biting back a smirk as he felt a flutter in his chest. Bailey watched his boss, it was a rare display of kindness that he was showing to you and he didn't know if he liked his boss this way or not.

"Back inside, I need a suit and I want the staff to find everything that will fit Miss YLN's style and that is in her size sent to her place." He ordered, turning back to the cold boss that everyone knew him as.

Packages had been arriving all week long, at the work office and it was a little overwhelming. Everything from clothes to accessories were inside of the boxes and it was starting to make you a little uneasy. What if Seungmin was expecting something more than just a dance in return for the items? 

"Do you remember the plan?" Your best friend - Chloe - asked you as she walked with you toward the back entrance of the event hall where tonight's ball was being held in. The further you walked inside the more out of place you began to feel in the dress he'd purchased for you. It was a masterpiece creation, crafted from the finest of silk, a midnight blue colour that shimmered every time you moved making it look like it was lit by a thousand stars. It hugged your frame perfectly, accentuating every curve with elegance and grace, dipping with a modest neckline teasing just a little of your breasts. 

"Just one dance, give him some excuse about needing to be somewhere else and then I'll go back to the kitchens, change into my outfit and finish working," You assured her, smiling a little as she smirked at you. The whole week leading up to the ball Chloe had been encouraging you to go through with it, that it would be a once-in-a-lifetime thing but you felt so out of place and the silver tiara that Seungmin had sent for you to wear wasn't helping that situation.

"You look hot," Chloe promises, holding you tightly before smirking at you, straightening out your hair one last time and admiring the makeup she'd done for you tonight before letting you go.

Out of the fishbowl and into the ocean, you stared around at all the people who were inside the ball unease washed over you like a chilling breeze and you realised how out of depth you truly were. 

Every eye in the room felt like a spotlight, casting judgment on you as you made your way through the other elegantly dressed guests trying to find Seungmin.

Whispers started to follow your every move, their hushed tones feeling like a dagger digging into your back leaving you feeling more exposed and vulnerable to the world. 

"Come on," You whispered to yourself, your eyes darting from one corner of the room to the next, desperately searching for any sign of Seungmin.

"I'm sure she served me at an event once," A voice giggled making your heart sink and your hands begin to tremble, you should never have agreed to this. You were out of depth in this place, everyone here had no doubt seen you and it would get back to Seungmin that you were a waitress. An imposter at his ball and he'd probably hate you for it.

As you continued to wander aimlessly through the ballroom, the comments about you working other events grew louder and your sense of isolation deepened with each passing second until you decided to make your way back to the exit. You were almost there when you felt a hand gently touch your shoulder,

"There you are sweetheart, I'm sorry I'm late, I've been looking everywhere for you." You stared up at Seungmin, his eyes warm as he stared down at you with a smile on his face. 

"It's okay," You breathed out, his being near you was like a sense of belonging washed over you and he smiled taking your hand in his and gently placing a kiss on the top of your hand.

"Does he know he's dating the help?" Someone laughed loudly from your left, but Seungmin either chose to ignore them or simply hadn't heard them as he began to walk you through the hall again.

"How about we dance in a little while, I thought I might introduce you to some friends of mine," Seungmin suggested as he linked your arm with his, unease filling you once again as he led you toward a group of men. You were only supposed to be here for a dance, if you were too long Chloe wouldn't be able to cover too much and you'd no doubt get fired.

"Changbin, enough details about your latest heists, I'd like you all to meet someone," Seungmin called out as seven men turned to look at you, your whole body burnt at the sudden attention you were getting from all of them.

"Lovely to meet you, Seungmin's never brought along a date before." The one known as Changbin said making Seungmin's cheeks flush and your whole body tingle.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," You said, your voice betraying you by giving off a hint of nervousness.

"No need to be nervous, sweetheart. They don't bite," Suengmin whispered in your ear, his hand gently rubbing circles on your lower back, the small action sending shockwaves through your body and yet relaxing you at the same time. For some reason you believed him, you felt safe with him and that no one would hurt you while he was around.

As time grew on you found yourself drawn into Seungmin's world, forgetting all about work and getting swept up in the whirlwind of laughter and conversations shared between all of the men. The more you stood there the more you realised that all of them were more than just members of a criminal organisation, but they were a family, bound by loyalty and mutual respect for one another. Standing there, you found yourself feeling a sense of purpose that you'd been searching for your entire life, a sense of belonging that was filling the void inside of you.

"Welcome to the family," One of the men, Chan, whispered as they finally began to leave you and Seungmin alone once again. 

"Now, can I get my dance?" Seungmin winks at you, your hand placed in his as he leads you toward the dance floor. 

Seungmin led you onto the dance floor, his movements graceful yet commanding. As the two of you swayed to the music, you couldn't help but marvel at the effortless charm and sophistication he exuded. The sense of belonging washed over you as you danced in his arms, the two of you enveloped in your private cocoon of warmth.

Your steps were synchronized, a seamless dance of two souls drawn together by fate. Seungmin's eyes never left yours. In that moment, you glimpsed the man behind the legend, the layers of his persona peeled back to reveal a vulnerability you hadn't expected.

As the music swelled to a crescendo, Seungmin drew you closer, his touch sending shivers down your spine. 

"You're a natural," he murmured, his voice low and husky, as you felt your cheeks flushing with warmth and your heart pounding in your chest.

"Thank you," You whispered, your voice barely audible above the music. As the two of you continued to dance unease began to creep its way through the cracks of your facade. Whispers of guests around you grew louder, their words like poison arrows that pierced the fragile cacoon of happiness you had been in.

You tried your best to ignore them, to lose yourself in the safety of Seungmin's embrace but their voices continued to echo in your ears, mocking and taunting you with cruel words.

"Who does she think she is, waltzing in here as if she belongs?" Someone grumbled as Seungmin spun you around, bringing you back into his chest but you could no longer enjoy this. Their words grew louder to you as if they were all holding microphones and speaking to the whole room.

"I heard she's just using him to get what she wants in life." A female voice mumbled, your eyes shooting over to her to see her glaring in your direction.

"I bet she's fucking him for money, she could never afford that dress alone." Another voice ripped through you,

"Did you see the way she was with Changbin and Chan? She's probably trying to cosy up to the whole crew." Each word was a dagger to your heart until you were unable to bear the scrutiny any longer. You tore yourself away from Seungmin, your breaths becoming ragged gasps,

"Yn? What's wrong?" Seungmin's voice was filled with concern as he stared at you but it was as if you no longer saw him as tears pricked in the corners of your eyes. You stumbled toward the nearest exit, dropping the small clutch bag you had been carrying but no longer carrying as you sprinted out of the suffocating confines of the ballroom.

Seungmin called out to you, his voice once again filled with concern as he bent down to collect your bag, frowning as you disappeared through the crowds leaving him with nothing but a memory of your night together.

"I can help you forget her," Someone breathed out beside Seungmin but he merely snapped his fingers as Bailey appeared beside him, escorting the woman away leaving Seungmin thinking of ways to find you again since he would never be able to ignore the spark that had ignited inside of you both.

The bell above the entrance of the small cafe you'd started working in tinkled and you got ready to greet the next customer. Ever since your mishap at the ball, you'd quit the job you had in hopes it would stop Seungmin from searching for you. You'd never felt so embarrassed in your life and you hoped that the small dance with you was enough for him to leave you alone. Even if it did pain you to never see him again.

"Everyone out!" The voice you'd heard less than a week ago bellowed out, your head shot up to see Bailey standing there with his gun at the ready. People rushed out of the cafe and you stared at Bailey who had a slight smirk playing on his cheeks.

"Boss doesn't like it when people hide from him," He stated with a soft tone, putting his gun away as you stared at him. The bell above the door once again rang,

"I'm going to get fired for this, you know that right?" You cocked a brow at Seungmin, your heart going into overdrive as you saw him once again. You hated your heart for betraying you, he was in a different world to you, and the two of you would never work.

"You dropped this," He said as he held out the small clutch bag, your phone had been in that and you'd been terrified you'd never see it again.

"Thanks, I-I thought I'd lost this," You stammered, your voice tinged with gratitude as Seungmin offered you a faint smile, his gaze softening. 

"Bailey, out. Make sure we're not disturbed." He ordered in a cold tone, a completely different Seungmin to the one you knew.

As soon as the two of you were alone he held out a chair for you before taking a seat across from you.

"I made it my mission to find you...I couldn't bear the thought of...you losing something so precious," He saved himself from wanting to tell you he came for his own selfish reasons because he couldn't bear the thought of losing you. 

"Thanks," You whispered, your eyes staring down at the table not daring to look at Seungmin but he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours as he clasped your hand in his.

"I hadn't heard what was being said at the event," He admitted as he gently ran his fingers over your skin,

"Rest assured if I had, they wouldn't live to speak again," He grumbled a little, his eyes flicking with darkness making you bite your lip a little.

"It's nothing. They were right, I don't belong in that world...Your world. I'm not meant for it." You mumbled, trying to take your hands away from Seungmin but he gently squeezed yours softly.

"You belong at any dance I take you to, you belong anywhere I take you. YOU belong in my world." HJe told you, his voice commanding and yet reassuring,

"Anyone who dares to look down on you isn't worth the time of day. They're mere flakes of dirt on your shoe that aren't deserving to be in your presence." He assured you, your eyes brimming with tears as you felt your heart overflowing with gratitude from him.

"I-I don't know what to say," You admitted, your voice trembling a little. Seungmin squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Say you'll give me another chance," He implored, he'd been wanting to get you to come out with him again and this time he was going to show you how much you truly belonged by his side.

"Say you'll let me show you how special you are. How you belong in my world." You stared at him, biting on your bottom lip as you thought about it. Seungmin made you feel as though you could do anything and when you were together you felt as though you could rule the world so you nodded.

"I'd like that," Seungmin smiled leaning across and brushing a small kiss against your cheek. Seungmin smiled as he gently raised from the chair, determined to show everyone that they were wrong about you and that they should worship the ground you walk on.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow night at 7." He said, watching you as you nervously raised from your chair and nodded,

"Sure. I'll wear one of the many dresses you got for me," You teased softly as a blush began to creep its way onto Seungmin's cheeks and a smirk played on your lips. 

"I'll see you then," He whispered before placing yet another kiss on your cheek and leaving you alone, with a lot to explain to your new boss as to why his business was empty.

The night arrived and you were standing by the window of your apartment waiting for him, your heart fluttering with excitement about the night you were going to have. Seungmin had been non-stop texting you ever since the day before, fueling your crush on him even more. There was a knock on the door sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins as you rushed to the door, smoothing down the fabric of your gown.

When the door opened Seungmin's mouth dropped open at the sight of you, he was dressed in a tailored suit and holding a bouquet of red roses for you.

"You look stunning," He murmured, you felt your cheeks flush with warmth and your heart thumped harder against your chest.

"Thank you, you look very handsome," You replied, Seungmin held out the bouquet for you.

"For the most beautiful girl at the ball," He said with a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, you giggled taking them into your apartment and placing them into a vase of water. 

"Shall we?" He smirked, taking your arm in his and making his way down the staircase with you close to him the whole time. 

"I got a limo for us, I wanted us to arrive in style," Seungmin smirked at you as you stepped toward the waiting car, your mouth dropping open in shock. 

"No back entrances for the belle of the ball," He whispers in your ear before opening the car door and helping you inside, your heart racing at the thought of what adventures awaited you tonight.

As it turned out the night had been filled with you and Seungmin dancing so much your feet were staring to kill you from being on the floor, people had stared a lot but not one had dared to say a word about you tonight. You didn't know if it was because Seungmin had threatened them beforehand or if they were a different crowd from the one from before. But you'd been left with a group of girls all gossiping about their dates, which you'd met at the last ball. 

"We will date dangerous men." You heard one of the women mention as you laughed a little, 

"My ears are burning," Changbin chuckled, snaking his arm around his date and smiling over at you.

"Nice to see you again, Yn," He tipped his head at you before taking his date out onto the dance floor, all of the men slowly coming back and taking their dates one by one until it was just you and Jisung's girl and Jisung who seemed to be talking amongst themselves.

A little worry began to wash over you as you felt alone again, the feeling of not belonging beginning to creep onto you until you felt a hand on your lower back.

"Sorry, I try not to discuss business when I'm in good company but sometimes they have to steal me away," Relief washed over you as Seungmin smiled down at you and you felt your heart stutter a little.

"Shall we go somewhere more private? I want to show you something." Seungmin smiles, taking hold of your elbow and nodding at Bailey to follow you both before he leads you to a staircase at the back of the room that was blocked by velvet ropes and a "closed sign." Seungmin lifts the ropes and walks up the stairs, leading you with Bailey trailing behind.

"Make sure nobody comes up," Seungmin ordered as Bailey stood at the base of the stairs and folded his arms across his chest.

"What are we doing?" You giggle a little as Seungmin winks at you, taking your hand and pulling you along the narrow hallway until you reach a balcony that overlooks the ballroom. Excitement washed over your body as you looked down a the people attending the ball.

"I wanted to show you the best view, to look over the people that had spoken down to you before." He smiled, standing behind you as you were pinned to the waist-high wall unable to move.

"Are we allowed to be up here?" You breathed out, your stomach clenching from just how close Seungmin was pressed against you.

"We're the biggest donors, we can do whatever the fuck we want." His breath caught on your ear making your whole body shiver and your thighs rub together. All night long you'd been needy for Seungmin and it was becoming slightly more unbearable as the night went on.

"I love being able to watch everyone." You admitted, looking down at everyone as Seungmin stared at you.

"How do you feel about them watching you?" His voice dropped an octave, shivers running down your spine as he ran his hands down your hips.

"W-Watching me?" You stuttered out as he pulled the layers of your gown up revealing your legs.

"Say the word and I'll stop...But I need you," He whispered as he dragged his teeth along the back of your neck, pulling your dress up higher exposing the tops of your thighs. You inhale sharply, your heart thumping harder than before, there must have been at least three hundred people down there.

"Do you want them to watch us?" You arched a brow.

"I want them to look up here and have no idea I'm fucking you...But I want you to come in front of all these people, sweetheart. To prove that you own them and that they should be the ones scared of you instead of you them," He whispered in your ear, his hands gliding over your hips and down between your thighs and you automatically spread your legs wider for him. Allowing him to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles.

"I'm going to slide my cock inside of you, fucking you until you come for me,"  He whispered, your hands flying behind him and undoing his belt as heat floods your entire body. You looked out at the sea of people below you, wondering if they had any idea what you were doing. If they were completely oblivious to what was happening up above them while they danced and drank their champagne, 

"You're so wet for me," He groans as he continues to rub your clit, your body shaking and he'd barely started. 

"I've wanted you all night," You admit, your hands gripping the small wall in front of you as you felt the tip of his cock pressing against your cunt.

"Hold onto the wall tightly," HGe orders as you brace yourself against the cool brick, your fingers gripping the edge tightly as he pushes his thick cok into you. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you tried not to cry out at the stretch,

"Fucking Christ, you're so wet for me." He groans loudly in your ear, his hips stilling as he fills you completely, rubbing your clit gently.

"You're made for me," He whispers in your ear as you press your lips together,

"You're made to rule over everyone," He told you as he slowly began to pull out of you, only to push back in making you squeeze around him, whimpering a little.

"Fuck," He moans out as you glance down to see if anyone had noticed but no one was paying you any attention and you allowed yourself to moan.

"Oh god," You whimper, your nails digging into the brick in front of you as you let your eyes roll back. Seungmin smirks as he begins to fuck into you ruthlessly, no longer caring if someone were to look right now and see. In fact, he wanted them to. He wanted them to see that you were his and any disrespect that they sent your way had a direct impact on him also.

"Fuck, Seungmin." You cry out as you felt him getting rougher with his movement, the tip of his cock hitting that one sensitive part that made it impossible to keep quiet.

Your legs were starting to shake as he pounded into you, the people below completely forgotten as you gave in to the pleasure.

"Cum for me baby, you're doing so fucking good." The praise sent shivers down your spine as you cry out his name, your head spinning while you squeeze around his cock. You felt nothing but the deep euphoria taking over you as you cum around him, your moans coming out strangled as your legs shake beneath you, buckling a little but Seungmin holds your waist up, bucking into you as he fills the condom he was wearing.

"Fuck," He whimpers, his hips bucking as you continued to clench around him, whimpering his name until the two of you slowly pulled apart from one another. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A year Later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure I look okay? I don't want to ruin their day," You told Seungmin as you once again checked your outfit over, brushing your hands over the small bump that you'd skillfully hidden under the bridesmaid dress you'd been asked to wear by Jisung's wife to be.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart." He assured you, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"This is your fault," You scolded him, the two of you were more than happy to be starting a family, even if it was only a year since the two of you began a relationship, it felt like the right time and happy accidents happened all of the time.

"I told you I thought it would be fine in the pool." He chuckled as you smacked him with your clutch, making your way to the other girls and all their dates.

"Letting a girl beat you up?" Changbin arches a brow at Seungmin who quickly glares at him.

"Proposed to yours yet?" He teased knowing Changbin was scared to pop the question to his girlfriend yet and was lashing out at everyone else because of it. 

"What dress does she have?" Jisung pried, staring at you all but Hyunjin pulled him back away from his fiance.

"Leave my muse alone, you'll see your girl in less than 20 minutes relax." He chuckled making you all giggle and shake your heads at them, your eyes flicking over to Seungmin as you pictured what your wedding day was eventually going to look like. All you could picture was your little boy or girl walking down the aisle with you toward their dad as you started another chapter of your lives together and you couldn't think of anything more perfect.

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[lucidfallacy]

Shame (Stalker Ghost x Reader 18+)

You have always been the type to let curiosity get the best of you. A certified button pusher as your comrades would say. You thrive in gossip and high tensions. But little do they really know about your dire urge to consume their dark secrets. That urge quickly ate away at you, evolving until nothing was off-limits. You want access to their social media accounts, camera rolls, and most of all: their search history. Over time, you acquired the means to do so with simple spyware. And the best part is that there's absolutely no paper trail.

Your hobby originally started with a seemingly harmless prank. Still, they granted you no mercy. Months ago, your fellow soldiers took it upon themselves to drunkenly raid your room one night, stringing up your lacy underwear and bras flag-style along the boot camp's pole. The colorful fabrics waved around in the wind as you rubbed your eyes in disbelief.

Lieutenant Ghost wouldn't even give you the chance to take them down before training. So, the already cold morning run that followed was tainted by occasional snickers and vulgar comments. Your least favorite emotion is embarrassment, and they had no problem wringing it out of you. Embarrassment leaves a mental scar you'll lie awake cringing about into the wee hours of the night. It's a memory that'll haunt you until you die, and surely won't live down as long as you're enlisted.

The men on base love fronting with these indomitable personas. But oh, the humiliating shit you've seen. You remember that very first adrenaline high you got after snooping through a colleague's emails. The average person could never guess that he's secretly a pay pig. Thousands of dollars had been routed to random camgirls, demanding him to address them as mistresses. And he gladly obliged. You contemplated forwarding the exchanges to the man's girlfriend back home, but you decided to save it for a special occasion. 'Maybe, right before Christmas', you thought. Instead, you uttered just one random girl's username in his ear on an early morning before training, making his eyes go wide and lips pale. And so, your barracks chores have been spotlessly completed for you ever since.

Usually, the victims you choose from consist of the men on your task force, but sometimes other people are dumb enough to air themselves out anyway. However, there's one man you haven't quite figured out yet and he has done a proper job of pissing you off today. His nitpicking seems endless like making you run extra laps or having to stay late and help him complete paperwork. Needless bullshit basically. When you first joined the force, you hated to admit it but you had an unwelcome attraction to him. Your ranks would never allow that sort of relationship anyway, and you consider him to be more of a cocky prick now. Even if you still find yourself giving into your pitiful desires when you turn in almost every night. So what? Never will you forget how amused he looked as your very specific black lingerie set saluted him on the flagpole. For all you know, the whole charade could've been his idea. That's why you've just been waiting for Ghost to fuck up for a while now.

After finishing an early dinner at the mess hall, intuition sparked your senses as you see the man himself rushing into the Corporal's office and slamming the doors behind him. Perfect timing. You decide to take a scenic route back to our room, sauntering over to Ghost's neck of the woods. The hall is long, coated in a hospital-like dim blue flickering light. The far-off conversations of the other diners fizzle out until there's only a deafening silence accompanying you. Reaching the end of the hall you glance around, a light sweat glistening on your temple. You wrap your hand in your shirt, slightly pulling on his door handle. Creak. Bingo. Your fingers slip in between the Lieutenant's ajar dorm door, a very rare occurrence for him to leave something unlocked. Whatever the circumstance, it's your lucky day.

So you slink in, sliding your back against the door to close it gently. You swallow hard, having trouble focusing because of the admittedly mouthwatering musk of his room. Like cedar and rain. And just as you thought, 3 monitors glow from across the room on his cluttered desk. Each one is unlocked and just sitting on the desktop's homepage. Dumbass. A sea of yellow file boxes line the screens making you itch in anticipation. The light illuminates a path, urging you to explore his uncharted territory. Sitting in his gaming chair of a throne, you contemplate what to do first. 'I wonder what kind of vanilla shit this guy watches... Or maybe not,' you unabashedly thought, smirking as your hand finds the mouse.

You scan around each file, joking to yourself about finding some top-secret folder for the nuclear launch codes. But your wrist seems to freeze over a file, smack dab in the middle of the first monitor. (First initial/Last Initial Cameras) is spelled out in small bolded letters. Your brows furrow in confusion. 'Maybe that's short for...' *double click* Your thoughts escape you as all three screens cut to black. You didn't know quite what to expect out of this man, but shit... The nausea sets in as you realize precisely why curious cats always end up dead. 6 boxes stretch across each of the screens. The first is your room, a direct shot of your perfectly tucked-in sheets and not-so-secret plushie laid across your pillows. A perfect view of your pajamas from this morning is still pooled on the floor.

The next box is a shot of your closet door, hung wide open and... Oh my God. A tall dark figure wades at the opening, hand outstretched and filtering through your abundance of non-military clothes. Their hand settles on the backend of the rack, thumbing over the fabric of your skimpy silk nightdresses. Every passing moment sends you into a deeper spiral of second guesses and excuses. 'Everyone must have cameras in their room. Yeah. Random bed checks must be happening now and...' your thoughts trail off, other shaking hand covering your mouth as the figure pulls out a buzzing phone from their back pocket. As they turn to face you, the cell's white light exposes the intruder's identity.

Ghost's unmistakable dark eyes meet yours through the screen, the half skull masking his face already being a dead enough giveaway. He's always been hard to read, but in this moment, he dawns the expression of a panther who has just locked onto its prey. 'It's like he knows-' you think to yourself as the Lieutenant's finger smashes against his phone screen. The cameras cut out, leaving an eerie TV static across the monitors. Panicked is too calm of a descriptor to explain what you are feeling right now. You're fucked. But you have to try and hide at least. You look around frantically for an answer. 'Okay, this hall is a dead end, the room has no windows... what about under the bed?' Boots begin to echo from down the hall. Each step is like the ticking countdown of a clock, building onto your already heightened anxiety.

Well, it's a long shot, but it's all you can think of. You rush behind the door, attempting to calm your labored breathing while sucking in your body to fit flush against the wall. 'I'm dead, I'm fucking dead. My last meal was potato soup and I didn't even get to call my mom like I said-' The heavy boots come to a halt, your eyes clench so tightly that colors begin to dance around behind your lids. In a sudden motion, the handle twists. With a light kick, Ghost opens the door. It swings just short of your turned head, body still desperately trying to fit. You could hear a pin drop in the next continent over from how devastatingly quiet it is. Your core is on fire from keeping your body stiff and barely having any air support. But still, Ghost remains on the other side, scanning the room as he once again wrestles his phone from his pocket. You hear the clicking of his passcode, the screen light hugging the around doorframe as if it's trying to give you away. Then it goes blue... just like the screens were before. You hear something like a recording. It mimics the way you clamored out of the rolling chair, how it screeched to slide across the linoleum flooring.

The phone turns off with a click, just before he tosses it, landing with a loud thud on his desk. You avert your eyes for just a moment flinching at the noise, so startled you didn't notice the way his gloved fingers slowly wrapped around the door just above your unknowing head. Ghost slams the door shut, the impact sounding like a gunshot was fired right by your head. You yelp, ducking to dodge his grasp and run away, but you aren't quite quick enough. No matter where you run, or how hard you fight back, his grip on your wrists as you're pinned against the concrete wall is a reminder that he will always be one step ahead. His shadow envelops you as your jaw cranes upward to meet his intense gaze. And there is no denying how different the atmosphere is between you two. Your jugular beats faster and his pupils dilate as they study yours fervently. You've been caught, finally ensnared by the consequences of your dumb little hobby.

"Oh? Not gonna run that loose fuckin' mouth, huh?" he teases, his voice a delicious gravelly whisper.

"N- No sir, Lieutenant sir!" you stammer out, high-pitched and attempting to stand at attention. But he has complete control of your every movement, every sinful thought. Your brows knit together as you try and regain your sense of self, putting together the serrated pieces connecting who this man is and what he's capable of. But your rationality is quickly depleting as you squirm in his embrace.

"I'll-" you begin.

Ghost hooks a thumb into your cheek like a fish, exploring your cavity and cutting your opposing thoughts short.

"You'll what? Kill me, love? Go on, fight me then," Ghost taunts. Without hesitation, you bite the meat of his palm, making him hiss out. But he only presses into you further, his hard cock stretching across the length of your hip and begging to be released. "Just a love bite, yeah? Gonna give up and let me fuck you? Just like that?"

"You're fucking insane," you spit, trying your damnedest to seem menacing.

"And who's fault is that?" he cuts, forcing your hands higher in a single crushing fist. "Cut the shit- You think yer so cute, trampsin' 'round 'ere in those tight ass fatigues. Bitchin' at me every chance you get." He leans closer into the crook of your neck, taking in the scent. "Comin' undone with yer fingers every single god damned night," he says frustratingly through gritted teeth.

You suck in a sharp breath.

"I wasn't- how was I-" you whine, skin flushed a peony pink.

"You've been so good to me (Y/N)," he praises. His other arm locks around your waist, thigh pushing up under your already throbbing pussy. You groan from the contact. "Remind me, who's name has been rolling off that pretty little tongue of yours?" he questions.

"I'm sorry-" you apologize, almost tearful.

"Say it love- just like you did when I was fistin' my cock to ya last night," he urges, grinding up against your clothed clit and eliciting a moan.

"Ghost!" you whimper hoarsely. You're in a feverish dream state, unsure of when or how your relationship took such a deviant turn. But hell, somehow within all of the secrets you've uncovered in the past couple of months the biggest one was under your nose all along. His obsession. He catches you off guard, pinching your nipple through the material that separates you.

"No, no" he laughs. "Not that one, you little fuckin' creep."

'Oh, I'm the creep?,' your thought simmers. It may be true that you did some digging to find his real name. Why? You couldn't explain it. But it felt so good in your mouth, that it's made itself at home in your nightly vocabulary. And now your pussy clenches as he twists harder. 'Maybe we are both fuckin' creeps.'

"Simon..." you quiver with shame and arousal.

Ghost hoists you over his shoulder without warning, letting you kick your legs about in defense as he squeezes you close. He throws you into his unmade sheets, not giving you a single moment to catch your bearings. In a flash, his gloved hands are wrapped around your ankles flipping you every which way. He rips and tears at the fabrics that clothe you. Your black tank top, and the khaki camouflaged pants, both laying in tatters on the floor. Now you lay only two garments away from naked, nipples already perked up under your bra from the chilled temperature of his dark room. And what do you know, it's that pretty little black set he's been dying to catch you in. The faint grey of the monitors cast a sultry backlight on his imposing stature.

"Holy shit love'," he groans as he guides your ankles to his shoulders, nuzzling against them. Ghost palms over the soaked center of your panties, admiring how hopeless you've become. "I'll buy ya' lots more, promise," he claims, wanting to support the pretty little secrets hiding under your uniforms.

Your body stiffens when his fingers dip into your panty line. He toys with you, rubbing back and forth with his knuckles underneath your navel. Your abs tremble, back arching into his gentle but suggestive touch.

"Pick a number," he finally says, filling in the silence.

But you think you know this game. You think you know what he's playing at. But you don't.

"One...I- just one," you say swallowing nervously. But your nerves aren't settled as a grumbling laugh builds in his chest.

"How sweet- givin' me a whole hour to do whatever I want," he tells you, grabbing the fat of your hips and flipping you onto your stomach.

You swear you can hear the inflection in his voice as he bears a shit-eating grin under that fucking mask. But your thoughts about his face are whisked away when he yanks your ass up into a high arch. He slides your laced panties to the side and parts your folds, sliding your slick around to flick over your sensitive bud. And the friction of his gloves is driving you insane. Insane enough that you're a slack-jawed pathetic moaning mess, wobbly legs pressing back against his hold. And then just as you become a bit comfortable, Ghost plants a stinging slap across your pussy, making you rigid.

"I've seen how you like it doll," he says laying another firm slap across your ass and dripping cunt. "Like a fuckin' whore." Hot tears well up in your eyes as your face is pressed into the mattress, muffling your cries. "Don' cry, you still have 3 more, 'kay?" he reassures. His hand travels from the side of your ass cheek and begins to fumble with his belt. He exhales a strained breath as he frees himself, his silky hot cock slapping against the back of your thigh. Ghost's precum is already smeared around his head, painting across your bare skin.

His next hit is personal, surely strong enough to leave a slight bruise as his fingers dig into your cheek to hold you in place. But this kind of twisted intimacy is what makes you feel alive.

"That's fer goin' through my shit," he barks, wasting no time delivering an equally intense strike across your opposite cheek. "That's for torturin' me for months, slut," Ghost admits.

As you brace yourself, you arch further, legs spread to accept it. But instead, Ghost lines up his head with your entrance. Violently splitting you open with a grunt, so forcefully that your body goes lax into the mattress from his weight. He gathers a fistful of your hair as if they are reigns. His lips graze the cartilage of your ear as he wrenches back, making you shudder.

"And that's for makin' me fuckin' crazy."

He's relentless. Ghost holds you up with one veiny forearm underneath your stomach, reaching around to find your clit and rub you in rhythm with his brutal fucking. Ghost's cock stretches and fills, it dominates and complicates. You'll forever remember how it curves, how the veins pulse inside you. His hips collide into the flesh of your ass like another form of a brutal spanking. It's the only sound you can hear other than the rush of blood ringing in your ears.

Ghost pinches your bud, rolling it around before rubbing small circles with two gloved fingers. Your voice has trouble escaping you as you lay contorted at his will on the verge of orgasm. He sounds heavenly deranged, blessing you with filthy curses and compliments on how tight you squeeze around him. He begins panting even louder as he ruts into you, like a desperate dying man.

"I should take you out- fuck you on the dining table," he grunts out between thrusts. "Yeah. You'd like that, huh? Making them watch you cum on my cock."

All you can do is scream into his fingers as his other hand clamps around your nose and mouth, stealing your oxygen. The truth is, now that he has you, he'll ruin you. He's planning on fucking you day in and day out, making it almost impossible to sit or walk. Hell, you won't even look at another man the same way after the way he's altered your chemistry.

You get an unfamiliar sensation in your core, but it's no use trying to stop it. Ghost applies just enough kneading pressure, like he's carefully studied the way your body responds when you touched yourself all those times before. Your mind goes numb as you drench each other, knees buckling in a full-body burnout. As you scream into the mattress, your cunt chaotically spasms. You grip around him tighter, making each of his ragged thrusts more difficult.

Ghost suddenly pulls out, leaving you empty and needy for his warmth. He just snickers as you whine, your pussy desperately trying to guide its way back onto him. You need him to flood your cervix, to deeply take his cock as it convulses. You want to revel in the mess as the cum drips out of you, uncaring of the oncoming consequences. He strategically flips over your limp sweat sweat-covered body, flicking his index finger across your oversensitive bundle of nerves. Your eyes go wide as you cry out, excited from the shock and fear of what he plans to do next. Ghost's chest heaves up and down, a sinister look glittering in his void-like pupils. He turns his wrist, tongue clicking as he registers the time on his watch.

"Would you look at that... Still got thirty more minutes~"

[darylas]

Chapter 1 - Blue Skies

John "Bucky" Egan x singer!fem!reader ♫ next ♫ ao3

When Bucky hears his favorite song begin to play, he does not expect to see a new Red Cross volunteer walk up to the microphone.

1.6k words

Warnings: Language, Alcohol

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

A/N: This was my first time writing in several years! It's short and the pacing is interesting, but gosh darn it I had fun writing this. Special shoutout to @blurredcolour for inspiring me to pick up the pen. Go read their work, it's fantastic.

Bucky sat cross-legged in a chair next to Buck, not-so-slowly nursing his second whiskey. Men and women danced in the center of the officers club as the military band played an obviously well-rehearsed rendition of Glenn Miller’s A String of Pearls. Bucky tapped two fingers on his knee in time to the beat while he watched the dancers. He had already spent three songs dancing with three different women and was now taking a break to sit and enjoy his best friend’s company.

“That girl you were dancing with before, she was pretty,” said Buck before taking a sip of his coke. “She works in the Clubmobile, right?”

“Yeah, Helen. Good dancer, too.” Bucky spotted her on the other side of the room, chatting with Tatty Spaatz. 

Buck took another sip as he watched the band play. “Got a letter from Marge today.”

“She dump you yet?”

“Not if I read the letter right.” Buck smiled and looked down. After a moment, he looked back at Bucky. “She said Peggy was not too happy she hasn’t gotten a letter from you.”

Bucky responded with a puzzled look. “We went on one date. A double date. I swear I didn’t give her any ideas that she’d be expecting mail from me. Buck, I swear. I don’t play like that.” 

Buck gave a soft exhale through his nose. “I know you don’t. I was just passing along the message.” A String of Pearls began to come to a close. “Not sure why it’d be such a bad idea to write her, though.”

“Aww, c’mon, Buck, I’m trying to have a nice evening here.” Bucky’s eyes lit up as the band initiated the next song, loud trumpets and melodic saxophones blaring out the snappy intro to Blue Skies. He broke into a grin. “Now we’re talkin’.”

Buck and at least three other men couldn’t hold in their groans as they too heard the familiar notes. They knew exactly what this song did to Bucky, especially after a few drinks. 

Bucky leaned over to address one of the protestors, Major Jack Kidd. “It’s my song! It needs vocals! You can’t expect me to just sit here in silence.”

“I think you’re gonna have to, John,” said Buck. “Looks like your act’s been booted.” 

Bucky whipped his head around to look at the makeshift stage where the band was playing. He watched in disbelief as a woman wearing a Red Cross uniform strolled up to the microphone in front of the band and began to sing.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Several of the men whooped and whistled appreciatively, and Bucky saw you smile and wink at the crowd as you continued to sing. Every note was sung with confidence and precision, and you continued to smile brightly as you got to the chorus. Everyone in the room seemed to be under the spell of your voice and stage presence.

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you’re in love, my how they fly

Buck hadn’t realized how right he’d been. Bucky had gone completely silent.

He rubbed the lower half of his face to cover his growing smile. He hoped you’d glance his way but so far no luck. He found himself in a strange quandary as he was torn between closing his eyes to listen to your voice and keeping them open to stare at your face. He wasn't sure if it was the whisky, the humidity of the packed room, your performance, or a strange combination of all three, but he was beginning to feel dizzy.

Far too soon for his liking, the song ended, with you hitting the final high note right on the head. The crowd applauded as you stepped back and gestured to the band behind you in appreciation. You stepped back up to the microphone.

“Thank you very much. Let’s hear it one more time for our Air Force Band! Aren’t they wonderful?” The crowd cheered, Buck and Bucky clapping along with them. “While I’m up here, I just wanted to remind you all that this Saturday, the Red Cross will be hosting bingo night in the Aeroclub at 1900. I don’t want to spoil anything but I will tell you that we’ve got some pretty terrific prizes for the winners. Thank you again, ladies and gentlemen.” 

As you departed the stage, several men in the crowd let out cries of disappointment. The band director spoke into the microphone, “Don’t worry, ladies and gents, she’ll be back! Now if you feel so inclined, grab a partner and get back on the dance floor!” He signaled the band to start playing a new song with a count of "one, two, three, four.”

Bucky slapped both hands on his thighs and stood. He quickly downed the rest of his whisky, put down the glass, and straightened his tie. “I do believe I feel so inclined,” he said to Buck. 

“Yeah, I figured you might,” replied Buck with a smirk. 

As Bucky made his way toward where you were seated with another Red Cross Girl, he smirked as he noticed that other officers who had the same idea begrudgingly backed off. As Buck was known to say, rank had its privileges. When you looked up, Bucky greeted you with his most charming grin. “Quite the performance up there; you do autographs?”

You looked at his hands and quirked your brow. “I don’t see anything to sign.” 

Bucky looked down at his hands as well and flipped them over a couple of times. “Damn, you’re right.” He looked back at you. “How ‘bout a dance instead, then?” 

You smiled politely at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t dance.” You motioned to the girl sitting next to you. “Rachel here is a marvelous dancer, though.” 

“Oh, I know.” Bucky nodded at Rachel. “How ya doin’, Rach?” 

With a mischievous smile and her chin resting on her fist, the blonde replied, "I'm just swell, Bucky." 

He smiled back at her. “That’s great.” He looked back at you skeptically. “You sure? I promise to keep you on your feet, Miss…”

You gave him your name then said, “I’m sure. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Major, and don’t forget about bingo night on Saturday.”

Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets and pressed his lips together, nodding. “Right, right. Bingo night. Alright then, I’ll see you around.” He began to walk away then turned back around. “I don’t know if the band said anything to you, but Blue Skies is sorta my signature song. S’okay, though. You did alright. Little different than my rendition, but you sounded great.” 

You gave him that same damn polite smile that he couldn’t decipher and said, “Glad you liked it.”

Bucky nodded once and headed back to his seat. He cleared his dry throat after sitting down next to Buck. After picking up his whisky glass, he frowned upon realizing that it was empty. Buck looked over at him. “What happened?”

“Turns out she’s more your type. Said she doesn’t dance.” 

“What’s ‘a matter, Bucky?” He turned to see Blakely and Douglass grinning at him. “The jazz cat have claws?” Both burst out laughing at the terrible joke. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and gave them an exasperated look.

Buck smiled good-naturedly and clapped him on the back. “Had to happen sometime, pal. Maybe getting shot down for once will help fix that king-size ego of yours,” he joked. 

“I didn’t get shot down, she said she didn’t dance.” Bucky pulled on one of his sleeves. “There’s a difference.” Once again, he began tapping two fingers against his knee to the music, trying his damndest not to look at you.

═════ ♫ ═════

Later in the evening, Bucky, Buck, and Curt Biddick were all standing at the bar. Curt and Bucky were animatedly discussing the Yankees for what had to be the hundredth time, leaving poor Buck to his coke and people-watching for a few minutes. 

Bucky saw his friend look quizzically at the dance floor then quickly avert his eyes and take a long sip. Bucky looked back in the same direction and immediately saw what Buck had been hoping he wouldn’t. At the far edge of the dance floor, you were dancing with Lt. “Bubbles” Payne, smiling and laughing. 

“I’m telling you, DiMaggio would never…what the hell are you looking at?” Curt, who was more than a little drunk, turned around and saw you and Bubbles. “That the girl who was singing earlier? The one that gave you the brush-off? I thought you said she didn’t dance. I guess she meant she doesn’t dance with-” He was cut off by Buck smacking him on the arm. “What?”

Bucky was still watching you with your arms around Bubbles, laughing at something else he said. Bubbles. He was a great guy, but what about him made you change your mind about dancing? Or was dancing not the problem at all?

Curt, unaware of Bucky’s worsening mood, casually slung his arm over his shoulders. “Hey, c’mon, don’t feel bad. I’ll dance with you, Bucky. C’mere, they’re playing our song.” 

Bucky shoved the drunk lieutenant off of him and smiled bitterly. “Yeah, cause spinning and shaking is exactly what your body needs right now, Curt.” 

He felt Buck nudge his shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, John. C’mon, I’m beat. Let’s head to the barracks.” 

As they began the walk back and the music behind them faded, Curt appeared deep in thought. Eventually, he said, very seriously, “Maybe she likes his mustache better than yours.” Buck coughed to cover a laugh. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t care that you had rejected him. Not even a little.

He wouldn’t spare you a second thought. No sir.

And he absolutely did not hear you singing Blue Skies over and over in his head as he lay in bed that night.

—

♫ next ♫

[marvelstoriesepic]

Tangled ropes

Pairing: Sailor!Bucky x reader

Summary: A new sailor arrives at the docks amongst Captain Barton’s crew. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself, or perhaps it’s the way his eyes are the echo of the ocean in color and depth. But something about him makes you want to untangle the ropes that seem to choke his spirit.

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: allusions to death, slight mentioning of illness, scared reader, a dog in distress (he’ll be fine)

Author’s note: okay so, I actually wanted this to be a one-shot, turns out that’s not gonna happen. I'm working on a second part, but I also didn’t forget about my series 'breaking chains'. So I can’t say what I'll be focusing on next. Let me know what you think, and please be kind because I love this! <3

Masterlist

The docks always held a special place in your heart. It was lively. The air hung heavy with the scent of brine and tar, a salty tang that clung to your clothes and hair long after you left, but you never really minded it - you embraced it. It was the scent of home.

Sun-bleached wooden planks groaned under the constant foot traffic. Wooden stalls lined the piers, their colors all varying and mismatching but it held an undeniable allure.

Fishmongers stood side by side, with hoarse voices from hawking their glistening displays of cod, oysters, plump lobsters, and perhaps the occasional octopus that writhed in wicker baskets. The lovely woman with the sun-kissed skin, who sold vibrant bouquets of wildflowers always greeted you with a beaming smile when you went to get some florals for your mother.

Dockworkers always bustled around, wrestling crates and barrels, their shouts punctuated by the rhythmic creak of ropes and the groan of timber under heavy loads. You held admiration for those men, watching them work all times of the day and weather, muscles sculpted and faces etched with sun and sweat.

Women in billowing skirts and sensible boots bartered with vendors or gossiped with each other, their baskets overflowing with fresh bread, glistening food, and colorful bolds of fabric; sometimes even some seashell jewelry or iron cookware.

You loved to watch the children running around and weaving through the people in glee, chasing after stray dogs or climbing rickety piles of rope, all while their laughter and shrieks echoed off the wooden planks. Seagulls cawed raucously overhead, swooping down for scraps or squabbling over morsels.

The best part, however, was the open ocean stretching before you, a cerulean expanse that mocked the limits of your vision, blurring into the hazy promise of a horizon forever beyond reach.

Your legs often guided you down to the docks on their own accord with an unbidden pull to let the untamed wind whip through your hair, nothing in its path to hold back, carrying the sharp and salty scent of the sea that would fill your lungs. You would usually close your eyes to take it in.

The rhythmic lap of the waves against the wood was a lullaby, a constant that soothed the ache in your heart. It was the closest you could feel to your father, the only connection that remained after the years of his absence.

But it was a strong connection.

Though time had dulled the edges of his memory, the warmth of his presence lingered in these salty breezes. You couldn’t recall the exact color of his eyes anymore, or the way his laughter crinkled the corners of them.

But the feeling of safety when he held you close, the love he held for you, and the endless blue expanse were etched into your soul.

Here, on the docks of your small port town, which had been a mere dot on the map for your father, a different kind of memory took root.

The sea became his domain, and so it became yours too. It was the anchor that held you fast - that vast emptiness that both echoed his absence and held the promise of a connection that could never be broken. It was a poignant yearning, a bittersweet symphony of salt and sorrow, that bound you to the rhythm of the waves and the memory of your father.

The sea held its secrets and you guessed it would hold your father's fate for eternity, ingrained into the indifference of the waves. He was a sailor even before you were born, exploring the ocean and the islands and cities that lay in their wake.

Every few months, sometimes years, he would return, his warmth and laughter filling the short gaps between his journeys. But those gaps grew longer, the laughter strained. Until the docks remained absent from his ship altogether.

Whispers and rumors had filled the void, twisting into conflicting narratives.

Some spoke of a terrible illness, a plague that had swept through his crew, claiming life after life until it finally took him too. Others muttered of a violent raid, your father perishing while defending his hard-earned goods. The most outlandish tales painted him a traitor, a man who’d abandoned his family and his life for the thrill of piracy, a black flag now his banner.

Your father was a well-respected sailor, having kissed the shores of countless countries, his name a murmur of respect in taverns across the globe. You had the evidence of that in souvenirs that cluttered your small home. A carved jade dragon from the East, a woven dreamcatcher from the West, polished seashells once laying on a beach - all from beyond the horizon.

So it was expected that people would talk and spread stories as to what might have happened to him. But no matter what they said and told you, your memories of him remained untainted.

He had shown you the art of knots, his patient hand untangling your fumbling attempts. You had practiced fiercely during the times he was gone. Perhaps he had wanted to give you a distraction. It had worked, because you one day helped him secure the ship to the dock, in recalling how to wove the ropes while he followed your instructions, since you weren’t able to do it on your own with your small and weaker hands. A triumphant grin had spread across your rosy cheeks as the ship was secured and your father had hoisted you up in the air, pride radiating from him in waves.

You would forever cherish the times he took you down to the docks, letting you wander around on his ship. You remembered his calloused hand guiding yours across the weathered deck. Your soft fingers had traced the grooves and marks in the wood, wondering how they made it there.

His voice was a blur in your mind, the cadence of his tone lost in time but you remembered how he would spin tales of adventures that made your eyes widen and laughter ring out across the open deck. He exaggerated monstrous waves, how he outsmarted the Kraken which was likely just a seagull, and described the creak of the ship as he fought a sea serpent - or so he had claimed.

All he wanted was to hear you laugh.

You had noticed how hard it was for him to leave every time, missing out on his daughter growing up. He carried around a heaviness, an ache burning in his eyes that mirrored the one in your mother's gaze whenever he set off again. It made you cling to him tighter when you could.

The image of him boarding deck and watching the ship shrink, shrink, shrink, until it was swallowed by the horizon had been a constant in your life. Unlike your mother, who couldn’t bear to watch him vanish, you had stayed until the last sliver of his ship disappeared, a tiny speck against the vast, indifferent canvas of the sea.

Those goodbyes had carved a hollow ache into your chest, a sorrow that had seemed to tear into your flesh and bones. You had felt his loss, mourned him even before the rumors of his death made their way to land. Yet, you had always wondered what really happened. Nightmares used to haunt you, showing you visions of him swallowed by unseen monsters lurking in the depths.

But as the years rolled by, a sense of peace bloomed alongside your grief.

The town itself became a living testament to your father. You had those souvenirs at home and the stories they came with. The people of the town spoke of his courage and kindness with a reverence that warmed your heart.

You even had him here, at this very moment, standing at the docks and watching the vessel of Captain Barton appear over the horizon.

Earlier, you had immediately perked up at the shouts and clanging from the lookout boy, announcing the arrival of the ship; dropping the unfinished basket you were weaving.

You had rushed down to the docks, joining the throng of merchants, ventures, dockworkers, and townsfolk already buzzing with anticipation, voices rising. The arrival of Captain Barton’s ship was an event, a chance to stock up on exotic goods your town wouldn’t otherwise see.

For years, Captain Barton’s crew had filled the void left by your father’s disappearance. While your father had ventured into the unknown, charting uncharted waters and bringing back exotic rarities, Captain Barton stuck to well-worn trade routes, providing your port town with silks, spices, tools, and trinkets.

You had never once missed the arrival of the crew, because it gave you a glimpse into the lifeline your father had sailed, even though it now was shrouded in mystery. It felt like a bridge across the endless of blue, strengthening the connection you had with him.

The ship grew closer and details came into view. It was nothing like your father’s had been, you could tell from the way it cut through the waves, a touch less weathered, a hint less daring. Captain Barton’s vessel boasted a newer sheen, the paint brighter, the sails crisper. But it carried the spirit of the open sea, the same spirit that had called to your father.

A smile spread on your face.

The wind whipped at your hair, carrying with it the tang of the sea and a thrill that danced in your stomach. You barely registered the young boy rocketing past you, your skirts billowing around your feet.

With each passing moment, the ship inched closer and your focus narrowed on the sailors scurrying about, mirroring your anticipation. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as a cannon boomed - a salute to the town.

Your heart thrummed inside your rib cage, matching the relentless pounding of the waves against the wooden piers. The shouts of the dockworkers, the excited chatter of the townsfolk, the thudding of feet on the weathered planks all became background noise for you, as you kept your stare on the ship.

Your intense focus shattered as you felt a tug on your hand. Snapping your gaze away from the approaching vessel, you looked down to see a small hand nestled in yours. “Papa is coming back!” Morgan shouted, her high-pitched voice ringing out in the din of the docks.

She tried dragging you through the sea of people, getting closer to where Captain Barton’s crew was about to dock. “Do you think he has something for me?” she asked you, blinking at you with wide eyes, laden with childish excitement.

You let out a soft laugh, squeezing her hand gently. “I’m sure he got you something, pumpkin,” you reassured her, laughing harder when she let out a delightful squeal, her eyes sparkling with pure joy as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

Morgan was like your little sister in all but blood. Her father, Tony, was amongst the crew mere feet away from the docks. He had once sailed alongside your father more than two decades ago. They grew up together, starting as cabin boys on the same vessel, and shared adventures for the years to come.

But a fickle wind that steered the course of lives had scattered them. There was an attack, one that had left Tony battered and scarred, physically and emotionally. He got away with his life, but only barely, and it was enough for him to choose calmer waters, a life under Captain Barton, away from the relentless call of the open sea. He had craved the security of a routine, in comparison to your father's love for adventures.

You never learned the exact details, never dared to asked, but your father never stopped speaking of Tony with a deep respect and a touch of melancholy, although they might have never crossed paths again.

Since your father's visits had ceased altogether and more people than not were sure he died on the open waters, Tony quickly became a second father figure to you, spreading warmth whenever he stayed on port.

Watching Morgan now mirrored your own childhood - a little girl waiting with wide-eyed wonder for a father who brought the world home with him, even if it was just for a fleeting visit.

You looked around for Pepper, Morgan’s mother, who likely stood amongst the bustling crowd. Like your own mother, she bore the weight of a sailor's wife; sharing whispered stories, anxieties calmed with the sight of a returning ship, and a love that stretched as vast as the ocean itself.

Thunderous cheers and shouts erupted around you once more and you couldn’t suppress your own cheers as they bubbled up in your stomach, watching the ship getting anchored. It loomed large now, its imposing shadow stretching across the docks. The rhythmic creaking of the ship as it settled against the pier exhilarated you, shivers running down your spine in waves.

Morgan craned her neck and you lifted her high in your arms, making sure she was able to see the spectacle. Her joyful excitement blended into the crowd.

You watched the crew on deck scurrying across the rigging, securing lines, and lowering gangplanks. The sails were being expertly furled.

You knew the process of the arrival by heart. As always, a team of dockworkers charged forward. Some were armed with thick ropes, attaching them to sturdy bollards lining the dock. Others used large hooks and secured lines flung down from the ship, ensuring it wouldn’t drift with the current.

Captain Barton stood on the quarterdeck of his vessel, waiting for the approach of the port officials, clad in crisp uniforms. They exchanged briefly, a verification of the ship's manifest - a detailed document listing the cargo and passengers onboard.

Then followed the health check. Another official, his demeanor seeming a little more gentle, stepped forward. He carried a satchel filled with vials and basic medical instruments. You didn’t hear what they said, but you knew the questions he would ask the Captain.

It were the same questions your father got asked, about any illnesses encountered during the journey, and if it were necessary to perform cursory examinations on some crew members.

Your father had always held his stoicism when talking to the officials, but you'd known him better than that. His eyes had shifted, subtly searching the crowd of onlookers for his family. His impatience was in the way his foot tapped on the wood and his hands adjusted his hat.

The curt nod of the official was the final permission for the sailors to enter the dock and once again, loud cheers went through the crowd. Captain Barton raised his hand in acknowledgment, a smile gracing his face and the gangplank was lowered, a sturdy wooden bridge connecting the ship to the dock.

The familiar crew began disembarking and you had to tighten your arms around a squeaking Morgan as her father stepped on the solid ground of the docks. You scanned the rest of the crew with a smile on your face. Years of Captain Barton’s arrivals had etched these men into your memory, their stories woven into the fabric of your life by Tony’s tales.

There was Bruce Banner, the ship's healer, always looking a little awkward at the attention they all received. He walked in the shadow of the hulking frame of Commander Odinson, who held the wisps of his long, blond hair in a red bandana. You spotted Gabe Jones, Dum Dum Dugan, and Jim Morita, who seemed to playfully wrestle with each other as to who would reach the docks first.

Other midshipmen followed, such as Steve Rogers, a gentle smile on his face as he looked out into the crowd. He looked stronger, you noticed. The shirt he wore was looser the last time you saw him, his shoulders now broader, and he carried himself in a way that made him look more masculine.

Joy bubbled within you, as you spotted the perpetually enthusiastic cabin boy, Peter Parker, bounding down the gangplank. His youthful grin was wide enough to split his face as he waved at the townsfolk.

Your smile faltered.

Behind Peter, an unfamiliar man descended to the wooden planks. He still looked younger than most men of the crew, maybe about Steve’s age, but in comparison to Steve’s gentle spirit, he carried himself with a quiet, almost stoic calmness. He didn’t seem overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the docks, as if he was used to it by now, though he also didn’t look like he acknowledged anything around him at all, seeming indifferent. He wasn’t part of the crew the last time, you were certain.

There was a subtle tautness to his movements, a hint of a muscular build beneath the worn fabric of his shirt. You studied him as he disembarked to meet his crew. He wasn’t really smiling, you noticed. He wore more of an unreadable mask. It wasn’t a frown exactly but it looked detached, that made you wonder what burdens he might carry.

He barely even lifted his face to watch the crowd but you still caught glimpses of the sharp jawline and the contours of his nose. His hair looked a little unruly and windswept as a few brown strands fell onto his forehead.

As his worn boots met the solid ground as well, he clapped Steve on the shoulder, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. But before you could glean anything further, the throng of people surrounding you shifted, momentarily blocking your view.

A pang of disappointment burrowed in your stomach at the lost sight of the stranger. You craned your neck, hoping to catch another glimpse, but Morgan wriggled in your grasp and you managed to set her down gently before she launched herself at an approaching Tony.

He scooped her up effortlessly, her giggles muffled against the rough fabric of his slightly torn shirt as he twirled her around. With the unfamiliar sailor momentarily forgotten, you stepped forward yourself, a smile so wide on your face, it ached in your cheeks.

Tony beamed at you; shifting his daughter to one arm, her tiny fingers wrapping around his neck like a lifeline, and pulling you to his chest with the other.

“Well, well, look at you, all grown up, eh young lady?” he teased, his voice a warm rumble over the din docks. He leaned down, his salty beard tickling your hair as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You rolled your eyes, though laughter spilled from your lips, despite yourself. “Grown up for years now, Tony,” you protested, your smile ever-present. Relief and a deep sense of contentment filled your chest and you took a deep breath so as not to let your emotions overwhelm you.

He smelled of the sea, with the hint of dust, wood, and sweat - a heady concoction that somehow felt like home.

He released you slightly, but not before holding you at arm's length for a closer look. “Still, you seem to have spouted a good inch or two since last I saw you, dear one. Are you eating properly? How fares your mother?”

“Mother is well, Tony,” you replied, your voice a gentle reassurance at the worry you read from his eyes. “And we are both well-fed. We manage to keep the food cupboard stocked.” His concern tugged at your heartstrings and you reached out to gently squeeze his arm. “No need to fret over us,” you added gently, though, with a hint of a playful drawl and it eased the lines on his face.

As Pepper joined you, hugging and kissing Tony with tear-filled eyes, you decided to let them have their moment and started pacing the docks, taking in the usual frenetic energy. Old Hughes, the gruff-looking but fair cobbler, unfurled his work canvas awnings, displaying a colorful array of boots and shoes for the sailors. Mrs. Cook, a stout woman with a booming voice, set up tables laden with fresh bread, glistening cheeses, and plump, juicy fruits.

The dockworkers had already swarmed the ship, lowering large wooden crates filled with the cargo. The gentle breeze carried the sweet perfume of exotic spices right over to you as you took another deep breath. The sailor's crew helped unload the crates. Some were hauled onto large flatbed carts pulled by dockworkers, while others, the smaller and lighter ones, were hoisted onto the shoulders of the sailors.

You watched with fascination how they all seemed to joke and tease each other while still working efficiently. Their grunts and laughter carried over the lively chatter of the townsfolk.

Your eyes swept through the crowd on their own accord, trying to find the unfamiliar sailor, not knowing exactly what made you so interested in seeing him again. But you also didn’t put much effort into trying to suppress that nagging curiosity that tugged at you.

Lost in your search for the guy, you completely missed the treacherous snag lurking beneath your feet. A thick hemp rope, used to secure a nearby crate, lay coiled and unsuspected. You were about to take a step forward but your boot promptly caught on its rough weave, sending a jolt through your leg and nearly toppling you over.

A startled gasp escaped your lips as you lurched forward, flailing for something to break your fall. Your hand quickly grasped a sturdy wooden post, one of many supporting the overhead awning of a nearby vendor. The worn leather of your boots met the worn wood of the planks with a resounding thud, echoing through the bustling dock.

You held your breath, bracing yourself for a painful collision with the ground. But luckily the post held firm, helping you regain your balance. A wave of relief swept over you, quickly followed by a pang of embarrassment.

You glanced down, wincing as your gaze fell upon the culprit. The hemp rope, still tangled around your boot, had caused a small tear in the fabric of your skirt. Taking a deep breath, you knelt down, fumbling with the coarse rope until it loosened its hold. With a sigh, you inspected the damage. The tear wasn’t major, but it was certainly noticeable, and your mother surely wouldn’t like it.

You rose to your feet and looked back up, just to meet the eyes of the brunette sailor, the unfamiliar man. You stilled in your movements, staring back at him. He still stood a little in the distance, a half-hoisted crate resting precariously on his shoulder as he was slightly turned in your direction. His gaze was pretty clear, but his expression was unreadable.

He didn’t seem to feel as uncomfortable as you, though. The way his eyes flit over your form, lingering on the part of your skirt you had just ripped wasn’t intrusive, but rather a quick assessment, as if gauging whether you were injured. He held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary and you almost could have believed he was able to hear your heart pounding over the distance. Perhaps he could see through you, watching the blood rush through your veins and up to your cheeks as they heated up.

He turned away then with a curt and subtle nod you wouldn’t have picked up if you weren’t watching him so intensely. You might even interpret it as satisfaction at seeing you regain your footing, or simply a confirmation that you were alright.

His gaze very well may have lasted for mere seconds only but you were flustered. You weren’t sure why his brief scrutiny had sent a jolt through you, or why you felt a curious mix of embarrassment and intrigue. Perhaps it was just the fact that you weren’t used to seeing a new face around here. Especially as handsome as his.

Absentmindedly, your hands brushed over your skirt as they had gotten a little clammy and you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him.

The mysterious sailor had returned to his work, carrying the crate on his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt strained across his back, revealing those broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms, with a few veins running up and disappearing behind the fabric. Pale pink lines seemed to be marrying his left arm - scars, undoubtedly - though the details were blurred by the distance.

Your attention caught the couple rips in the fabric of his shirt, revealing skin on his shoulder and a little on his side. All your father's shirts had been adorned with similar tears. One day, you had asked about them and he had granted you with one of his gruff laughs. “Keeps the pirates at bay, my sweetheart,” he had said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

It wasn’t true of course. You always knew that, but your father's playful answer had instilled a sense of comfort back then, making you feel like he was safer out there than he actually was.

The brunette navigated the bustling docks with a practiced gait and you narrowed your eyes at him as your gaze followed him weaving between towering crates and barrels, his destination likely a designated storage area near the harbormaster's office, depending on the nature of the goods he carried. Your gaze remained fixed on him until he disappeared behind the market stands.

****

You had finished the basket you’d been weaving as the boy on lookout had announced the arrival of Captain Barton's ship - a sturdy work of woven reeds, perfect for carrying fresh bread or plump vegetables.

Your mother had insisted you could finish it tomorrow, but you still had a lot more to do and you needed the money.

The day had bled into dusk by the time you had sold it for a few coins down at the marketplace, the fiery orange of the setting sun replaced by the cool, silvery glow of the moon.

The rhythmic clatter of cobblestones beneath your worn boots echoed around the brick walls around you. The salty tang of the sea was now tinged with the smoky aroma of woodsmoke, wisping from chimneys.

Laughter, boisterous and male, spilled out from a nearby tavern - perhaps Captain Barton’s crew drowning their sorrows or celebrating their return in mugs of rum and ale. You made out raucous singing, sometimes punctuated by a heavy thump on the table. You could even glimpse a few silhouettes through the grimy windows, swaying and stomping to the tune of a jig played on a weathered fiddle.

The melody of a lone violin drifted from a brightly lit window a few steps further down the road, and you found yourself listening fondly.

You weren’t surprised to find your feet carrying you back towards the docks. The festive chaos of the arrival had subsided, leaving murmured conversations reaching your ears from people lost in the shadows.

The ache your father had left you with had dulled throughout the years, becoming a part of you. Most days, it resided peacefully in the background, a constant but manageable hum. But on these days, when the excitement of Captain Barton’s arrival ceased, your composure would usually fray at the edges.

A heavy fog rolled in, settling like a lead weight on your chest. It squeezed your heart, not with a fist, but with a thousand tiny, suffocating fingers. The air thinned in your lungs, replaced by a hollowness that echoed in your stomach. A hollowness no amount of food or water could ever fill.

So, the docks were the only place you could find a semblance of solace.

You knew better than to walk on the open docks at night, staying in the shadows of a few shops near the pier. You made out the rhythmic creak of rocking ships, the groan of a straining rope. Moonlight danced on the water, casting shimmering pathways that stretched out towards the inky blackness of the open ocean.

Gas lamps strung along the docks, casting pools of warm orange light that struggled to penetrate the bat darkness of the harbor. In their flickering glow, dust motes waltzed.

Further down the docks, you made out the rhythmic hammering of a lone shipwright, his work illuminated by a flickering torch.

A new sound pierced the night air.

It began faintly, a whimper barely audible over the creaking of ships and the distant shouts coming from taverns.

But with each passing second, the sound grew louder, a plaintive whine morphing into desperate cries.

It was a dog.

Your heart lurched. You scanned the dimly lit docks, your eyes flitting from shadowy figures to stacked crates. The whimpers and cries were frantic, leading you towards the easternmost pier, a relatively deserted area where a few neglected fishing boats lay moored.

There, half-hidden beneath the skeletal frame of an old, beached vessel, you spotted it. A dog - a scruffy mutt with a coat the color of dried mud and a desperate glint in his eyes.

It was entangled in a thick mess of rigging rope, the lines binding its legs and torso like cruel restraints. The dog's frantic struggles only tightened the knots, its whimpers turning into pained yelps.

Adrenaline surged through you. Your mother warned you enough times to stay away from the docks at night. They could be treacherous, a labyrinth of shadows and unseen hazards. Yet, the dog’s whimpers tugged at your heart, echoing the silent emptiness within you.

You pushed aside the trepidation that had coiled your gut and rushed towards the pained dog, without further thinking. The moonlight was the only glow you could lean on as you knelt beside the tangled animal.

“Hey there, fella,” you murmured, speaking in a soothing tone, probably more for your own reassurance than anything else, as you reached out a tentative hand. The dog flinched, knots tightening, a low growl rumbling in his chest. You kept your movements slow and deliberate. Your father had once told you to avoid eye contact as a sign of non-threat.

Taking a closer look, you assessed the situation. The ropes were wrapped around its front legs and middle in a haphazard manner. The knots, however, seemed more amateurish than sailor-made, a tangled mess rather than a secure bind. That’s why the poor thing must have gotten caught. This wouldn’t have happened with the right knots. You didn’t see any blood on the ropes, nor the dog, but it wouldn’t take much for the rough material to nick his skin.

So you slowly extended your hand towards the dog's head, whispering low and soothing. You avoided its gaze, aiming for the reassuring scratch behind his ear that most dogs craved. If the dog remained calm, you could assess the knots more closely and see if there was a way to loosen them without causing further distress.

The dog's whimpers grew softer, visibly settling with occasional shaky breaths. He watched your hand, as you reached behind his ear, a tentative sniff grazing your palm.

Your relief at the dog's response to your gentle approach was cut short.

A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, casting a long, distorted form across the moonlit wood as it moved in your direction. A sudden chill crawled up your spine, panic jolting through your body and you instinctively snatched your hand back, almost tumbling over in your haste.

The surprised yelp of the dog at your sudden movements pierced the air, a sharp bark that echoed like a gunshot in the stillness of the night.

The figure in the distance quickened its pace, its shadow dancing grotesquely on the pale wood of the pier.

You were frozen. Completely and utterly frozen on the ground. Your heart was pounding erratically, almost painfully, threatening to drown out the dog's frantic barking.

Broken nails clawed at the wood underneath and a whimper nearly escaped your own lips. You felt as trapped as the dog - only that the ropes binding you in place, scratching and clawing at your skin, taking your breath away the more you moved; were fear.

Each rasping breath you could take in felt like a struggle, your chest a tight cage around your rapidly inflating lungs.

The warnings your mother had ingrained in your head, that the docks were no place for a young woman at night, swirled around in your mind in sharp and mocking whispers.

The newcomer, perhaps sensing your panic, slowed his approach. He raised his hands high in the air, palms open, taking a few measured steps forward, as if taming a frightened animal. Like you had with the dog just moments before.

How ironic.

“Woah there, easy,” he called out softly, as he came to a halt at a respectful distance, hands still raised in placation. Only the moonlight helped you make him out, casting his face in an eerie half-light, revealing him only in fragments.

Yet, it was enough.

It was him - the brunette sailor that had caught your attention earlier, with the sharp angles of his jawline, the strong bridge of his nose, and a hint of a scar over his brow you hadn’t been able to see over the distance.

You didn’t know if it was relief that swept through your body since it felt numb to feeling anything anymore, but you were able to draw in a somewhat steadying breath again.

“I mean no harm. Didn’t mean to scare you, apologies for that,” he continued and it was then that his voice finally registered in your mind. It was a low rumble, rough around the edges and tinged with a hoarse weariness. Yet, there was a hint of concern and something like a soft reassurance underlying his tone and it cleared the fog around your eyes.

His gaze was solely fixed on you, somehow ignoring the barking dog beside you. There was a faint crease that furrowed his brows, his lips tugging into a frown and his fingers twitched as if wanting to reach out to you.

Your voice remained trapped in your constricted throat as you concentrated on getting the air back in your lungs. The man before you seemed to soften further.

“Heard that dog cryin' like a lost soul. Had to see what all the fuss was about. I reckon that’s what brought you out here too. Mighty brave of you, though these docks ain’t the safest place for a lady after dark.”

He cast a brief glance around, his hands slowly returning to his side as he swept the dimly lit area before returning his gaze to you. It was too dark to make out the color of his eyes but they glinted with something you couldn’t make out as he lingered on your form. He tilted his head slightly, a slow smile forming on his lips.

You might have found it charming, disarming even, if your mind hadn’t been running on scrambled eggs.

“I remember you,” he countered softly, seeming patient to wait until your voice found its way back to you. “Saw you when we docked.” His gaze drifted downwards, lingering on the still ripped section of your skirt from your earlier inattentiveness. A line etched itself deep in his brow as his gaze traveled back to your face, seeing the tear up close. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself there.”

Maybe the calming tone of the sailor also had an effect on the dog, because his whimpers had softened, replaced by weak pants. Or perhaps his struggle had simply drained him.

Regardless, you finally managed to pry your voice loose from your throat as you cleared it, the sound a little scratchy. You brushed the dirt and dust from your hands on your skirt and rose to your feet. Your legs still felt a little wobbly, but you regained your footing.

“I-I’m fine,” you croaked out and watched the way his shoulders relaxed, relief etching the lines on his face. His own chest visibly deflated with a released breath and his posture softened further.

“Let’s see how we can help our furry friend here,” he exclaimed after a moment's pause, as if remembering what he came here for in the first place. He took a step closer and crouched down to the height of the dog, you now towering over his seated form.

It surprised you. His actions, the way he spoke to you with an easy respect and approval that wasn’t always afforded to a young woman.

Especially not to you.

Your family name took a hit after the many rumors about your father's disappearance cursed the seas. There still were people praising him and talking about his adventures, but those would throw you pitying glances whenever you walked past. Conversations would halt, in fear you might crumble under the weight of some words. Of hearing your father's name. They would treat you like a fragile child. Or perhaps a ticking time bomb ready to blow up at any second.

Some treated you as a victim, some as a ghost, and others saw you as a heavy reminder of the shadow that had overcome the town at the perceived betrayal of your father to sail under pirates.

You grew accustomed to it - the pity, the suspicion, the condescension.

It still took you by surprise as you watched that man lowering himself beside you, with you towering over his crouched frame as if it meant nothing. His gaze had lacked judgment as it lingered on the tear in your skirt you obviously hadn’t changed since you ripped it. He only held concern.

It was a respite from the heavy loads you normally had to deal with and you felt a flicker of warmth chasing away some of that chill that had settled in your bones.

You snapped back to the present as the sailor reached for a small knife tugged at his belt. The worn leather handle was dwarfed by his hand, its blade a dull silver under the moon's glow.

“Don’t,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, squatting down beside him. His head twirled in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as his gaze met yours. The dog whined softly.

“He’s moving too much,” you explained, your voice regaining steadiness. “If you cut the ropes, you might nick him.”

A slow, amused smile spread across the sailor's face. It wasn’t a mocking grin, rather a playful challenge that crinkled the corners of his eyes. They were blue, you realized. “I’ve got a steady hand, doll,” he teased, his voice low and rich with amusement. “You doubtin' my skills?”

Heat flooded your cheeks, a blush creeping up your neck and you averted your eyes. “No, of course not! I didn’t mean-”

His warm chuckle cut you off, a deep sound that seemed to vibrate from the core of his being. His chin fell to his chest, brown strands falling onto his forehead as his shoulders shook slightly.

You hadn’t expected him to laugh but a strange sense of ease settled in its wake, making you suppress a smile of your own.

“No offense taken, doll,” he softly declared. “If you’re worried about the blade, then we will find another way to help the fella out.”

His voice was calm and gentle, a stark contrast to the gruff exterior he presented and the looming figure that had scared you as he had appeared from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat, but not out of fear this time.

You decided to focus on the task at hand, to predict him recognizing the blush scorching your cheeks. “The knots are messy,” you assessed again, tracing the ropes with careful fingers. “We can untangle them if we find an opening.”

Scanning for any frayed ends, any loose thread that could serve as a starting point, your peripheral vision picked up on the sailor doing the same thing right beside you, letting his hands trace over the ropes. You worked in silence, the only sounds being the rhythmic creaking of the nearby ship, the gentle lapping of the waves, and a lone seagull's piercing squawk.

A smile grazed your face as you made out a frayed end peeking out from beneath a few knots. Deftly, you began to untangle the ropes, working with the kind of ease that came with years of weaving. You wound the excess rope around itself, creating a loose coil that wouldn’t snag on anything. The dog grew still as you neared his legs, whimpers replaced by shallow breaths.

As you worked the ropes against each other to loosen their hold, you felt your skin prickle with the gaze of the sailor on you. He had stilled his own movements, now watching you quietly, with an intensity that made it hard for you to focus. Perhaps it was some form of astonishment that radiated from him, you couldn’t tell, but it felt warm on your skin.

The brown mutt barely flinched as you unwound his legs, being exhausted by its ordeal. You worked your way to his middle, careful not to touch the sore parts of his body that had been squeezed. With a final tug, the last knot yielded, and the dog was free.

You breathed a sigh of relief, a soft smile curving your lips. “There you go,” you whispered, barely audible over the noises of the docks.

The little fella remained motionless for a moment, probably still in shock. But he quickly seemed to regain sense of his freedom and bolted away with a sudden yelp, disappearing into the shadows.

You were relieved he hadn’t gotten hurt in the process, still being able to run, but the sudden departure of the small dog left you a little disappointed.

Another comforting chuckle from the sailor, with a name you still had to learn, echoed beside you. “Consider him grateful,” he said, a lightness in his voice that made you laugh softly, tension easing from your shoulders.

You turned back to the discarded ropes, silence stretching for a few moments until you spoke up again. “He wouldn’t have gotten tangled up in those if they were secured properly,” you declared, your voice a quiet murmur, underlying a hint of resentment at the person who didn’t take his job very seriously.

The sailor looked at you for a few beats, then nodded to the heap of ropes. “And you know how to knot them correctly?” It wasn’t a challenge, nor was it laced with doubt or disbelief. There was a genuine curiosity in his tone, a spark of something deeper that caught you off guard.

Perhaps it was the way he had watched you work with that kind of amazement as your nimble fingers unraveled the knots. Or the way he looked at you with that glint in his eyes as if he already knew you would say yes. Maybe it was the satisfaction of helping a helpless dog in distress, or the intrigue this man had ignited within you, but a surge of confidence, unexpected and exhilarating, coursed through you.

“Are you doubtin' my skills?” You countered, mirroring his question from earlier, teasing in your voice.

A flicker of surprise, a delightful surprise, crossed his features, eyebrows shooting up. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, and he bit his bottom lip to prevent it from spreading. He looked away from you for a few beats, schooling his expression into a semblance of composure, but the amusement still danced in the corners of his eyes as he met yours again.

You turned your attention back to the ropes, beginning to feel that heat creep up your neck again at the way he looked at you. Starting to weave the rope in the familiar motions your father had taught you so many years ago, calmed the jitters that had taken root over you.

Moments passed in a contemplative silence until he broke it.

“I’m Bucky.”

You momentarily stilled in your movements, lifting your head to look at him. A touch of bashfulness colored his features and he lifted his hand to brush against the shadow on his chin.

“Should have introduced myself before. Rude of me not to.” He huffed out a breath, wincing at himself and you found his sudden shyness endearing, a soft smile on your lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied sweetly, “it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

You liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, testing its weight on the night air. Your focus returned to the knots you were weaving, contemplating to tell him your own name, when he interrupted the silence again.

“Who taught you that?”

You hadn’t noticed how intensely he was watching you, gaze following the movements of your fingers as you secured another knot, your hands seemingly working on their own.

Mastering the skills of knotting was never really a necessity for you, though you remembered that broad smile, that had split your fathers face as you’d told him you wanted to learn more than the simple basics he’d shown you. It had been like a game, a simple way to impress your father and make him proud.

It felt like a gift tonight.

The way Bucky asked the question, so intimate and soft, as if he was as concentrated as you, mesmerized by the way your fingers moved.

“My father,” you answered him, voice laced with a fondness that always appeared when you got the chance to talk about him.

Bucky’s gaze lifted, his eyes searching your face. Perhaps he heard the glimmer of grief in your voice, or maybe the quiet pride that intrigued him to study your expression.

“He a sailor too?”

You took a second to answer. “He was.”

Silence settled over you both once more, it was heavier than before. Out of the corner of your eye, you made out that Bucky dipped his head slightly, perhaps as a silent gesture of respect, or he was simply lost in thought.

“I’m sorry,” he then countered, the words sounding clear in the night air. His voice was gruff, however, laced with something else, something like understanding.

You met his gaze again, with a small smile grazing your lips. You couldn’t quite read his expression, but it was captivating, the depths of his blue orbs drawing you in. Blue, like the rich, inky tones of the ocean you had looked upon so many times already and never could grow tired of.

Your hands had stilled as the intensity with which he looked at you was the only thing you could focus on. You felt both exposed and strangely safe under his gaze. There seemed to be so much hidden behind those eyes, as there was behind the horizon.

“What’s your name?” The question was barely a whisper as if he was just as lost in this moment as you were.

“Y/n.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed slightly. “Y/n? As in Y/n L/n? So, your father…he is…”

You let out a sigh, the sound heavy with a burden you’d carried for far too long. It wasn’t a secret, not exactly, but the whispers that followed your name became a constant itch you couldn’t scratch.

Not noticing how he used the present form at referring to your father, you confirmed his suspicion with a curt nod. “Yes, that’s him.”

A shadow crossed over his eyes. The softness his gaze held just seconds before had vanished, replaced by something unreadable, something dark. A shudder ran over your spine, a chill settling in your bones as if your body only now became aware of the nightly breeze that swept by.

His features were hardened over, as his gaze left you, staring beyond your shoulder. His jaw was clenched, as if in silent contemplation. There was a war brewing behind his eyes, a storm beneath the surface that mirrored the exaggerated tales of your father.

There was a tension that crackled in the air and you knew now that the chill you felt had nothing to do with the night air.

Uneasiness squirmed your stomach, but before you could act on it, Bucky’s gaze softened again, the storm clouds parting to reveal the azure depths. He cleared his throat with a subtle shake of his head, ridding himself of whatever had plagued his mind.

“It’s a nice name,” he stated, voice as gentle as before, but something lingered and you couldn’t put a name on it. “Now let me help you finish that.”

He reached for a length of rope, his calloused fingers moving with an ease that indicated he had done this a thousand times already, knotting them alongside you.

You finished in silence, the earlier tension easing a little but it still remained a faint echo in the air. You suddenly felt incredibly aware of his presence beside you, almost watching his movements more than your own.

Questions swirled in your mind, you didn’t dare to voice. Somehow Bucky’s shift in demeanor hadn’t scared you off as you believed it would have. It spurred the intrigue that had already simmered beneath the surface, a new layer to a man who was already an enigma.

Earlier the day, as you had watched him walk down the gangplank to meet his crew on the wooden plank you had glimpsed it already. The guarded detachment in which he had carried himself, an unvoiced burden that seemed to have a tight grip on him.

Maybe he was as tangled as the dog had been, invisible ropes wounding around his body - binding him, squeezing him, choking the warmth that had glimmered in his eyes moments before.

Thankfully, your father had taught you how to untangle them.

“We learn the rope of life by untying its knots”

- Jean Toomer

[starion7crimson]

Pt. 2 of My theory:

(btw plus image to sustain the pt 1 cuz i reached the image limit there)

And this:

Anyway.

2.- their lives before death.

Listen 'cause this is CRUCIAL For the Theory.

We already know Lenore's life before Annabel, so this time we have to talk about Annabel's life Before Lenore.

As we all Know, she after her debut in society she Made her way not to Marry someone right away for three social Seasons consecutively (i'll think this as Three years after reaching 18 years old so she would be around 21 to 22 y/o).

And so, Her dad spent all three years searching For a good suitor that could beat her daughter so he could Marry her, he used to show her as some sort of Pony for entertainment.

To the point he had to Being her to the other side of the world so he could find a suitor For her, Annabel of course, always won over them, no man could beat her at all and i'm pretty sure her dad got to that conclusion.

So he managed to get a plan B:

This little dude:

I'm not fooled by his gay twink a** face, i know he's a coward guy but he is Coward enough to be manipulated by someone else, maybe someone that wanted to be close to the Whitlocks since the first moment, and when they were so close to reach their goal, then suddenly appears this perfect smooth suitor out of the Blue that not only wins Annabel's father after a chitchat BUT ALSO WINS ANNABEL LEE IN NO MORE THAN FIVE TO SEVEN MOVES (not exactly in a literal chessboard).

Maybe i'm delulu rn, but i'm pretty sure that TONS of young men and Families were So upset after loosing the chance to win Annabel Lee, that is actually weird that Nobody out of spite Made nothing against them.

And so, their Lives as Young lovers started while god knows who was thinking a way not to only separate them But make "Leo" disappear.

Let's remember, they were nobles, those times and specially among those people used to be a Lot of beef, backstabs, and conspiracy against each others just to have more money, power and fame than the rest of them.

(2/4)

[spotsandsocks]

Something Worth Staying For

🥳Happy Birthday to the wonderful creative supportive @cowboy-buddie who makes this fandom so much fun for me. Love ya Kels Please accept this little gift, my attempt at an enemies to friends to lovers AU. 5 chapters 1 coming at you everyday (so I have time to finish the last chapter🤣)

Chapter 1 2.4K Read on AO3

Living in a small town wasn’t for everyone but Eddie liked it. When he and Chris had settled here he hadn’t been sure but slowly the place had gotten under his skin and now he was as good as a local. Well almost, Chim still called him cowboy sometimes, but Eddie had decided ignoring that was the best plan and it had mostly worked. Chim only called him that these days when he wanted to be particularly annoying. Not that he doesn’t love Chim, the man has become like his brother. In fact he’s built a small family for himself and Chris here. It turns out taking a job at a small town newspaper was the best idea he’s had in years. He’s never quite gotten over the surprise of his new boss, the paper’s editor waiting for him with his wife outside Eddie’s new front door on the day they arrived.

Bobby and Athena had been there from the start ready with a home cooked meal for their first night in town, helping them unpack, and essentially making him and Chris feel more welcome than Eddie had ever expected when he’d nervously said yes to a fresh start  and moved himself and his son halfway across the country after his divorce was finalized. 

Now he’s made a home here and has an extended family he loves dearly. It’s almost perfect. Except, he does get a little lonely sometimes, Chris is getting older and  when he’s busy and Eddie’s all alone in his house he sometimes wishes that he had someone to share his life with, he’d dated a few of the women in town but nothing had clicked. Not that he was especially bothered by the failure, he hadn’t actually really liked any of them but it would be nice to have someone special.

He’s been here almost three years now and it seems pretty unlikely that he’s going to find his dream partner, after all what are the chances of the  perfect person just turning up in Eagle Creek one day and being interested in a thirty year old single dad holding down a quiet job writing local news stories for a small town paper. 

“Eddie?”

Eddie looks up and takes a breath. 

Whatever he’d been expecting when Bobby said his name it wasn’t to see the man standing next to him. He’s tall, well built to say the least, with sandy hair which might have been blonde or brown depending on the light, and extremely blue eyes. There’s a mark of some kind over his left eye and he wonders if it’s a bruise or something more permanent. It doesn’t diminish the man’s good looks in fact in Eddie’s opinion it enhances them. Frankly he’s gorgeous. Eddie knows he finds men as attractive if not more attractive at times than women but he’s never particularly felt the urge to investigate where those thoughts could take him. He’s not a casual kind of guy and the trouble with gorgeous people is they so very often know it and in his personal (and relatively limited) experience that does very little for their personality. 

This  guy is so pretty he’s probably a complete jerk. 

Despite those warning bells as they  look at each other the stranger smiles and Eddie can’t help how his eyes flick down then back up again almost immediately, it's a nice smile. A little shy, almost sweet even. The guy isn’t giving off any particularly arrogant jackass vibes. Eddie wants to but he doesn’t let himself look again, turning his head to focus on Bobby instead.  Actually the new guy looks a lot like Bobby, maybe he’s his nephew or something, just visiting. 

Eddie returns his boss and friend’s smile, feeling strangely apprehensive for some reason. Maybe it’s because Bobby looks guilty. Eddie recognises the slightly shifty expression on the older man’s face. What has he done?

He finds out quickly.

“Eddie this is um, Buck. He’s uh…  he’s going to be working here.” Bobby won’t look at him and is rubbing his hand across his chin nervously. 

Well that’s unexpected. Eddie can’t help the sudden sharp furrow of surprise and suspicion on his brow. Bobby hadn’t mentioned anything about someone new. Do they really need someone new? Eddie hadn’t thought so in fact he’s mildly irritated by the news. Why hadn’t he been told? He looks at this ‘Buck’ person again with fresh eyes. Maybe he does look like a bit of a jerk after all. 

Jerk or not he’s still ridiculously good looking and Eddie can just imagine the stir someone who looks like Buck is going to cause in town. Nightmare, he can expect a stream of people asking him for the new guy at the paper’s number. Urgh... Just what he needs.

Bobby’s still talking, “so Buck is gonna be helping with some stuff, improvements I guess you could call it.”

Blue eyes sparkle and the man beams.  What kind of name is Buck anyway?   And really who needs to be that handsome, it’s just excessive. And wait did Eddie just hear Bobby say improvements? A sinking feeling hits him, oh no,  he didn’t actually do it did he? Bobby’s been threatening to do something about the computers since before Eddie arrived, surely he hasn’t finally done it has he?

The scowl on Eddie’s face deepens and he fails to notice the smile slipping from his new colleague’s face.

“Buck and his sister have just moved here, Maddie’s a nurse and Buck here is…” Bobby pauses and Eddie’s suspicions grow. Bobby can’t quite meet his eye. Yeah he has a bad feeling about this, there can only be one reason Bobby’s springing this on him now. Only one thing this guy is here to do. 

Still looking anywhere than at him, Bobby takes a breath and reveals Buck’s role  at the paper.

“Well Buck here, he’s well, he’s a bit of a computer whizz and kind of a social media consultant.” He says those three words quickly and moves on. “He’s going to upgrade our IT, get us online and run the “socials.” Bobby  glances  proudly at Buck for getting the word right. 

Eddie doesn’t register the responding shy and pleased smile from the younger man all he notices are the air quotes dropping in around ‘Socials’ 

The word is unfamiliar and unwelcome on Bobby's lips. Frankly he feels a little betrayed, why hasn’t he been told? He bets Karen knew  which means Hen knew and that means Chimney does as well. They’ve all probably been very  amused about how badly he’ll take it. He also thought Bobby felt the same way about the perils of the internet as he did. It’s not that he can’t use it. He has a smart phone, he can download apps just fine thank you and while it’s a running joke around here that Eddie doesn’t ‘do’ technology he’s not actually an idiot. If he wants to, he can use computers just fine, he’ll accept that the internet is vaguely useful and if he wanted to have ‘socials’ he would. He just doesn’t choose to because it stupid and pointless and you can’t really trust the internet,  no one's ever been able to convince him his phone isn’t listening to him.

Buck draws his attention back from Bobby when he speaks for the first time with what Eddie considers an unnecessarily smug quirk of his mouth,  “I’m here to drag you all into the 21st century.”

“I’m fine where I am, thank you.” His voice sounds cold even to himself.

Despite glaring at new guy he catches Bobby's wince out of the corner of his eye. He knows he sounds positively hostile but he’s annoyed. The newest member of the team obviously recognises that too because the smile vanishes.

Eddie doesn’t feel bad for being unwelcoming. Not even a little bit.

Bobby sighs wearily, “This is why I didn’t tell you. You know we need to modernize. It’ll be good for us. We can reach more people, be faster, it’ll make things easier for everyone.”

Bobby pauses obviously hoping for something back. He doesn’t get it so he just shrugs, “It’s going to happen Eddie .”

“You’re the boss Bobby.” There that was neutral, mostly.

Eddie stands, avoiding eye contact with both men. “I’m going out to get lunch.” 

He doesn’t offer to get anything for anyone, which he knows is rude but he doesn’t care much right now..

Eddie lets the door behind him slam on his way out.

Bobby sighs dramatically next to him as  Buck keeps his expression as blank as he can; that did not go well. That went very badly indeed.

“That was actually ok, I was worried he’d take it worse.” 

Buck turns slowly to stare at his new boss a little incredulously. Bobby thinks that went well? Shit how bad does this Eddie guy get?

When they’d walked in Buck had been taken aback by the man sitting behind the desk. His dark hair and soft brown eyes had looked inviting for a moment. He’d smiled softly and something had tripped and fluttered in his chest. He was a damn attractive man and then when he’d started scowling at him well Buck’s always liked a challenge but he’s not stupid. He knows instant dislike when he sees it.

It’s too bad he would have liked to have made a friend. At least he has Maddie to keep him company.

“He’s not particularly friendly is he?” 

Bobby chuckles dryly,  “He is, once you get to know him. He’s a really great guy.  I think you too could be good friends.” Another sigh as Bobby looks towards the door,  “It’s my fault, I did surprise him. I’ve been putting off telling him about you. it’s just  he really does hate computers.”

Buck arches an eyebrow at the door the hot angry man had just walked out of.

“I can tell.”

“Whoah man! Mind my door.”

Chimney looks up from behind the counter where he’s just finished pouring a coffee. 

“What’s got you all twisty.”

Eddie glowers at him, “Nothing, just come for my lunch. Is that a crime?”

“Delightful mood I see?”  Karen’s voice floats over from where she’s working on her laptop at one of Chimney’s tables.

He turns, as expected she’s staring  at him, unimpressed. She fixes him with a penetrating stare which he avoids. He’s very aware he’s in a bad mood and she should know why,  after all everyone else has been told. 

He can’t help the snap in his voice, “So why aren’t you in the office to greet our new colleague.”

Karen’s eyebrows lift eloquently. He knows she knows but will she admit it?  God he’s annoyed. He doesn’t really know why he’s so upset either. Except maybe there was a moment when he looked into blue eyes that he’d felt something only to have it washed away by Bobby’s words and his rush of irritation.

Karen sips her latte coolly, “I’m a free spirit Diaz, I go wherever I want and right now I want to be here because I like it here, I get to see my wife and she brings me coffee and I get to eat Chimney’s pastries. 

She pauses and looks at him with far too much insight.

“So he’s here then.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Chim retreat.  

He knew, she knew! Everyone but him, his irritation rises again, he can just imagine it don’t tell Eddie, he’ll freak out! He’ll make a fuss.

He ignores the tiny voice inside him saying 'and were they wrong? You’re not exactly winning employee of the month right now are you?' He ignores that and  lets the comforting haze of indignation wash over him. 

“So you did know! Charming.” Karen’s admission really does nothing to improve his mood.

Karen rolls her eyes at  him. “Oooh you really are in a snit aren’t you? Poor guy can’t have upset you already. He’s not even been here a day.”

“And…” she says with a waggle of her finger “you can’t blame Bobby for putting it off. Every time he’s so much as mentioned going online you pull a face.” She nods at him, “Yeah that one.”

 He quickly wipes the expression away,  “and you sulk for at least a day.”

“I do not.”

Another voice joins in, “You do.”

Chimney’s contribution is as unwelcome as this ‘Buck’ back at his office is.

However Chimney is as resistant to his glaring as Karen is. 

“Ok so maybe I do a bit,” he admits it reluctantly “But we don’t need to go online and we certainly don’t need that guy.”

“I’ve heard he is very good at his job annnnnd…” Karen adds nonchalantly, getting somewhere close to the hidden heart of his discomfort  “I’ve seen his picture, online , “ he throws her yet another narrow eyed glare for that jibe “and if I wasn’t a happily married lesbian I’d say he’s hot. He’s going to be a popular boy round here!” 

She laughs at the noise he makes.

“He’s not that good looking” he lies because he can, “and I don’t have to like him.”

Karen stands up folding her laptop as she does. She looks more serious, teasing gone. 

“No you don’t but you do have to work with him. And the poor guy’s not done anything wrong.”

He hangs onto his resentment justified or not, he’s no longer so sure, and answers with a single surly word and sits down.

“Yet.” 

“Eddie,” Karen sighs his name, “You’re being unreasonable and you know it.”

“Perhaps I like being unreasonable.” He leans back in his chair and folds his arms then unfolds them because it looks too defensive and he doesn’t want to prove her right.

Karen shakes her head, “Go play nice with the new kid or Bobby will put you in time out.”

Eddie ignores her. He’s not sure why but this Buck guy is already under his skin. 

Karen moves towards the door, “I’m going to go meet him, you’ll be back soon right?” 

He mutters “Sure” and accepts the warning look he gets from his friend. “I’ll be polite, promise.”

He can be polite to this new guy, he is  a professional  after all and it’ll be fine. He probably won’t have  too much to do with him anyway. 

Eddie waits for his order and wonders how annoying can one guy be? 

[xshingie]

Exploring The Narrative Significance of Edouard's Blue eyes

Something that piqued my interest was the fact that Annette was so insistent when she saw NightCreature!Edouard, she was so convinced it was him and she would not consider any opinion otherwise. Initially, one might think it speaks to the implicit depth of their connection that she would recognize… but perhaps, what if it speaks more to Annette might have perceived how well she /thought/ she knew him? What possibly would have occurred for Annette to retain Edouard's eyes in her memory so vividly?

This below quote from All the King's Men by Robert Penn Warren serves as the springboard for my inspiration for what eventually became my Annette/Edouard short story, Yours Truly https://archiveofourown.org/works/51906367 (I also sampled the phrasing as well):

"I suppose that that day I first saw Anne and Adam as separate, individual people, whose ways of acting were special, mysterious, and important. And perhaps, too, that day I first saw myself as a person. But that is not what I am talking about. What happened was this: I got an image in my head that never got out. We see a great many things, but that is different. We get very few of the true images in our heads of the kind I am talking about, the kind which become more and more vivid for us as if the passage of the years did not obscure their reality but, year by year, drew off another veil to expose a meaning which we had only dimly surmised at first. Very probably the last veil will not be removed, for there are not enough years, but the brightness of the image increases and our conviction increase that the brightness is meaning, or the legend of meaning, and without the image our lives would be nothing except an old piece of film rolled on a spool and thrown into a desk drawer among the unanswered letters."

I took inspiration from the concept described above: In Yours Truly, Edouard had tried to tell her something she didn't have a concept of understanding at the time. And yet, it's with narrative irony that when Annette looks into his eyes, despite color being so clear, but she couldn't really get a good "read" into him. The most we know about Edouard is through Annette's lens, and she describes him in a very romanticized, idealized manner -- which hints to me that she views him in a special way, but doesn't understand him -- not really.

This is veering into headcanon territory by this point, but a distinct vibe I picked up from Edouard is that while he is friendly and appears to be warm, kind and collegial, he seems to almost keep people an arm's length distance, revealing almost nothing (vulnerable) about himself in his interactions with others. If you look at these screencaps, his eyes are so bright, but his smile is very subdued and tight-lipped -- even his eyes don't really convey any turbulent emotions. I think Edouard might have been kept a lot to himself, which partially contributes to Annette not really understanding him on a deeper level. Hence the feeling of staring at something, which is calm, serene… but tells you nothing about the person themselves. Although it may sound romantic when I describe the feeling of looking into Edouard's eyes "as reflecting her soul like a still gemstone", what I had actually intended to convey that relationship between Annette and Edouard, while undoubtedly close and Annette grew to understand herself on a deeper because of him, this very quality actually was capped the limitation of Annette/Edouard's connection.

Edouard seems to give off a vibe that he keeps people at a certain arm's length, all the while being able to charm people (""I make them [the nobles] happy, and they lower their guard and loosen their tongues.") while keeping is own guard up, I took a lot of care to weave in in a lot of subtleties that showed both a mismatch in understanding and Edouard keeping an arm's distance. Edouard sidesteps her question and doesn't tell her who exactly who he's writing to. He brings up that everyone has their own reason for fighting, but he doesn't reveal his own. He tries to get Annette to get interested in writing, explaining letters on an abstract romantic level; he shares a personal story about his grandmother, but all Annette's response is that she doesn't understand.

What was Edouard keeping to himself, that he never shared with Annette? Perhaps he was reconciling with the inner conflicts of his mixed heritage. Perhaps he was dealing with his own demons or vices that would have condemned him to Hell to enable him to become a Night Creature in the first place.

This "image" that Annette had of Edouard's eyes in her mind, represents the image that continued to stay with her, as she gradually begins to understand what Edouard was trying to convey to her on a deeper level.

(and why yes, to write this I did spend an inordinate amount of time starting of screencaps of Edouard to try to incisively capture the vibe of what it feels like when Edouard looks at you with those gorgeous AF eyes of his lol)

A huge thank you to ladyeama/@pansexual-chocolate for being an amazing headcanon partner in all of this!

[skeletonpunching]

Buddy Daddies final character bios

The character bios on the website have been updated somewhat throughout the season, so my previous translations are slightly out of date. Now that the series is over, I figured I’d leave you with the final versions of the bios, all compiled in one place.

Kurusu Kazuki

28 years old, assassin

Birthday: 16th May

Voice actor: Toyonaga Toshiyuki

Lives with his colleague and buddy Rei, and looks after his daily needs. When working with Rei, his responsibilities are mostly arranging the contract, gathering intel in advance, and setting up the plan for execution. Excellent communication skills. Fond of women and gambling. Good at cooking and cleaning, and periodically chides Rei for his sloppy lifestyle. Was married in the past, and his wife was pregnant, but she died as a result of some shady business dealings. As penance for this, he sends part of his earnings to his wife’s younger sister, but she refuses to accept it.

Suwa Rei

25 years old, assassin

Birthday: 10th August

Voice actor: Uchiyama Koki

A man of few words. Usually doesn’t even bat an eye when Kazuki comes staggering home. Outstanding physical ability; at the top of the field in hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. There is a drastic contrast between his ON (professional) and OFF (private) modes - at home, he just shuts himself in and plays games. Born into a large mob family, he received special assassin training from his father ever since his childhood. Unable to escape the conflicts in his family, he has no understanding of normal parent-child relationships.

Unasaka Miri

4 years old

Birthday: 8th November

Voice actor: Kino Hina

A truly lively, innocent girl who fears nothing. Showed up at a hotel in search of her father, and got caught up in a gunfight, but was rescued by Kazuki. Her father was a prominent human trafficker and a mafia boss; he was killed by Kazuki and Rei as one of their mission targets. Her mother was the boss’s lover. Miri’s favourite food is the hamburg steak her mother makes; she has no idea that she has been abandoned. An affectionate child, she calls Kazuki “Kazuki-papa”, and Rei “Rei-papa”.

Kugi Kyutaro

32 years old, cafe owner

Voice actor: Morikawa Toshiyuki

A go-between who coordinates jobs for Kazuki and Rei. Usually puts on a friendly demeanour as the owner of the cafe “Mistletoe”. Keenly perceptive, and remarkably well-informed. Knows a lot about Kazuki and Rei’s pasts, but for some reason, has never intervened, and keeps their relationship squarely within the limits of a business transaction. Generally acts like a kind older brother, but when a job goes wrong, will also readily discard all that to be completely businesslike. A reliable partner to Kazuki and Rei, but keeps them on their toes.

Ogino Ryo

Age unknown, assassin

Voice actor: Madono Mitsuaki

A killing machine who has murdered many people without a trace of emotion. He’s destroyed numerous organisations with his massive physique and overwhelming strength, and travels all over in search of work. Acquainted with Kyutaro. He is connected with the incident in which Kazuki’s wife died, but Kazuki is unaware of this.

Unasaka Misaki

34 years old, bar hostess and singer

Voice actor: Mori Nanako

Miri’s mother. After an affair with Miri’s father, who was a mafia boss, she had Miri as a single mother. Has bad luck with men, and leads a wild life.

Hanyu Anna

24 years old, daycare employee

Voice actor: Terui Haruka

A staff member at “Blue Sky Daycare”. Has a calm and gentle personality. The children call her “Anna-chan”. Not good at playing the piano.

Kurusu Yuzuko

25 years old at death

Voice actor: Ito Shizuka

Kazuki’s beloved wife. Passed away in an incident while pregnant.

Izumi Karin

22 years old, student

Voice actor: Hasegawa Ikumi

Yuzuko’s younger sister. Was sincerely delighted by her sister’s marriage to Kazuki. Plans to go abroad to study fashion in France.

Suwa Shigeki

Age unknown

Voice actor: Fuji Shinshu

Rei's father, and the boss of the organisation. Ever since Rei was a child, he drilled the techniques and mindset of an assassin into him. As head of the organisation, he shows no mercy even to family.

Kaji Satoru

40 years old

Voice actor: Kinoshita Hiroyuki

A member of the organisation. Taught Rei how to use firearms and handle missions.

[definesanity]

So I've been having Thoughts(TM) about Diluc and Ranni!Reader (because torturing Genshin men is apparently my new favorite hobby)

To preface, I always imagine R!R in an Imposter AU, specifically with a fake Creator already on the throne. A fake that’s cozied up to all the influential people of Teyvat, Diluc included. Before the fake Creator was revealed as, well, fake, they and Diluc shared a close relationship. To the point that the imposter verbally toyed with the idea of finding a blacksmith of sufficient skill to recreate the Darkmoon Greatsword for ‘someone special.’ 

Naturally, all of this comes crashing down when R!R is executed and revealed as the true Creator. When the imposter realizes that there’s no salvaging the situation, they drop the act and reveal that no, none of it was ever real to them. Diluc was a convenient means to an end, a way to foster subconscious goodwill and approval in the people of Mondstadt. 

When it comes out that R!R is still alive, just in a doll body, Diluc is initially overjoyed. There’s still hope! He can get to know and befriend the true Creator, not a heartless mimic! It didn't occur to Diluc that everything the imposter did was to make themselves more palatable to their worshipers. The fact of the matter is, the face the imposter presented to Diluc is nothing like R!R’s actual personality.

Diluc meets R!R, dressed in their plain white and blue robes - aside from the easily-stained fabric, the outfit is simple and practical. No accessories, save for the simple clip holding their hair back. A far cry from the elegant wardrobe of the imposter. R!R watches him with cold eyes, bored eyes.

Where the imposter presented themselves as soft and reserved, R!R is cold and direct. The imposter pretended to be harmless, someone who couldn’t hurt a fly; everything about R!R screams danger, and they won’t hesitate to make it even more obvious. 

The imposter led Diluc to believe that they also hated the Fatui and Abyss Order. When Diluc apologizes for forcing R!R to resort to these factions as allies, they laugh.

“Had Teyvat welcomed me with open arms, I wouldst still findeth my way to them. We shareth the same goals - and mine own sins are quite similar to theirs.”

R!R chuckles at his shocked expression. They continue to chuckle as Diluc questions them further. So determined to find proof of his own preconceptions, only for reality to crush all of them. Yes, R!R knows the crimes committed by the Fatui and Abyss Order, and yes, they still willingly choose them as allies. 

The Tsarista is a woman after mine own heart, they say, and the Abyss harboreth the same loathing as I for the tyranny of gods.

R!R leaves the conversation, but not before issuing a warning - Diluc is not to harm either the Abyss Order or the Fatui, not while R!R is in Mondstadt. The Eclipse tribe are off-limits as well. Whether it’s Darknight business or otherwise, if R!R even suspects that Diluc has harmed their people, then it will not be solely Diluc who sufferers the consequences.

R!R leaves. And it truly hits Diluc, then: the person he loved never existed.

Ouch, poor Diluc ;-;

Still, the Imposter R!R is incredibly interesting... still, as they say, truth is sometimes worse and more confusingly odd than fiction.

[lilacmingi]

ALICE IN WONDERLAND AU ♤ PART 5: NAMJOON

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Caterpillar!Namjoon x fem reader

Word count: 2,480

You had been running for quite some time and figured it was okay to walk for a few minutes and give your lower limbs a break—they were aching anyway. Never in your life had you ran so much in such a short amount of time. You never needed to.

Now walking at a relaxed pace, any thoughts you had about running away from the red knights were replaced with other thoughts. An endless list of unanswered inquiries swirled around your mind like a raging hurricane. One after another, more and more questions popped into your restless mind.

What's so special about you and why was everyone after you? You're just... you. Nothing extraordinary or special.

Everything you'd experienced thus far had felt too outlandish to be reality. You couldn't remember how many names Yoongi had mentioned. Six? Maybe seven, men liked you?

Ridiculous.

The tip of your shoe kicked at a rock, sending it rolling along the dirt path you were walking along. You didn't even know where you were going or what lied ahead. You were lost once again and this time you didn't have a feisty cat boy to help guide you.

You can't have run very far, but maybe you had gone far enough to put a little distance between you and the threat. Then again, you were unsure of how long Taehyung was able to keep those knights distracted. For all you knew, they could be hot on your trail.

As if the universe was playing a cruel trick on you, the sound of distant marching reached your ears.

Seriously? You sighed internally.

Breaking out into a sprint, you dashed down the dirt pathway to keep some separation between you and the hoard of knights. It was at that moment it dawned on you that you were leaving shoe prints in the dirt. With limited time to come up with a plan, you did the first thing that popped into your head which was to run into the cluster of plants to the right of the trail. Instead of continuing through the mushrooms and tall grass, you leapt over the path and into the lush greenery on the left, going that way instead, hoping your little trick would buy some extra time.

"Maybe that'll hold them back for a while." You spoke to yourself and took off into the thick growth of mushrooms and curly vines.

Your running never ceased no matter how bad your legs throbbed or your lungs burned, refusing to stop until you could no longer hear the perfectly synchronized marching.

You huffed and puffed for air, panting heavily and stumbling forward, as your knees were on the verge of giving out on you.

At that moment, you could hear someone's voice from somewhere up ahead. Whoever it was wasn't talking nor singing, but something in between. Every line he spoke came out in a rhythmic way that was pleasing to the ears. The words he uttered were done so eloquently and without any slip-ups. This man's voice was entrancing and pulled you towards it like a siren song.

Too enraptured by the stranger's mesmerizing voice and hypnotic words, you paid no attention to your surroundings and tripped over a tree root that had breached the ground.

"Ow." You grunted and sat up a little, rubbing your elbow where it had harshly collided with the dirt and grass during the tumble.

Surveying your surroundings, you found that you were in a clearing amongst the tall and unruly plants of Wonderland that you had been running through for what felt like hours.

"Stupid girl." You heard someone speak. Lifting your head, you spotted a man sitting in a fancy wingback chair made of rich blue velvet, a tall messily-stacked tower of books on the ground beside him. He was dressed sharply in a blue silk suit with a white cravat. Perched between his fingers was the mouthpiece of a hookah which sat beside the stack of books in the grass.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You should watch where you're going." He remarked, taking a puff from the hookah.

"Yeah well... people make mistakes." You huffed, getting up and dusting yourself off.

"Who are you?" The the man inquired, blowing smoke rings into the air.

"I'm Y/n."

"I know who you are."

"Then why did you ask?"

"You still didn't answer my question. Who are you?"

"I already told you."

"No. You didn't."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"I believe it's you that's lost your mind. You can't seem to remember your last visit here, can you?"

"How do you know that?"

"Silly girl. I know all."

"Well, if you know all then surely you know that I haven't the slightest idea who you are." Your arms crossed over your chest annoyedly.

You hadn't been in the presence of this man for more than a minute and he was already starting to grind your gears. Forget his pretty prose and rhythmic speaking.

"I'm Namjoon." He responded.

He seemed like a know-it-all, but you had to admit, he was very attractive. From his tanned skin to his sharp eyes and full lips. He was good-looking indeed, but his personality was ugly and undesirable.

"What's on your mind, baby?"

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me, baby." He punctuated the nickname this time.

The way he said it made your heart skip a beat. His voice dropped an octave and became breathier when he uttered the affectionate term.

You shook your head in an attempt to shake away the thoughts.

You hardly know this man, Y/n. You reeled yourself in. And he's rude.

"This is definitely a dream." You muttered under your breath lowly.

"What's that? You need to speak up, love."

So first it was stupid girl and now it's love?

"Nothing."

"Oh come on, sweetheart. You used to tell me everything."

"How should I know? I can't remember."

"Just trust me, Y/n."

Rolling your eyes, you dropped your arms at your sides, which up until that point had been crossed over your chest. "Is this a dream?"

"What do you think?" He questioned.

"I don't know. I've been back and forth with myself about that since I got here. For a while I thought it was a dream, but I was told it l wasn't. Everything is so strange and seems like a dream, but it feels very real. The emotions, the fear, the confusion. All of that seems real."

"Hm." He took a puff from the hookah and blew the smoke directly in your face. "What exactly makes you think this is all a dream?"

Coughing, you used your hand to fan the clouds away before speaking.

"Well, for one there was a giant beast searching for me. I've met a bunny hybrid, a man with a mysterious twin that no one has seen, a cat hybrid, and a hatter that's batty as ever. To top it all off, every single one of them have been fighting over me. That's what's really convincing me that this is all part of some bizarre fever dream."

"Silly girl." Namjoon chortled. "You really think you're not attractive enough for men to fight over? You think you're not desirable?"

"Not exactly. Four men fighting over you and kissing you all in one day is a bit unrealistic, is it not? I mean, it's almost as if I'm in a story or something."

Without a word, Namjoon stood up from his chair, taking long strides as he approached.

"That's where you're wrong." He whispered lowly, planting one hand on your waist. "You have no idea how entrancing you are."

As much as you wanted to speak, you were unable. Namjoon's charms had rendered you completely speechless and you were frozen in place.

"I can't believe you think so lowly of yourself." He murmured, tracing your jawline. "Oblivious girl."

You didn't have time to retaliate with a snarky comment as Namjoon leaned in closely, closing the gap between your faces.

Thinking you were about to be kissed for the third time that day, your body stiffened in preparation, but you never felt his lips on yours. Instead, he turned his head slightly and placed a gentle kiss on the outer corner of your mouth.

"Does it feel like a dream now?" He asked lowly, his breath fanning against the side of your face.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

"No." You barely managed to utter.

He pulled back and ran his thumb over your bottom lip, desire clouding his eyes.

"I really want to kiss you properly, but I'll save that for a later time."

As much as you wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean, you couldn't. His gentlemanly display of affection had your heart racing at a rapid pace. Everyone you'd met so far had kissed you in one way or another and you found it nice that Namjoon chose not to go directly for the lips like Yoongi and Taehyung had so boldly done earlier. It showed that he cared about you, even if only a little bit, putting your comfort over his desire to place his lips directly upon yours.

Namjoon could see the spaced-out expression on your face and chuckled softly, guiding you to his chair where he returned to his seat, patting his lap.

You were hesitant.

"Don't be shy." He beckoned.

You obliged, albeit awkwardly, and took a seat on his legs.

"I'd offer you another place to sit but as you can see, there is none."

"Right. Of course." You nodded.

It was a bit awkward just sitting there, especially in his lap, so you tried to come up with a topic to talk about.

"What exactly were you doing earlier before I showed up? Reciting poems?"

"You heard me?"

"I did. You sounded great."

"Really?" He asked, cracking a smile that showed off a charming set of dimples.

"I must admit, I was entranced. Your rhythmic way of speaking was almost hypnotic. It was like you were putting on a performance."

Your praises made a monsoon of affectionate emotions flood through him, his stomach filling with a flurry of butterflies.

"I love to read and if I find an excerpt or poem that speaks to me, I memorize it. I must have been practicing when you showed up."

"I suppose you have to find something to pass the time when you're sitting in the middle of nowhere." You joked.

"Actually, I do have a place of my own."

"You do?"

He let out a noise that sounded like a mix between a huff and scoff. "Well I certainly don't sleep here in this chair out in the open."

"Of course you don't. How ignorant of me." You commented, giving a playful roll of your eyes.

"You're starting to sound like me." He tittered.

Namjoon's attitude had changed a noticeable amount since first meeting him not too long ago. You quite liked this side of him. It was much better than the arrogant know-it-all that was grinding your gears earlier.

"Do you happen to know Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, and Jungkook?" You inquired.

"Of course I do. They're my friends."

"Then you know you've got some incredibly brave friends. They've been protecting me."

"From The Red King, right?"

"How did you—" You stopped mid-sentence.

"I know all." The both of you spoke in unison, laughing softly afterwards.

"I know about The Red King situation." He stated. "Word travels fast here."

"Taehyung said he sent Jungkook to get me and bring me to him so he could protect me."

"Taehyung? Protect you? That's hilarious." Namjoon laughed.

"Why?"

"I love him to death; he's one of my best friends, but he's a bit... irresponsible sometimes. He gets way ahead of himself and underestimates the situations he gets himself into."

"Ah. I see."

"If anyone can protect you, it's The White King."

"Yoongi mentioned him during an argument with Taehyung." You noted.

"Those two are arguing again? About what?"

"Again?" You echoed.

"They don't get along well." Namjoon sighed, visibly exasperated just talking about it. "So what was it this time?"

"This is embarrassing, but they were fighting about me."

"I should've known. You had mentioned something about men arguing over you, but I wasn't aware it was my own friends." He shook his head in disappointment. "Did they pull any moves on you?"

"Well—"

"Y/n?"

The sound of your name being called in the distance had you sitting up straighter, trying to figure out who it was. There was rustling in the plants, which meant someone was making their way towards you.

"Found her." Yoongi's voice was above you.

Glancing up, you saw the cat hybrid floating in the air, looking down at you from his suspended position in the atmosphere.

Taehyung then emerged from the tall plants, dusting off his silk robe.

"Thank goodness you're okay! I told you I'd look for you. Did I not?" He lifted his head, gasping when he saw the scene in front of him.

Taehyung was looking forward to finding you safe and sound, but what he didn't expect was to find you sitting in Namjoon's lap.

"Give me my Y/n back, Joon."

"She's not yours." He spoke sternly, wrapping his arm around your waist in a protective, maybe even possessive, manner.

"Do you like him, Y/n?" Yoongi questioned, crossing his arms as he returned to the ground.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Namjoon cut in before you could say a word.

"Leave her alone. The poor girl has been through enough today."

"C'mon, sweetheart." Yoongi held his hand out to you, silently beckoning you to come with him. "I can take you somewhere safe."

"No, come here." Taehyung extended his hand as well.

"She's not going with either of you. Taehyung, you're an idiot for thinking you could keep her safe." Namjoon spoke sharply.

"Excuse me?"

Yoongi snorted, causing Taehyung to shoot a sharp glare at him. The hybrid cleared his throat and was quick to wipe the grin off his face.

"Sorry." He muttered.

"It's the truth." Namjoon stated. "You get way too overzealous and think you can take on the world, but you can't. In fact, if Y/n stayed with you, she'd probably be locked up in The Red King's castle right now."

They all started arguing after that, shouting over one another and throwing insults left and right with no signs of stopping.

Not again.

"Guys, please don't start." You groaned, pulling Namjoon's arm off of you and getting to your feet.

Just like back at the tea party, none of them heard you, too engrossed in their own petty argument to listen.

Throughout all the commotion, you didn't even notice the sound of The Red King's knights marching straight towards you.

➯ Part 6: Hoseok

Masterlist ᝰ

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

🏷 @h3arteyes4mingi @weird-bookworm @poppy2007 @parkjennykim @evidive @mxlly143 @lizzymizzy-blogg @minhanbyeol @dinossaurz

[iconocon]

off limits | gasly

summary: how much control does one person possibly possess

warnings: pick me mc (im sorry not sorry), slutty pierre, bad friend x1000

type: oneshot | wordcount: 1.6k | angst ⚔︎

→

your eyes followed the same sweat bead as it fell from his messy brunette head onto his bottom lip to then splitting off onto his chest into smaller beads like one of those over dramatized workout commercials. whatever air was left in your chest or even in the outdoor garage was most certainly straining to escape as your eyes met the blue ones that held all types of your attention. 

pierre gasly 

now usually you wouldn't have a moral dilemma at the thought of treating a man as an object but as your mind came up with all kinds of obscene scenarios of just climbing ontop of the beautiful in the middle of the room with no shame in front of everyone who works there you knew the seriousness of the "off-limit clause" that has been put with asterisks on this very one. your best friend iris had been seeing pierre for a little under a month yet far before they even got together you knew of the frenchman due to the fact that you had been an avid watcher of motorsports ever since you were young. in fact, you were the one who showed him to that very friend one night as you were doing a tiktok trend where she had to guess what the different drivers' names were by just their headshots. when the video went semi-viral and was liked by not only the alpha tauri team admin but by the two drivers you simply didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

if you thought that the like was enough to kill you the dm of a big red heart was enough to resurrect you back from the grave. in the end, you decided it was more stressful than it was worth to try and think of a message that night to send back to the simple message. which you’ve done nothing but regret since, as the next day your very friend read off a series of dms between her and the driver to you over breakfast. now don’t get it twisted you were more than happy for your friend but you were also disappointed as you always told her about your teeny tiny crush on the same man she was gushing over who she called “nothing special” a couple hours ago on film.  

you were hoping that the fascination would end as fast as it started so you both could go back to your respective interests but you found iris engrossed in not only her phone but your sunday night race viewings which is something that she was never into before when she resorted to calling it “boring” and to just tell her when they took their helmets off so “she could at least stare at something”. now, the last thing you were ever expecting however was being forced out of your apartment in a short dress to go to a random LA club to see your celebrity crush in a very unbuttoned button-up shirt and messy hair smiling at you asking how you were in a thick whiskey-smelling accent. 

after not even two words were exchanged between the both of you the night changed fast, your friend automatically pulled the man to the dance floor and the last time you saw them and when you did in the large crowd of bodies she was dancing in a way you haven’t seen since a few freshman yr college frat parties when you both needed to let off some steam after exams. the vodka redbulls you were drinking were starting to taste like sparkling water which was a big enough cue for you to leave on your own as the bar stool you were perched on was not as comfy as you once thought getting bumped and hit on by enough sloppy men to count. calling over the bartender with one hand you rustled in your purse to find the 20 dollar bill you knew was shoved somewhere in there but before it could be located a hand found its way to your shoulder making you cringe at the thought of having to turn down another man when all you wanted to do was take a hot shower then lay in your nice warm bed.

“don’t worry about it cherie” 

“huh?”

clearly, you heard perfectly well who and what was being said to you but you just wanted to either hear it again or make sure you weren’t hallucinating, which between the loud music it was hard to differentiate between the two. when the pressure of the weight on your shoulder increased and a certain warm sense of goosebumps raise all over your skin you realized he was trying to help you out by talking directly into your ear but once again you were distracted so you only heard the ending. 

“-worry i got it” 

you could smell the strong scent of your friend's perfume still stuck on his skin yet you couldn’t help the way your thighs tightened at the way his lips grazed the very tip of your ear. it took every fiber of dignity you were even surprised you had left in you to tighten your grip on your own purse and give standing a try which was only made worse when a strong hand wrapped itself around your waist pulling you into his side so you didn’t fall on the sticky club floor. the drunken fog that took over your brain was going into overdrive as one of the acrylic nails on your right hand skimmed the toned board of abs that brought about an evil set of thoughts rushing back leading you to only be able to stare at his very pretty…neck?  

“PIERRE!!!” 

the sound of your friend's voice finally brought you back to earth as you jumped off her dancing companion's body like his skin was actually fire burning you inch by inch and without even a second glance you pointed to the door signaling your friend you were leaving.

after that night you made sure to stay as far away as possible from the couple- actually you weren’t sure what they even were but you knew that the girl code has one very big rule about this one scenario, finders keepers and that left all thoughts classified unless asked which especially counted the late at night ones when you check his instagram dumps of the races or the stories of him working out smirking on the beach that showed enough skin to make a nun blush. 

back to the beginning, you obviously were not that successful in staying away as you sat in his team garage at COTA as he did push-ups in the middle of the two conjoining sides with his fireproofs off and his overalls hanging on his waist. everything this man did was a tease and it all felt like it was in spite of you, almost like he knew something you did not. as if he knew of your the ongoing battle that raged in your head telling you how bad of a friend you were but truly how much strength did one woman possess. 

later on in the session, a couple of the other guys came over and introduced themselves to you both and while you did not feel in your element at all your friend was pulling both charles and carlos by their respective arms and forcing them into a conversation about if they thought switching teams so the color would go better with their skin complexion. in the end, you found a safe space in the corner with one of the engineers and eventually esteban came and joined in on a conversation about the difference in this years cars shocking you as you were more than content just being a watcher among the crowd. eventually, you found yourself blending in with the crew and laughing as the alpine driver told you about some misfortunes he found on track that evening.

finally, when the day was over you found yourself sighing at the relief that you could go home, far from the evil thoughts that plagued your hormonal mind. all that was between you and a nap was to pick up your bag from one of the driver's rooms yet you didn’t even get a chance to have that peace of mind as the minute you made it through the threshold you were taken back by the sound of being followed actually to be more exact- to be pushed towards the middle of the room. 

“since when did you become friendly” 

“wha-“

“i said-“ and with each step he made forward you met him with one backward eventually until the back of your thighs made contact with the desk that sat in the corner of the room. the final step he made landed his body between your own thighs along with two solid arms coming to cage your legs in so there was no escape. 

“what are you doing?” 

“if french is your thing we can talk french” 

the jealousy comment went straight over your head to the point where you weren't even sure if this was reality or not anymore, were you dreaming? it felt like you were trying so very hard to stare at his eyes it was almost as if you could feel his heated stare on your lips specifically the bottom one that was now retreated under your teeth to hopefully change his attention. 

“pierre-“

“i’ve been asking about you and i finally get you here and you talk to everyone but me?”

the famous goosebumps that always seem to be present when he was around returned as his right hand lightly ghosted up the skin on your arm to your shoulder and found the space to span his five fingers from collarbone to the clench of your jaw. it was so hard to even think straight let alone play along with this back and forth word game he quite obviously was enjoying. what was he trying to get out and why was it impossible to think of anything other than the way his body felt against yours?

“i know the way you look at me mon ange”

“we can’t” 

“we can and we will”

“but what about ir-“

before you could even finish your sentence the grip on your necked tightened and you were tugged into him face first, lips, teeth, and all met each other as even when your body tightened like all muscles on high alert you sunk into the playboy falling for his charm even when you knew you would be the only one to be hurt in this scenario.

[korereapers]

Title: Stray thoughts

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: zosan/sanzo/whatever

Rating: Explicit

AO3

One thing about being the crew's cook, is that Sanji is usually the first one to wake up, and the last one to go to sleep. He takes his job seriously, really, and doesn't really mind the sacrifice if it's to have his mates well fed and ready for what the world throws at them.

The bad thing, though, is that he rarely has time for himself, and he means, time to dedicate to himself and himself only. Sleeping in the same room as the rest of the men makes it even more difficult, but luckily for him, that night everyone seems to be fast asleep.

Fucking finally.

It's not that he usually dedicates a lot of time to himself like this, but he allows himself to enjoy it, tired from the day, dexterous fingers unbuttoning his own pants, carefully slipping his hand under his clothes.

He indulges himself and tries to think of a fantasy, a simple one. Maybe Nami's mouth, her quick hands that were trained to steal and hijack, and that would surely know what to do with the growing problem between his legs. She would never reciprocate, he knows that, but a small fantasy hurts nobody, and nobody will know about it, ever. He might be… pushy sometimes, but something like that would be more than uncomfortable. Utterly mortifying. That fucking marimo would tease about it endlessly and-

Wait, why is he thinking about Zoro, again?

He thinks about that crooked smile of his, that he has been seeing less and less lately. Maybe he has finally realized the responsibility he has on the ship, that fucking good for nothing. How others rely on him when even the captain wavers.

Would he smile like that if he took Sanji in his mouth, he wonders. If he pinned him to the wooden floor and had his way with him? Would the adrenaline of it all, the rush, the anger of their rivalry, make him smile again?

No, no, wait. He was thinking about Nami and her beautiful hands and lips, how and when did his thoughts go to the fucking marimo of all people? Sanji feels the blood leave his face, very consistently concentrating on his erection, a few drops of blood running down his nose.

"What the fuck…"

Blue eyes go to the swordsman's sleeping form, making sure that he is indeed sleeping. Luckily enough, he snores like a fucking elephant, the remnants of who knows how many jars of beer still in his system.

Thinking about Nami doesn't seem to work, so he tries to think about Robin. Robin, with those breathtaking blue eyes, her amazing figure, her many, many hands that surely know what to do. Maybe she could pin him to the ground almost as easily as Zoro-

Wait what.

"Whyyyy…" he quietly laments, his dick still hard as a rock against his palm. Maybe even harder than before.

He thinks about being pinned to the ground by him, quite easily, even if he struggles, even if he kicks him and curses him. He would probably know what he is doing, and he would probably want him as violently as Sanji does. He would bite his neck, get rid of his clothes unceremoniously, maybe even tear them, only to rile him up. He would ruin his expensive suit, ruin him without uttering a single word.

Sanji moans softly, picturing the swordsman on top of him, pushing him to his limit but never crossing his boundaries. He probably wouldn't be gentle, but he wouldn't be cruel. He would tease his cock, fuck him with his fingers before doing it himself. He seems to be good at that, at dealing with men in bed, specially men that can get bratty like Sanji, men that need to be put in their place, men that need to be torn apart like-

He feels blood dripping down his nose, and he is terrified of his thoughts, of the intensity, of how he seems unable to stop thinking about a man making him moan until his throat hurts, about using and abusing his throat. Especially that man. It should fill him with disgust, and yet he cannot stray from it.

He touches himself furiously, thinking about his tongue in his ass, always speaking better through actions than through words. Making Sanji sing like a mockingbird. He thinks about his cock, knowing that he probably deals with it as expertly as he does with his swords. He thinks about him biting his ear, his neck, as he fucks him from behind, making Sanji's powerful legs tremble.

Sanji comes quickly and abundantly. He hates every second of it. It does indeed ruin his suit and his underwear, and it leaves him tired and with his mind completely blown.

Was it because of their fight, earlier?  Has he had a little bit too much to drink? Has he accidentally poisoned himself? No, that's impossible. Has he inhaled some kind of toxic gas? He has heard that carbon monoxide is especially dangerous. He cleans his hand, and silently exits the room, his legs still shaking.

The night is beautiful, fresh air caressing his hair and face, but Sanji finds himself trying to light up a cigarette without success, his hands shaking a little bit too much, which is unacceptable for a professional cook like him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

The crisis doesn't seem to subside when he finally manages to light it up, inhaling so much smoke in his anxiety that he almost chokes. 

Sadly for poor, poor Sanji, not even the threat of a more than possible lung cancer is enough to take the fucking marimo out of his head, and with him, the crisis Sanji is dealing with in the middle of the night, unable to even take care of himself and his clothes.

"But. But I love women… I love women. That's who I am… that's…"

He looks up to the moon and stars, as if they had the answer to his pleas. They remain silent, the same as Sanji, who has to make himself content with screaming internally until his nose stops bleeding from the sudden rise of blood pressure.

"Fuck," he repeats, eloquently.

That's, ironically, everything he can do.

[medig]

A Tale of Woe, Ep. 26: Pause for Station Identification

In light of our first story, "A Tale of Woe", now being 25 episodes, the following is a summary of what the characters have been up to until now. These were originally written for the other platform. Technically this is spoilers, but not much has actually happened that could get spoiled.

Claire

[Claire in her new "favorite" outfit]

["Corporate Claire", file photo from shortly before her admission to the hospital]

She is 23 years old and worked a low level office job (possibly a receptionist or a Human Resources functionary) until all her recent troubles began. She currently is involuntarily held in a secure mental health facility, possibly by mistake. She is quiet, shy, and nervous about anyone including doctors invading her privacy and her body. Her exact reasons for being there are unknown but we do know her psychiatrist has prescribed a deliberate program of ensuring that medical personnel invade the privacy of Claire’s body quite frequently. She is given daily rectal temperatures and her psych medications are administered as suppositories rather than pills. There is no medical reason for doing this, it is being done purely for the psychological effect. She also receives complete weekly physical examinations and enemas as needed for constipation, which she frequently suffers from. Claire is humiliated by these treatments.

Unlike most patients, Claire does not have "panty privileges". The fact that the hospital even has a name for this concept, shows what kind of a place it is. Claire must always wear hospital gowns - never her own clothes, not even pajamas, with nothing at all on under it. Most patients are allowed to wear pajamas and bathrobes, this is a form of "therapy" reserved for certain special patients.

Please keep poor Claire in your thoughts and prayers.

Mystique

[Mystique is allowed to wear a bathrobe, when she's been good]

[File photo, undated, from sometime before admission]

This one calls herself "Myst", short for "Mystique", as in the X-Men character. Her legal name is Misty. She is Claire's only friend in the mental hospital, and is around the same age. We also do not know the exact circumstances of her arrival, but before being sent here she was a PhD student studying psychology. Left to her own devices she dresses in a punk-goth-alternative style and presents an image of toughness. In the hospital, her wardrobe is considerably more limited though she still is allowed to use her own cosmetics products. When she first arrived, she was very ill behaved and often had to be restrained by the staff. She has somewhat calmed down, especially now that she has taken on a protective role with respect to poor Claire.

When she arrived she had a phobia of injections, and the staff often had to use force to get them into her. Of course, being the kind of place it is, the hospital gives all of her medications as injections, even those that are normally oral. She has since gotten used to it, but she still plays this up for the staff to keep them busy.

She has some experience in the kink world and this combined with her interest in psychology has her (with some justification) convinced that almost everything the hospital does to her and the other patients is just the sexual sadism of the doctors running unchecked. She is, however, not above engaging in secretive bdsm play (in both top and bottom roles) with the staff in exchange for favors and special treatment, though the amount of leverage she actually gained this way is pretty small. Most especially, she has not succeeded in using it to obtain release from the hospital.

Myst claims to be from a "rich" family, though she appears to be estranged from them. In spite of this, she occasionally speaks in some unidentified blue collar American dialect. We can only assume this is a deliberate affectation by her.

Claire's Doctor

This doctor’s name is being withheld to avoid offending any real doctors of the same name. There are many doctors involved in the hospital where Claire and Mystique are imprisoned, but he is the one most directly in charge of their treatment. He is an arrogant and cruel man who takes advantage of the power he holds over his patients, in particular the young, attractive, female patients. He is currently in a highly unethical, illegal, and coercive “relationship” with Mystique that she clearly regards as transactional. It’s unclear what benefits she receives from it, personally, though she has been seen to use whatever limited influence it affords her to slightly lower Claire’s sufferings. The doctor strongly desires to have the same sort of relationship with Claire, who refuses to speak to him at all. Claire is quite scared of him, while Mystique regards him more with disdain and contempt than fear. He is prone to fits of tyrannical rage over Claire’s refusals. In spite of his ridiculous nature, he remains a serious problem for his patients as he seemingly has arbitrary power to prescribe unhelpful and unnecessary and possibly harmful “therapies” such as restricting Claire’s diet in a manner designed to promote constipation (to provide a pretext for frequent enemas). The other doctors, nurses, and assorted hospital employees are either too checked out to notice his antics, or participate in them with varying degrees of pleasure, indicative of a mostly corrupt institution of which this individual is only one part.

Liz

Liz is in her mid 30s, works as a software engineer, and is Claire’s older (half) sister. With Claire’s parents both deceased, Liz serves as the next of kin with respect Claire’s hospitalization. Liz is blissfully unaware of what kind of a place her sister is really being held in, sincerely believing that Claire is receiving competent care for serious mental health issues. When she visits Claire in the hospital, the staff put on a sort of Potemkin village of a clean, orderly environment to fool the public and patients’ families. The hospital has obvious motivation to keep this delusion going, but Claire is also afraid to tell her anything, sure that no one would believe the things that happen in here. Liz is a sci fi and fantasy reader. She is somewhat clumsy but likes to exercise a lot, resulting in occasional injuries requiring casts and/or crutches, as seen in this file photo.

Mary

Mary is Claire's ancestor who was born in 1875 and may have been imprisoned in the same hospital for a period in the 1890s. We don't know much about her. She is seen in flashbacks and dreams that Claire experiences, in which she temporarily shifts into Mary's time. Claire firmly believes these experiences to be real, and is convinced that learning more about Mary will help her to leave the hospital.

Julie and Mike

Seen in flashbacks, Julie was Claire's mother who died when Claire was 8 years old, along with Claire's father, Mike. Julie was an avid cosplayer and video gamer in the mid 1990's. In 1998 she married the significantly older man Mike, thus becoming Liz's stepmother. Based on some of her costume choices we assume that she named her daughter Claire after the Resident Evil series character.

Biscuit Junior

He is a beagle that belongs to Liz, Claire, or both. He is allowed to visit in the hospital.

Susan and Becky

Myst has these two sisters, twins, that may be about 29 years old. They have done nothing in this story so far, this is just to remind you of their existence in case they show up. They are seen here in file photos of their own medical exams. Don't ask how we got them.

Myst does not seem to get along with her family, as evidenced by the fact that none of them have attempted to visit her in the hospital during the time of the story. She has mentioned her parents not believing her when she tried to tell them about the abuse she experiences. The twins may share this delusion, or they may not have even been told about it.

[baggedbloodandmilk]

kaedehara kazuha x fem!reader where — reader finds a fallen maple in the depths of chinju forest part 1.

𝘔𝘢𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘠𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘍𝘢𝘭𝘭

The air was absolutely frigid. The same trees that provided shade and comfort rustled harshly, as did the blades of grass that were to tickle, instead poking and prodding like needles. The wind that swept to and fro was relentless in its attack, sweeping in and out as the forest only grew all the more restless. Fast drops of cold water continued their onslaught on the ground below, rushing in only to platter onto the surface. The sound of rain was supposed to be calming. Then again, the entire forest was meant to be somewhat of a comfort place.

No longer was the air filled with the sounds of birds chirping, nor was it filled with the soothing smells of flora. No longer was the forest filled with woodland creatures that came and went, nor was it frequented by the occasional beings who wanted a break from their civilization.

No.

Chinju Forest was unforgiving that night.

His once clean skin was littered with cuts and bruises, some made from jagged branches hanging too low, and some made from blades' sharp edges. The fabrics only provided even more discomfort, ripped and torn, wet and muddy. But there was no time to let his discomfort show. He was lucky to even be here in the first place. Alive and still breathing.

His shoes slushed into the mud with every step, spraying mud onto the red-turned-maroon fabrics of his clothes. The discomfort of having mud coating his feet was enough to make him grimace, but he refused to falter. He couldn’t let himself falter.

But obviously, the lack of lighting limited his vision. He caught himself multiple times, tripping against fallen branches and perched stones. But as he felt his legs weaken, a stone was caught between his path.

Letting his knees meet with the muddy ground, his hands were sprawled across the floor as he let his weight fall on his arms. Breathing a bit too fast for his liking, and yet he was left no luxury to catch up with his disorientated mind. Marred with nothing but earth, he sighed slowly before propping himself up again.

But his eyes widened when thundering footsteps echoed, they were too close. And not a second was left when they had finally surrounded his figure. The familiar hues of purple and black clouded his vision. Each face harboured different emotions, ranging from rage and anger to annoyance and arrogance. He schooled his own expression to be calm.

“Give it up, you have nothing left,” one of them spoke, his polearm pointing directly at the other.

“My vision is not ‘nothing’, it is the materialization of my own ambitions,” he straightened his posture, willing his breathing to slow, unlike the erratic beat in his chest. “Surely, you can agree with this.”

“Your ambitions are nothing compared to the eternity the Almighty Shogun wishes to achieve.” Another one bellows, a hint of arrogance in his voice as he commands a jolt of electricity to settle in his blade, as if mocking the less fortunate.

“If you wish to take my ambitions away,” his black haori blows in the wind as he repositions himself, a hand on the hilt of his blade all while his vision glows in the dark. “Then so be it.”

“I wonder if this is all the mint plant I’ll need…” she huffed out a sigh, exhausted from the work of her day. The glaring sun only did its job of annoying her further, prompting her to readjust her hair into a high ponytail and wipe the bit of precipitate that formed on her forehead. It was a hot day, that much was evident. After the earth-shaking thunderstorm that occurred last night, she was a bit surprised to see the sun gleaming as if nothing had happened prior.

Then again, weather phenomena were nothing special here in Inazuma.

But strange, haggard men sprawled on the forest floor weren’t either.

“I wonder if he’s woken up by now,” she turned back to look at the sun’s position in the vast blue sky, a bit later than noon. Yet still teetering to the calling of ‘evening’. If she were not to make her way back home now, she’d have to take a longer route to avoid the confrontation with monsters and rogue samurai.

Her home wasn’t too far, estimated to be a 20 to 30-minute walk, depending on her hold-up in Konda Village. Her home was just a few north of the village, nearing Byakko Plain. Although renting a home in the town sounded much more convenient, she was just a bit short on mora. Her healing business wasn’t too popular, seeing as no one really passed by her residence with a bruised arm or scraped knee.

Children did come by for the occasional heal-up or just some homemade snacks she’d prepare, a few would have mora in hand but she never truly charged the children.

They were only children.

“Y/n-ah!” She looked up and smiled, waving back at the little old lady standing by her pathway through Konda Village. Mrs. Himaori Tsumogi—Grandma Himaori, as she insisted—called out to the girl, sweetly smiling as she tilted her head to the side, a habit Y/n came to know was a sign of her fondness. She waved back, speeding her pace up to walk through the village with her favourite elder.

Grandma Himaori was like a motherly figure to Y/n. Raising her in the village after her mother passed away and teaching her the arts of healing with hydro, Y/n began to look up to the elderly woman.

“I heard you took in a stranger for healing, have they woken up yet?” That is what nerved Y/n. She huffed a sigh before slouching her back, “Stop doing that.”

Grandma Himaori chuckled, feigning innocence, “Doing what, my little dango?”

“Your creepy- foreseeing stuff, and stop calling me dango,” she placed her hand on her blushing cheek, “we’ve been over this.”

Grandma Himaori only laughed some more, reminding Y/n of the story she was persistent on erasing from memory. “Come on, dear. It was cute-”

“By cute, you must mean embarrassing!” The elder’s laugh ensued right after.

Shutting her door and locking it appropriately, she sighed heavily before setting her basket down. She stared at the contents of the basket, Grandma Himaori’s words echoing in her head: “We both know you’d never eat that much food.” She said as she pointed at her basket. Y/n’s shoulders were hunched forward. Nothing gets past the elder.

Not even the stranger who sat on her bed.

She bandaged him a few hours prior, changing and applying ointments daily. But there was a difference between his complexion when unconscious and when he was fully awake. A noticeable one was the colour that returned to his ivory skin, shading it with a healthy hue. Life returned in his ruby eyes and gave his skin a softer glow. Back when he was still unconscious, she took note of his attire and the empty sheath that was attached to his hip. She gave them both a good clean and patched them up.

Which then brought her thoughts wandering to the not-so-modest thoughts. She internally grimaced as she unintentionally reminded herself of the painfully slow process of actually “cleaning” the man.

Shaking unwanted thoughts away, Y/n reprimanded herself.

Oddly enough, Y/n was nothing close to being startled. “Good afternoon,” she said with a careful smile, attempting to look less threatening and slowly approaching the stranger. He stared at her movements carefully, assessing his situation and the girl. The man could feel a dull throb by the side of his waist and leg, but it wasn’t enough to bring a grimace to his face.

He took his time observing the girl. She seemed to be close to his age, with flowing (h/c) locks and a smooth complexion. The afternoon sun poured in from the windows and complimented her skin with a soft glow. Her facial features were soft as if she’d yet to know how to scowl. Eyes a rich (e/c) with lips rosy and pink. A beauty hidden in the depths of this nation.

“Are you feeling any better? I tried my best to close the wounds but…” she noticed the faraway look on his face. Tilting her head slightly, she smiled slightly and brought her basket up to one of the counters nearby. Rearranging a few of the herbs and spices she managed to buy and collect, Y/n pulled out a small box of Sakura mochi she packed prior to her trip as a light road-snack and walked back to her “patient”.

“I’m not certain you’ve had anything to eat yet, so here’s a little appetizer.” She laid out the box and set down a pair of chopsticks in front of the stranger. Although her head was filled with questions, she didn’t dare bother the man with her intrusiveness. He can choose to tell me or not, and instead focused on preparing the small treat for the stranger. “Sorry, but I haven't started with lunch yet.”

“I’m Y/n, by the way.” When she didn’t get an answer back from the stranger—aside from the indifferent stare—she continued her small introduction. “I found you passed out and injured near Chinju Forest.” She picked up the chopsticks and snapped them apart, weaving them in between her fingers before picking a sizable Sakura mochi and moving it toward the stranger.

The male quirked a brow, tilting his head toward the side as he eyed the food, and then the girl. He noticed a light blush tinting her cheeks.

“It’s best you not move too much during your recovery period.” She reasoned, casting her gaze to the floor. She was more used to treating children and the elderly of Konda Village, meaning that tasks such as spoon-feeding were considered normal.

“I’m grateful for your kindness, but I’m not completely immobilized,” Was the male’s response; a rejection coated with sweetness, perfect. His voice was smooth, like the softest winds caressing her on a spring morning. Y/n scrambled to gather her thoughts for a few seconds before having a mild panic and setting the items down. “R-right, my apologies.”

Moments passed in silence. Whereas the male sat and enjoyed the sweet treat he was given, the female pursed her lips into a pout, a nervous habit of hers.

“Are these handmade?” He noticed the tense silence and offered to break it. Y/n nodded, “Y-yes, they’re homemade with ingredients from Inazuma City.” He smiled softly, complimenting her culinary skills. He took note of the doughy texture and mild sweetness of the treat, relishing in the softness before continuing to assess his situation.

She found me in Chinju forest. How long ago? Has she taken notice of my vision yet? What of the Tenryou Commission, had they come looking for me while I was recovering?

“Y/n! Y/n!” A shrill voice resounded about the small house followed by a clumsy mess of footsteps. A mess of brown hair poked from behind the door first before rushing in once they saw the (h/c) female. “It’s Yuma, he’s in trouble!” The brunette boy squealed, teary-eyed and snotty-nosed.

Hearing a familiar name, her senses sharpened. Taking the small boy in her arms, she cooed at him to calm down and relay the details. Y/n shushed the sobbing child and advised him to rest in her home (and look after the stranger) while she went to take care of the situation. “Satoshi, I’ll be right back, alright?"

Without waiting for the boy’s response, she rushed out from the front door and toward the location she was told about. It was a short stream of water that passed through a few mounds and hills. A known area for nobushi. The area wasn’t too far from her place, just a short few minutes of a trip and she’d be near enough to hear the rushing waters.

Aside from the rushing waters, she could make the sounds of a weeping child. Yuma!

Taking control of her vision, her catalyst allowed the formation of small projectiles made from water.

[justforbooks]

Nothing can sum up Keith Giffen’s character better than the Facebook post he wrote to announce his own death at the age of 70: “I told them I was sick … Anything not to go to New York Comic Con. Thanx. Keith Giffen 1952-2023. Bwah ha ha ha ha.”

That eruption of maniacal merriment was recognised by comic fans as a last defiant laugh from the sardonic comic writer and artist, who has died of complications following a stroke, after a 50-year career during which he created many memorable characters including Jaime Reyes (Blue Beetle), Rocket Raccoon, Ambush Bug and Lobo.

A Mexican-American teenager, Reyes first appeared in Infinite Crisis #3 (2006) and became Blue Beetle two issues later, when he gained superhuman powers via a scarab that morphs into an alien battle suit, eventually going on to appear in the 2023 Blue Beetle movie.

One of the stars of the Guardians of the Galaxy movies was created by Giffen early in his artistic career. Rocket Raccoon was a smart-mouthed anthropomorphic weapons expert who first appeared in Marvel Preview #7 (1976), written by Bill Mantlo, who resurrected the character in his own four-part miniseries in 1985.

Among Giffen’s other early creations, Ambush Bug’s debut in DC Comics Presents #52 (1982) and its sequel, which involved the Legion of Substitute Heroes, were so successful that they led to several miniseries and one-shots drawn by Giffen featuring the absurd, fancifully dressed alien wannabe hero, and a one-shot Legion of Substitute Heroes Special (1985).

In 1982 Giffen joined the writer Paul Levitz on The Legion of Super-Heroes #287 and began transforming the series into a saga of considerable depth. One of the most popular storylines in comic book history, The Great Darkness Saga (#290-294, 1982), featured Darkseid as its cosmic villain and Legionnaires and other heroes from across time teaming up to confront him. As a result, Legion of Super-Heroes became one of DC’s bestsellers of the early 1980s.

Lobo, who first appeared in Omega Men #3 (1983), was intended as a parody of violent characters such as Wolverine, but became a poster boy for violence when Giffen teamed up with the writer Alan Grant and artist Simon Bisley for Lobo: The Last Czarnian (1990), which spawned numerous miniseries and specials in which Giffen continually pushed the envelope of acceptability as Lobo battled everyone from Santa Claus to his own children. Combat Christ and the Howlin’ Apostles proved to be DC’s limit.

Giffen was heavily involved in numerous crossover event series, designed, he said, to “significantly alter the status quo or introduce new characters into the status quo”, including Invasion! (1988), the weekly 52 (2006-07) and Countdown to Final Crisis (2007-08) for DC, and Annihilation (2006-07) from Marvel. His creativity and tongue-in-cheek humour earned him a loyal fanbase and he won an Inkpot award in 1991.

The son of Rosa Ann (nee Duncan) and James, a salesman for a textile company, Giffen was born in Queens, New York, but grew up in Little Falls, New Jersey. He was a fan of comics from the age of eight, when his mother handed him a copy of World’s Finest, and especially loved Marvel’s monster books and Gene Colan’s Giant-Man. He began creating his own characters at high school and went on to spend “one abysmal year” at the School of Visual Arts in New York (“the less said about that, the better”).

Apart from a year of night classes at duCret School of Art, New Jersey, Giffen was self-taught, studying books on anatomy and perspective during his four years working as a hazardous materials handler at Hoffmann-La Roche pharmaceuticals. During a week’s holiday he decided to submit samples to comic companies. At Marvel, an artist had dropped out of illustrating a back-up story (The Sword and the Star) for Marvel Preview, and Mantlo, who had spotted Giffen’s portfolio, suggested they give him a try.

Giffen briefly produced layouts for Wally Wood on Justice Society of America for DC’s All Star Comics (1976), but was let go. After a period of selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door and other odd jobs, he tried again, drawing horror stories and Doctor Fate as a back-up strip in The Flash (1982), and working his way up to the Legion of Super-Heroes.

An accusation of “swiping” the work of José Muñoz in Ambush Bug (1985) – Giffen said he “parroted” it, rather than doing an outright copy – derailed his career for a time, until he was offered the chance to plot, and do breakdowns for, Justice League (1987-92) and its spinoff, Justice League Europe (1989-92), working with JM DeMatteis and Kevin Maguire. He also plotted and did breakdowns for Aquaman (1989) and plots for L.E.G.I.O.N. ’89/’90 (1989-90), a superhero group spun off from Invasion.

The range of Giffen’s output over the next 30 years was astonishing. He drew the superhero parodies The Heckler (1992-93) and Punx (1995-96), the return of Justice League International in Justice League: Generation Lost (2010), and episodes of Outsiders (2011), O.M.A.C. (2011-12) and Infinity Man and the Forever People (2014-15). He plotted or wrote full scripts for Eclipso (1992-93), Vext (1999), Suicide Squad (2001-02), a biography of HP Lovecraft (2004), Blue Beetle (2006-07), Midnighter (2007-08), Wetworks (2007-08), Reign in Hell (2008-09), Doom Patrol (2009-11), Booster Gold (2009-11), Magog (2009-10), Justice League 3000 (2014-15) and The New 52: Futures End (2014-15), all for DC; and for Marvel he wrote stories featuring Marvel Monsters: Where Monsters Dwell (2005), Drax the Destroyer (2005-06), Defenders (2005-06), Nick Fury’s Howling Commandos (2005-06) and Annihilation spin-offs Annihilation: Silver Surfer (2006) and Annihilation: Conquest – Starlord (2007).

During the same period he also penned or plotted various comics for Image (1993-94) and Valiant (1994-96), adaptations of Japanese manga, Battle Royale (2003-06) and Battle Vixens (2004-10), for Tokyopop and 10 (2005), Hero Squared (2005-07), Planetary Brigade (2006-07) and others for BOOM! Studios. He was also a storyboard artist for the animated shows Batman Beyond and Static Shock, as well as writing episodes of Ed, Edd n Eddy and Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi for Cartoon Network.

In early 2023 he produced a podcast titled I’m Not Dead Yet, and had recently moved to Tampa in Florida.

He is survived by his children, Kyle and Melinda. His wife, Anna, predeceased him.

🔔 Keith Ian Giffen, artist and writer, born 30 November 1952; died 9 October 2023

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