#roger c. cross

[that-glitter-chick]

Cyclones has risen in popularity since his unexpected romance, with the Autobot Tailgate, in the IDW comics. Back in the day he was an impressively deep and well developed personality added woefully late in the original series. I like to think of him as a precursor to Beast Wars Dinobot; honorable, brave, loves his culture but doesn’t always agree with his commanding officer, it’s enough to make me head canon him as Dinobot’s direct ancestor.

Imagine my surprise to find out that he was originally played by Roger C. Carmel, known to Star Trek fans as the original actor of the unforgettable character Harcourt Fenton “Harry” Mudd! Two VERY different characters indeed lol!

[lokisgoodgirl]

Lies like Liquid [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki's typical antics at a party hit different. (w/c 2.5k) Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Loki x Female reader. Snippy Loki/ enemies to lovers. Mild jealousy. Mild angst.

The crowd blurred as you wobbled on your heels towards the bar, trying to look casual. Rogers, Natasha, Clint—all of them with their heads thrown back at some perfectly timed joke while music thumped in your ears.

Loki leant against the polished marble counter—the soft amber bulbs around the mirror making his watchful eyes shine; immaculately tousled hair drifting down his shoulders.

He lifted a martini to his lips and sipped gently, the smoulder fixed on you.

One elbow rested on the bar, his ankles crossed, his body impossibly long and lean and wrapped in an expensive suit that was just the right side of tight. No tie tonight, just an open collar with a triangle of milky skin that you wanted to graze your teeth against as his eyes rolled back and a gurgle of your name choked from his throat—

Don’t talk to him. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t look at him; that’s what he wants. But your heart rattled faster as his cologne prickled deep inside your nostrils: warm, spiced, filthy.

“You look particularly agreeable tonight, Agent,” Loki said as you propped your elbows on the bar, eyeing your cleavage carefully in the mirror. The god’s stare traced your profile as intricately as though it were his fingers. “Did you do something with your hair? Wash it, perhaps?” “You’re one to talk, Agent,” you said, tongue lingering on the T.

Out of the corner of your eye, the god stiffened. He hated all that Agent stuff. Resented it. Except when he was curling the word around his own tongue, ready to spit in your directing with his dumb, mind-numbingly sexy voice—

“Nevertheless,” he said, strained, ‘that colour suits you.” “Black?” “Mmm.” “Everyone suits black.” Loki chuckled softly, sliding the base of his martini glass closer across the bar. His body followed. “Not so, Agent. In fact, my brother looks particularly ghastly. Deceased, in fact. You look rather…” “Yes?” Your breath hitched as Loki bent ever-so-slightly to your ear, heat skating down your cheek. “Hot,” he whispered, making one syllable stretch to two. A tingle rushed over your body. You turned fractionally just as the shit-eating, devastatingly attractive smirk spread across Loki’s lips. The one Stark used in the ad reels. The one that the public loved; and the one that you loathed—even if you did have a screenshot of it on your phone for masturbation purposes. Needs must. He might be a dickhead, but you had eyes.

“What do you want, Loki?”

He pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. “Want? Darling, you came to me.”

“I came for a drink—you were in the way. It’s the only way to numb you out.” His jaw dropped a touch, affronted, but those eyes sparkled. Crystal sang as he swirled the fancy glass against marble and leant back, the buttons of his shirt straining as he let out a small, harassed sigh. “You really must try one of these, they’re quite terrible.” The tightness in your chest loosened. “The Starktini?” “The Starktini,” he confirmed sombrely. “Sherry instead of vermouth, can you believe it? What is he thinking. All the money in the realm, and no class.”

He took another sip, draining the glass, observing you through narrowed eyes. “Another one, Mr Laufeyson?” Fresh lipstick, ruffled hair, apron tied too tight, shirt unbuttoned to the tip of fancy lingerie. You rolled your eyes as Loki swivelled to face the waitress. “Please,” he said, low and unbearably smooth. “And one for my friend here, too. Particularly dirty, if you don’t mind.” “Of course Sir; I know the way you like it,” she said huskily, sliding her eyes to yours. You cocked an eyebrow as she sashayed to the liquor bottles further down the bar. “Particularly dirty?” you hissed. “Are you kidding me?” “Are you jealous?” Anger scorched up your spine. How dare he—standing there with his stupid, devastating cheekbones and muscles shifting beneath his shirt as he plucked the stem of a fresh glass from the waitress’s hand. Your eyes flickered to a small piece of paper stuck to the bottom, several looping numbers visible. Loki winked lightly at her as she moved to a pissed off looking Barton, peeling the paper off. “I’ll leave the two of you to…” You gestured in the air.

Loki straightened, swallowing hastily. He raised a finger, his brows rising. But you were already several steps deep into the crowd, pushing past a tipsy Rogers dancing the Macarena to a Scissor Sisters song. The bodice of your dress felt unbearably tight, party smoke clinging to the back of your throat like ash and making your eyes sting. A hand cupped your bicep. “You alright?” Wanda dipped, catching your eyes. You waved a hand, plastering on a smile. “Fine. I’m fine, just Loki being a—” “A delight, I’m sure,” Loki drawled. Even over the music, his voice was clear as glass. Wanda’s face scrunched, her gaze shifting over your shoulder. You whipped around, hoping your tits hadn’t shifted from the impeccable cleavage you’d assembled earlier. “Let me guess, this is the part of the dancefloor you want? Planning on standing here yourself, glowering at everyone having fun?”

Loki frowned, and for a moment, just one, you felt a sharp stab of guilt. He placed the martini glass on a small, round table to his left.

“Actually,” he said, unbuttoning a cuff and folding it up to the elbow. “I was going to ask if you wanted to dance.” Behind you, Wanda gasped. Loki Laufeyson did not dance. And certainly not with you.

There were many things you could say at this moment, do, in this moment while Loki Laufeyson folded the second sleeve up his muscled forearm up with skilful ease. Tell him to fuck off, give him the middle finger, laugh at him before he could laugh at you. Seconds shifted as you waited for the familiar smirk, but it didn’t come. He extended his hand.

Loki’s chin lowered, his eyes glimmering in light refracted from the disco ball, the hand cupped outward unmoving. And so, you took it. Wanda gasped again.

Loki’s thumb slid up your palm, pressing into the soft skin before guiding you gently across the dancefloor. Bodies moved, the room blurred for the second time that evening, but this time, a flutter rose in your belly as Loki turned and pulled you flush to his chest. Your cheek brushed his, hands knotted at his shoulder as the opening beats of Rosenfeld thumped through the speakers. Eyes sliding to Loki’s, you tried to stifle the urge to suck against his neck; absorb the deep scent of him that wafted from beneath his collar.

He began to sway. And then, his lips brushed your ear. “Move, Agent,” he said, deep and utterly filthy. Loki’s knuckles trailed down your spine, palm settling on your lower back and shifting in time with the grind of your hips. His hair grazed against your cheek as your bodies slid together, the satin of your dress water against his shirt. The world slid beneath you feet as Loki pushed you outwards, spinning on your heels, stars bursting in your mind. He pulled you to his chest with a soft thump and the muscle beneath your breasts shook under his chuckle. “I thought you couldn't dance—” “I can do anything, Agent,” he murmured, hands resting on your hips. His eyes narrowed lightly. “Anything.” You snorted, blowing a strand of his hair with it. It floated back, sticking to your mouth. Loki’s fingers slipped between you, pinching it away. His thumb grazed over the plump of your lower lip. “Do you believe me?” It struck you in this moment how inconceivable it was that Loki was grinding against your stomach; that you were shifting in time with it, your hips swaying against the hard expanse of his hips. That you hadn’t punched him in the face yet.

“I believe that you’re full of shit? Does that count?” You half-hoped he couldn’t hear you, but the twitch of Loki’s lips proved he did. God, you wanted to slam your pussy down on the meat of the thigh sliding against your leg. You wanted to yank his hair down and kiss him right on his poisonous mouth as he pushed his femur against your clit; edging you into a shuddering mess hanging in his arms like a doll. A warm flush slid between your legs.

Loki spun to the side, and the world upended. He’d swept you into a dip, his face inches from yours, and his eyes rising slowly from your lips to your eyes. Somewhere, Rogers whooped.

And there it was…the shit eating smirk.

You snapped to reality, pushing against Loki’s shoulder. He brought you upright with a deep crease slicing through his forehead and mumbled something as you pushed through the crowd, Do It For Me ringing in your ears.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You grabbed a Starktini from the bar, necking it and ignoring Barton’s yelling before making your way to the fire exit. The balcony was too crowded. Cold air hit like a slap, rippling over your bare shoulders and up the flounce of skirt. Your fingers curled against the fire escape, forehead resting against your hands. Fuck. You’d let him get under your skin. You’d promised it wouldn’t happen again.

“I lied.” Your ankle gave way, heel snapping through the grate and sending you wavering to the guard rail. Suddenly Loki’s arms were around you, but you flapped him away. “Piss off, Loki,” you gasped, gripping the rail. “I’m fine. Jesus…you scared the shit out of me.” The angles of Loki’s face were illuminated in moonlight: brows lowered; mouth drawn tight. You sighed. “What do you want?” “I lied,” he said again. Now you remembered. “Well, what’s new? It’s your thing.” He frowned. “Well, it is,” you said, exasperated. “Never with you.” His eyes were a storm of wretched midnights, but his jaw trembled. You noted the strain of his shirt buttons, the creases forming with each deep, measured breath. A tremor passed through his features as he said. “Before, when I said I could do anything—I lied.” “Oh?” “I couldn’t hold on to you.” Your heart dropped somewhere around your knees. “Well, yeah, I guess. It was about more than just the dancing though, you know that, right?” “Mmm.”

In the time it took to look up, Loki was standing in front of you; the heat from his chest radiating the space between your bodies. He licked his lips, and they shaped words you never thought you’d hear. “Is it too late for us?” he asked softly.

“Loki…” “A month is a long time to spend with only one’s thoughts for company.” “Hardly. You were on a mission with Barton and Lang.” “Mentally alone, if not physically. You should hear the things they consider stimulating conversation. Do you know what a blumpkin entails?” He waited, a shadow flitting across his face. “Because I do.” You bit your lip, chest shaking with ill-advised laughter, and when you looked up, Loki’s smile was waiting. The real one. And then, your throat tightened. “You took the waitress’s number.” “Did I?” Loki’s voice went up an octave. “How strange,” he mused as a long finger tapped at his chin. “I distinctly remember not taking her number. In fact, I believe it might still be on the bar. Perhaps Lang will find it—perhaps he’ll finally experience the blumpkin he seeks.” “You winked at her.”

Something shifted inside you as the words shaped your tongue; thin threads of hope winding snug around your insides, the lie of your indifference circling like liquid down a drain. Loki shrugged lightly. “I had to give her something. What was I to do? The woman was clearly smitten—and I’m nothing if not benevolent.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Don’t…” he said, stepping closer.

One arm rose against the wall behind you, his skin silver in moonlight. “You know how that drives me to the brink of sanity.” “Maybe that’s what I want.” “Is it?” His eyes flashed, gaze dropping to your lips. “Well, it’s working.” Your chest ached with the effort of holding in the need to hyperventilate. This was everything you’d wanted as you lay in bed alone, everything you hadn’t dared hope for. That he would fight for you. And yet…With Loki, there was always an ‘And yet’.

But tonight, you didn’t want to think about that. Not yet.

Like a dream, you fingered the open collar of Loki’s shirt, grazing a nail across the exposed skin. He shivered. “Darling,” he whispered, and then, your lips were on his. One kiss slipped into the next like words, the groans deep in his throat and the fingers winding in your hair like blazing starlight. “Up, up,” you gasped between kisses.

Loki obliged, large hands dipping to your thighs and hoisting you against the polished outer walls of Stark Tower with a squeak. He fumbled with the line of your underwear, a mumbled fuck it preceding the warm fizz of his magic against your skin. Your fingers ripped at the buttons of his suit trousers, delving for the unbearably hard cock pressing against your cunt. Every vein, every velvet ridge, every inch that made him whimper when you traced it with your tongue. Loki’s breath was heavy, misting against your cheek as he breached with a broken chant of your name. Your head fell back against the wall, his mouth working down the valley of your throat as his hips rolled, filling you. “Loki, god…yes,” you panted to the darkened sky. He mumbled something unintelligible against your skin as your fingers twisted in his hair and the part of yourself that hoped this could be real burned brighter. There was nothing but here—nothing but the press of his flat stomach, the feel of his fingertips curling into your thighs and the seal of his cock unwinding your doubts with every thrust.

“Gods, I never meant to—” You silenced him with a kiss, delving into him with insatiable hunger. I never meant to push you away. I never meant to break your heart. It could wait. Orgasm sparked deep in your belly, rippling like a lit match from gasoline. Your legs tightened around his hips, forcing his cock deeper with an obscene squelch. “Faen, kvinne,” Loki grunted, one palm flying to the wall behind you and squeaking down metal. He bucked up, bottoming out a final, shattering time. Climax ripped through your body like a knife through leather, arms flying around his neck and pulling him close. His belt buckle was ice against your heated thighs, the grind of his hips flattening you to the wall. The god’s groans grew tight; urgent, something new stringing along his back muscles shifting under the drag of your fingernails. “Forgive me,” he sighed. You wondered if he’d stop himself tumbling over the edge if you didn’t. But the time for lies was over. “I forgive you,” you whispered, sucking his earlobe between your teeth. Loki’s guttural groan as he filled you with his cum was the world sliding beneath your feet, breaking apart and starting anew.

Tags in comments ❤️

[heytheredelulu]

I was wondering if you could do maybe a like feral Bucky? Like maybe they trigger the soldat and instead of him fallowing their orders he goes after the shy curvy little intern of Tony’s? They’ve both been too shy to make a move. I’m cool with whatever spin you put on it, I LOVE your writing.

(Love all your normal kinks so feel free to add those too as you see fit! )

Thank you lovely 🥰 Can’t wait to drool over more of your writing lol

I took this and RAN with it.

It ended up becoming much longer than I had anticipated so this one will be broken up into two parts.

I struggled with trying to incorporate Bucky being triggered after the reader already being somewhat aquatinted with him, pining after him, etc. so I went the route I did and I hope it fulfills your request!

Part one will be mostly just plot building with a spicy cliff hanger leading us into a part two of pure smut.

Ready to Comply - Part One - Anon Request

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 2.5k

C/W: Language, discussion/implications of violence and murder, choking, blood (Bucky is strugglin’ and bites his own hand), a lil sexual tension in prep for part two, he sniffs her coochie, okay?

“Okay, stop. Stop that.” Tony whispered out of the corner of his mouth. You shot him a glance and tugged at your skirt one more time for good measure. He lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. “You look fine, Rookie. Very professional. Is that what you needed to hear?”

You scoff and shake your head. “That’s no- I’m not fishing for compliments, I genuinely hate dressing like a fucking secretary.” You grumble, drawing a laugh out of Tony. “And don’t call me ‘Rookie.’” You add with a prod to his chest. He brushes the front of his suit jacket sarcastically in response to your poke and raises his hands defensively, a soft chuckle rising from his throat.

“A fucking secretary? Really? It’s business professional. Did you think I could let you stand next to me in a press conference wearing an old t-shirt and some torn up jeans? We need to create a semblance of professionalism.” He gestures to his own attire with a grin and there’s a teasing glint in his eye as he continues.

“And what’s wrong with ‘Rookie’? You’re my little protégé.” He jests, reaching like he’s going to pinch your cheek as if you were some adorable little toddler. You frown, swatting his hand away and brings it to his chest, clutching it dramatically. “Wow, you’re going to assault your friend, mentor and extremely rich and handsome boss?” He jokes, feigning offense.

“The only accurate adjective in that sentence is ‘boss’, Sir.” You reply dryly, crossing your arms. The corners of his lips twitch into a sly smile and he nudges you with his elbow. “I’ll accept if you don’t agree with friend and mentor.” He starts, pressing his lips into a pout. “But I might actually get a little offended if you refuse to acknowledge how devastatingly handsome I am.”

You groan in annoyance and roll your eyes, preparing a witty comeback when Pepper Potts rounds the corner with a tablet cradled in her arm, a phone nestled between her ear and shoulder and an expression of concern written across her face.

“Everything alright?” Tony asks, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me.. another offer for People’s ‘sexiest man alive’? I keep telling them, I can’t be on the cover every ye-“ Tony stops mid sentence as Pepper’s manicured forefinger lands on his lips, effectively silencing him.

“Yes. Okay. Understood. Thank you.” She says curtly into the phone before disconnecting the call. “That was Fury. We have an issue. A Barnes issue.”

Your brows furrow at this. “What’s happened with Bucky?” You ask, a sense of dread creeping up your spine. He’d been all but isolated since he’d moved into the Avenger’s tower alongside his best friend Steve Rogers and you couldn’t imagine him being the source of an issue with how reserved this man was. You weren’t at all oblivious to his past- it had been global wide news after all, but in the months since his de-conditioning in Wakanda he had been making great strides towards recovery, working to make amends.

Though your interactions with the ex-assassin had been few, he’d always been polite and kind towards you. You’d felt so out of place among the Avengers, being Tony’s intern. You weren’t on the team, hell, a few of them didn’t even know your name despite you having been trailing behind Tony for the last year. Maybe it was your own fault, considering you hadn’t really made an effort to talk to any of them but aside from the fact that they were all extremely intimidating, you were naturally a shy and quiet person.

You quickly push the self deprecating thoughts from your head. You didn’t care about any of that. You shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if you wanted to be on the team, or were there to make friends, you were here as an engineer, to learn from who was arguably the most intelligent man on the planet. Perhaps that’s why Bucky had always been cordial to you more than some of the others living here. Maybe he gravitated towards you, as someone who constantly felt so out of place, because he felt that way here as well.

Or maybe he thought you were cute.

Oh fuck, if only.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to the man or that you’d been quietly crushing on him practically since you’d started your internship. Every small interaction with Bucky left a blush on your cheeks and a kaleidoscope of butterflies flitting about your belly.

The thought of someone as absurdly good looking as Bucky fucking Barnes finding you attractive was enough to spark a surge of heat straight to your abdomen.

No, get it together. Now’s not the time.

You mentally scold your vagina for having the nerve to throb at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes regardless of the context and turn your attention back to Pepper and Tony as they argued in hushed whispers.

“What’s happened with Bucky?” You repeat, knowing they likely won’t clue you in if it’s related to Avenger’s business.

Tony offers a nervous smile and exchanges a quick glance with his wife before he checks his watch. “Terminator? He’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably holed up with security for setting off the metal detector.” He pauses and then snaps his fingers. “Or maybe he walked past the junkyard on fifth and got snatched up by the hydraulic magnet.” He says, lifting a hand and miming a crane.

Pepper lets out a soft sigh and your gaze flicks to her. “Yeah, a big magnet or something.” She mumbles, turning her attention back to her tablet. “I don’t think that’s-“ Your cut off by Tony’s hand on the small of your back, urging you forward. “Enough about Robocop. We’re on, Rookie.” He says, his nervous expression falling away and quickly being replaced with a mask of professionalism. “Let’s go unveil our project to the press.” Pepper moves to open the door for you both and before you can open your mouth to tell Tony that if he calls you ‘rookie’ one more time you were going to strangle him with his overpriced tie, your senses are overwhelmed with an onslaught of overlapping voices and camera shutters.

You toss your blazer over the desk in your quaint office and slump over into the chair, trying not to let your mind run wild with anxious thoughts about the press conference. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t help but worry that you probably looked like a deer in headlights up at the podium alongside Tony.

You huff and rest your chin on the back of your hand, glancing over at the computer screens. Your attention is immediately drawn to security footage from one of the conference rooms when you see movement on the monitor. You lean in with your brows furrowed. It’s late and no one should be in the conference room. You expand the image and can clearly make out Tony and Steve moving about the room with tense body language.

You hover over the footage with your mouse and hesitate. You know that you absolutely should not eavesdrop on the two men but once Tony’s hands begin angrily gesturing around you give in to temptation and turn on the audio.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘back up?’” Tony shouts, beginning to pace the room.

Steve leans forward with his palms on the table and his head bowed slightly. “It’s exactly what I said, Tony.” He replies, his biceps flexing as he grips the table. “HYDRA had a fail safe. They’d planted a back up activation incase he would ever manage to be deprogrammed.” He looks up at Tony with a solemn expression. “They got to him. I should’ve been there, I should’ve-“

Tony holds out a hand, his other resting against his temple as he tries to comprehend what Steve is telling him. “Well you weren’t and they did so know we have to figure out how the fuck we navigate this.” He says firmly, shaking his head. “Do we have eyes on him? Is he in the building?”

Steve sighed and stood upright from the table. “No. He’s in the wind. We lost contact with him a few hours ago.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. “But there’s something you need to know.” He adds, looking at Tony with concern as he begins to pace again.

“Well spit it out, Rogers!” Tony yells, stopping and turning back to Steve.

“Nat received some intel. The hit HYDRA ordered is on you and your intern.” He says so quietly you can barely pick it up on the audio. Fear crawls up your spine and your hand trembles as you increase the volume on the security feed, while your heartbeat in your ears becomes near deafening.

Tony stiffens, slowly approaching Steve. “You wanna tell me why?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous. Steve nods. “The new tech you unveiled today.“ He explains.

Tony sighs, understanding why one of their enemies would be threatened by what the two of you had been working on and reaches to loosen his tie. “I’ll take Pepper and move her to the safe house before I meet you at a rendezvous point. Send someone to get my Rookie and get her off the grid. I don’t want her alone for a single second.” He says in an exasperated tone, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out his cell phone as he stalks towards the door.

“And Rogers?” He asks, turning around one last time, his hand curled tight around the doorknob. Steve’s head snaps up and he looks at Tony with guilt ridden eyes. “Yeah?”

“Find Barnes.”

Find Barnes.

The statement echoes in your ears, sending your thoughts spinning as if a category five hurricane were waging inside your head.

No. No, no, no.

There’s a hit out on you?

To be carried out by the fucking Winter Soldier.

Oh you were so fucked.

You scoot your chair back, bracing your hands on the desk to stand with wobbly knees.

Bile rises in your throat as you take a slow step backwards, bumping the chair in your state of panic and knocking your jacket off the workbench. You jump at the sound of it slipping to the floor and clutch your chest as a result of inducing your own jumpscare and take slow breaths to steel your nerves before you bend down to pick it up. As you rise back upright, your gaze connects with a pair of vacant, icy blue eyes in the shadows across the room and your entire body seizes in terror.

He’s not in the wind.

He’s been in here with you this entire goddamned time.

“B-Bucky?” You stutter, bringing your jacket to your chest and grasping it until your knuckles turn white. Maybe Steve and Tony were wrong. Maybe Nat’s intel was wrong. Maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding and you weren’t about to die at the hands of the ex-assassin you’ve been pining over for nearly a year.

He takes a step forward from the shadows, his face expressionless and his eyes unblinking without a single trace of emotion behind them.

Okay, yeah. You’re fucked.

“Sergeant Barnes?” You whisper, almost a plea to the man you knew, locked away somewhere in the brain of the cold and calculated killer standing in front of you.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t register your words, as he crosses the lab in a few quick strides and catches your throat in his cybernetic hand.

Oh god.

The air leaves your lungs, his grip tightening around your windpipe as his face remains blank.

You’re going to die.

So why are you so fucking turned on?

Heat pools low in your abdomen, your core flooding with arousal, coupled with fear and unbridled lust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as you gasp and thrash in his grip, your thick thighs rubbing together with every kick and flail, doing nothing to alleviate the throbbing ache in your cunt.

God this is so wrong.

His brows furrow, the first hint of emotion since he stepped out of the shadows. His head tilts inquisitively and his grip slackens around your throat as he leans in, tracing his nose across your jaw line and inhaling deeply. You still, your face contorting in confusion as you swallow hard against his palm, leaning your body into his hold.

His eyes narrow as he pulls away from you and you take the opportunity to suck in a breath, massaging your neck gently while your gaze drops to observe his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

“Bucky?” You ask, wondering what’s caused the sudden shift in his demeanor, wondering if maybe he’s somehow snapped out of the trance he’d been in. He’s still and silent for a long moment, his head bowed as his chest rises and falls heavily with every breath.

“Sergeant Barnes, are yo-“

His head snaps up, effectively silencing you.

Your mouth remains agape, stuck on your last word and as he watches you with predatory eyes, taking menacing steps toward you, you can’t seem to find your voice any longer. You stumble backwards, losing your balance and falling back against the desk, unable to regain your footing before his hands grip the flesh of your bare thighs.

He tilts you backwards, your back colliding hard with the surface of the desk, stealing the breath out of your chest. He drops to his knees, splaying his palms against your thighs, the hem of your dress rising up to expose your panties as he spreads your legs wide before him and drags his nose across the fabric.

He groans.

He fucking groans.

“You’re my mission.” He breathes out, eyes wild and fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as if he were fighting to physically restrain himself.

“I know.” You whimper, lifting your head to look down at him over the soft curve of your stomach.

“I’ve been ordered to kill you.” He chokes out, pressing his forehead against your inner thigh and drawing in a deep and shuddering breath.

“Then why haven’t you?” You ask in a broken whisper.

He turns his head and mumbles something incoherently, his breath ghosting against the damp fabric of your underwear and sending a wave of arousal crashing through your core. He stiffens, curling his flesh hand into a fist and bringing it to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles as he swallows back a moan.

He shakes his head, his teeth pressing into his skin hard enough to draw blood and you move to sit up, leaning on your palms as you look down at him where he’s slotted between your legs, visibly trembling.

He rises quickly to his feet, his left hand shooting out to curl around your neck again and he drops his bloodied flesh hand to his side.

“Because..” He says through clenched teeth, inhaling sharply as the cool metal of his thumb strokes the column of your throat.

“I can’t fucking focus when all I can smell-“

His free hand roughly cups your pussy over your panties, his voice trailing off as he kneads his palm against the thin, wet fabric.

He growls, tightening his grip around your throat and jerking you up to him, forcing you to meet his threatening gaze.

His expression grows pained and he whimpers, dipping his head to meet your forehead with his own, his breath fanning across your face with every heave of his chest.

“All I can smell is how wet you are.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@suz7days @blackbirdwitch22 @truthfulliarr @lilacka

Part two

[jamneuromain]

Divorce with either Steve/Andy I'm feeling angsty.

Whether happy/sad ending is up to you :)

Hi bestie <3 I'm sorry it has taken more time than I thought but my drabble turns into a one-shot before I can even realize skjksjskjskjksj

hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lie, Lie, Lie

Steve Rogers x You (Mutant!Reader)

Warning: Swearing, Angst, Divorce, (also asshole-ish Avengers?)

W/C: 5.4 K

Summary: A small leak will sink a great ship. -- Benjamin Franklin

A/N: My first entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

It starts with a minor, insignificant detail.

Just some static in the phone, really.

A snippet of sound that common people would interpret as bad signals, considering that Steve is phoning you from thousands of miles away, while you are using the landline.

For holy Mary’s sake, who the hell still uses landlines today?

Apparently, the academic conferences you attend do.

Steve notices the small static buzzing the call you are having, after which you grumble in frustration, “Stupid signals, can’t even function properly.”

He smiles, knowing that you can’t see the expression on his face. You are cute even when you are complaining.

You sigh deeply on the other end of the phone, your voice slightly distorted from the electronic, or wireless, transmission, “I miss you, Stevie. Can’t wait to come home.”

“It’ll only be two more days,” Steve reassures you with his soothing timbre, “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, alright? First thing you’ll see after getting off that plane.”

“Okay.” You know he can hear you pouting, but you pout anyway, “Gotta have some sleep now. I’m going to the keynote tomorrow morning.”

“Take care of yourself.” Steve holding on to his phone, wincing again as the static buzzes again, but it appears only on his end, as you seem unaffected by it, “Take care of my favorite scientist and my favorite girl for me, okay?”

“I am your favorite girl. And you know I have my powers.” You try your best to stifle a large yawn, but Steve senses your tiredness right away.

“Sleep tight, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Steve blows a kiss, hoping that it would travel across oceans and lands via the phone, and reach your forehead.

“Night, Steve.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You are about to hang up when the static tortures his ear again.

You hang up.

Static isn’t a problem for most people, who, unlike Steve, don’t have super hearing and super memory.

Steve could think that the static is a minor interference, however, static that appears during phone calls are hardly inconsistent. And if he has learned a thing or two during the time that landlines are still fairly popular – 40s, by the way – is that static doesn’t go on and off, nor does it blur on different pronunciations since static should naturally have a pattern.

Since Stark phones issued by the friendly billionaire is certainly off the question, he suspects that someone might be tapping into your landline.

Something is off. His intuition is telling him. So, he called Tony and asked for a favor.

After some analysis that Steve couldn’t fully understand, Tony presses his index finger to his lips tightly, humming to himself.

“Anything?” Steve watched as Tony chugged down the fifth cup of coffee ten minutes ago, and now Tony has been unusually quiet.

Tony spins his chair around, looking thoughtful. He waves his fountain pen in midair, pointing at his screen in general, “This isn’t some sort of prank Bruce asked you to play, is it?”

“Prank? Tony, this is my wife we’re talking about.” Steve is about to lose his patience. He crosses his arm, dead serious, “What is … this? Am I being paranoid or …”

He wouldn’t dare to think about you in actual danger and he’s sitting cozily in Avengers Compound. He could’ve been risking your precious rescue time. Or warn you, somehow.

Even knowing that you have your special powers.

Your mutant powers.

Still, there are hundreds of ways for you to be defenseless.

A collar could suppress all your powers. A shot of the new dose of Mutant Serum could make you lose your X-gene once and for all. And all those terrible things that could happen to you.

Tony scratches his goatee, his expression is puzzled, to say the least, “this static that you provided, looks like the interface Bruce and I were cooking up for a Friday-upgrade.”

“English, please, Tony.”

Tony magnifies the example of static extracted from the recording that is automatically stored on Stark servers, and pulls out a random MRI brain scan from Steve’s health exam last year, “See what I mean?”

Steve watches the two waves on the screen closely, almost stuttering from what he is summarizing, “They look … similar.”

“Exactly.” Tony throws the MRI scan off the screen and points to the static, “This? This isn’t sound. This is human thinking. Hell, thinking, I’m not even sure it’s human. And it has a purpose. The reason you are hearing the ‘static’ – I’ll name that thing later, is that it serves as a relay, that patches you through its – thinking, whatever, and directs your call to Y/N.”

“It isn’t Friday?” Steve blurts out the only AI he could think of.

“If it is Friday, the Nobel committee is handing me the award right this moment.” Tony snorts, but he turns serious as soon as he notices Steve’s worrying look, “but with this fragment, I can locate Y/N,” and with a few taps on the keyboard, a global map appears in front of them.

Tony mutters to himself, “Can’t track the relay itself, but I can … ”

Another few keystrokes and a red dot blip.

“… in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Tony isn’t even sure about what the blipping dot shows, “Now this can’t be right-” Tony looks back at Steve, whose eyebrows are tying up like knots, “Where did you say she’s having this academic conference?”

“Leipzig, Germany.” Steve answers without a second thought, “Quantum 2023.”

Tony looks awe-struck.

“I’m sending a team to get her.” Steve stands up from his seat abruptly, heading to the doorway, but Tony’s words make him stop.

“Quantum 2023 is next week, Steve. And it isn’t held in Leipzig.”

“But that’s impossible,” Steve turns on his heels, glaring at Tony, “She told me that she came into contact with some Professor, who invited her to this conference because she was doing so well with her panel back in January.”

“And what’s that panel?”

“CPS Quantum Computer-”

“CPSQ was never held this year.” Tony shakes his head, “The conference was cancelled because a main member of the CPSQ committee passed away last December. What else has she told you?”

“I can’t tell you.” You dare not read his face. Your gaze lands on the marble counter that you and Steve agreed on two years ago, instead of him. You lied. And you know you lied. And the fact that you know that you can tell him nothing, makes you even more scared and frightened, as you are well aware the last things Steve would tolerate are betrayal and infidelity.

Your shared home, once a sanctuary for you and the love of your life, now withering and shaken, cold and gloomy. It no longer is a safe haven for you.

“Did anyone blackmail you with anything?” Steve asks calmly.

He’s prepared for the worst things to come.

He spent the whole night with Tony trying to figure out the so-called “academic conferences” you were supposed to be a part of, and there were eight of them during the last three years.

Some calls were too old to trace, but Tony has figured out it with the recent three conferences, you weren’t doing Keynotes or presenting your results to academia, but in the same spot in the Pacific doing God knows what.

It was undocumented waters. Tony could only gather so much info that the islands in the vicinity were bought by a mysterious wealthy man who paid through his Kaymen Island account.

And you were visiting it almost every four months. Like clockwork.

There were a few heat signatures on the island, but with no visible vehicle, neither ferry nor helicopter in sight, Tony would have to guess that you would need someone who can transport you from where you were to the island.

“No.” You have no excuse. No reasons. No idea what you should say.

But you weren’t blackmailed. You went there voluntarily.

His gaze feels heavy on your shoulders. From the corner of your eyes, you can see he’s looking at you intensely. Trying to figure out whether you are still lying to him.

“Are you cheating?”

The other possible explanation he has thought of. Frightening, if an answer of certainty comes out of your mouth, but it would explain your lies. Steve curls his hand into a fist, the veins on his hand popping briefly onto his skin.

The hands that caressed your hair and your jaw, cradling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. All the gentle moves. Treating you as a soft and delicate being. Now a hard fist on the table.

He didn’t touch you on your way back to your home. Nor did he accept your hugs and kisses at the airport.

He was very disappointed.

“No.” You answer, with your head low.

How could he doubt your relationship? How could he doubt your love for him? Waiting for him to return after every battle, taking care of his wounds, having-

How could he think all of those were lies too?

“Then what are you hiding?”

Steve maintains his best manners not to crush the table under his fist into bits and pieces. He wants you to answer. Something. Tell him why he has been kept in the dark.

Anything.

You open your mouth, but no word comes out.

“I can’t tell you.” You whisper, your resolve of keeping the secret faltering under his piercing gaze. But you can’t tell him.

There’s turmoil in your stomach, wreaking havoc in your guts. You want to throw up when thinking about the truth, but cannot say it. Not with your teeth and tongue. Not with pen and paper. You cannot. You physically cannot.

Nothing remorseful or any expression similar appears on your face, as Steve observes your reaction closely.

“Please, Steve. I promise I’ll tell you, but now is not the time. It was – is an important … deed, to do.”

Steve stands up from his chair slowly.

Not even looking at you anymore, he sounds emotionless. Cold.

“I thought for a moment you were kidnapped. Tortured. Lured into a trap.”

“Steve-”

“I was this close,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, “sending a full-blown rescue tactical team, to get you out.”

“Steve, please, just listen-”

“And are you talking, Y/N? Are you telling me what I need to hear?” He stands with his back to you, shaking with uncontrollable anger. “The truth, that’s all I want.”

“I can’t-”

“I can’t, either.” He interrupts you. For the entire time you can remember, from his cute and sweet attempts to ask you out on a date, from his chivalry of taking you out and asking you to be his wife, from the start of your happy marriage, he hasn’t once interrupted you when you were talking.

Tears roll down your eyes as you are tongue-tied, unable to utter a sound.

But Steve didn’t see those tears. If he did, he would have some idea that you are truly sorry for what you have done.

Steve stands with his back to you.

“I’ll save us the trouble and ask Tony to wipe our marriage from the system.”

Almost a shriek, your hands and feet are placed in the bottom of the ice pit, “You can’t-! I- You can’t!”

Your sobbing fills the room that was occupied by a dreadful silence. From your husband.

You would never imagine that a lie would go this far.

“Watch me.”

He can’t, not when you are-

Not when you are working on-

Not when you are trying to-

He can’t.

Realization dawns on you that even if you did tell him one thing that you can say to make him stay, he would consider it a lie.

Or an effort you make, trying to be bound to him.

That your trust is broken forever.

With that realization hitting you, he leaves the room.

Five years later, somewhere near Hawaii.

“This is really nice, what you got over here,” Tony comments in honesty, taking a step back to observe the rippling portal gate, “How long has it been put into use?”

Jean, the woman with flaming red hair and a scarf around her shoulders, has an impeccable smile on her face, leading the way as Natasha and Steve boarded the small vehicle up ahead, “Four. We used to transport to and from all over the world with the help of mutants who can create a portal. But as larger machines and construction materials were needed on Krakoa, the very land that you are standing on, our top scientists decided to benefit us all by inventing an instant portal device- Devices, should I say.”

As there are three large portals, each the size of a house, standing next to each other on the founding stones.

“Why are we even here?” Steve murmurs to Natasha, sounding confused, “I thought bargaining was Tony’s specialty…?”

“Smile, Rogers.” Natasha murmurs back, her eyes scanning the tropical island for any anomaly, “It’s a diplomatic event, not a business one.”

“Like a photo Op?”

“Like a peace offering.” Nat lowers her voice as she notices a mutant with bright green hair start the engine of their car, and take the position as their driver, “Krakoa now has the most efficient cancer eradication solution, and if we all behave and act like adults, the world would accept the possibility of the first mutant country. The UN is considering whether to add Krakoa as a new member country as we speak.”

“And if we blew it, WW3?”

“Worse. We will be hanged before we could say ‘assemble’.” Natasha sits straighter when Tony and Jean, the woman with red hair approaches the vehicle, and asks with a louder voice, “Would you mind telling us about the three-day trip planned on Krakoa?”

“Certainly.” With a look from Jean, the green-hair starts the car and drives away from the beach, heading towards a road that leads to the Krakoa city center. “We don’t have anything planned for this evening, so Lorna – our temporary driver - and I will show you around this place in general and escort you to your residence, where you will have dinner with our high council tonight. Tomorrow you’ll visit our university facilities and our most advanced laboratory, with our head scientist Hank. If you would like to visit any place else, feel free to tell us and we’ll try our best to satisfy your demands…”

Their residence is a small building near the city square. After a brief tour of the area, Jean tells them that normally they wouldn’t expect many visitors, so the building, though more well-equipped than most hotels, only resides the three of them, plus Jean for now.

Natasha strides across the room as Tony takes voice notes on his phone.

“… Their technology is at least two decades, if not three, more advanced than our top scientist.” With that as a summary, Tony stuffs his phone in his pocket.

And the room is filled with deafening silence.

“Do you think they cleared this place out when they are expecting us?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Tony and Natasha.

“They are afraid of us, as we are afraid of them.” Natasha says slowly. Not really answering Steve’s question, but hinting at the opinion that she has in mind. Her striding comes to a halt, “The looks we had on our way here? Not all friendly.”

“Too bad we don’t have a mutant as a middleman.” Tony clicks his tongue, moving around his jaw like he has a toothache.

“Tony-” Starts Natasha warningly.

They all know one mutant who helped around in the Avengers a few years ago. They know one mutant was exceptionally close to Steve. Hell, they were even there to witness the wedding of-

“I’m gonna go get some air.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a long exhale, before walking out of the room.

Of Steve and you.

You were not a powerful mutant. But you would be helpful, under a circumstance like this.

But Steve divorced you a few years back.

No one knows why. No one knows any information regarding the terrible divorce that made Steve leave you, leave the States for months.

Except that you were “missing” from time to time.

Natasha sits on the other armchair in the room, looking closely at Tony, and his greying beard. She chooses her words very carefully, “Was she…” Were you cheating back then? On Steve?

Tony shakes his head, “He never told me.”

“But is it possible that…”

“I wanted to believe the other way.” Tony nibbling at his bottom lip. In the end, he looks back at Natasha, the former Russian spy, “But the incident right after she left…”

A breach that erased all of your data, along with the data of three staff within the Avengers Compound, happened a few months after you left the Compound and disappeared. Not only the records of your information, but also calls and texts, almost every trace of your presence was erased completely from both Avengers Compound and the government system as well.

The three staff later identified as mutants. They fled from the compound on the same day of the incident.

No one knew where you were. No CCTV or surveillance camera has recorded your prescence ever since.

It's a shame to admit, but no one bothered to look either.

After all, there were no demands or ransoms asked. And they were too busy saving the world to care for such trivia.

Nothing else was missing.

A few printed photos that Steve kept in his office survived. Printed photos of you and him together. That he had kept in the bottom of his drawer ever since your divorce.

A week later, Krakoa was established, announcing itself as a country and providing shelters for all mutants.

Steve suspected that the two events might be connected somehow, but Krakoa banned anyone who isn’t a mutant from entering the territory and has been moving on the map ever since, refusing any prying eyes.

Steve wanders into the patch of green a few hundred inches away from the hotel, heading towards the beach.

He was painfully reminded of you.

Of your happy times together.

And the determination you showed when you refused to tell him about your affair.

Yes, your affair. Even though you denied it. Steve believes that you were lying to him. About your location, about your everything.

About your lover.

“… come on down little monkey!” A familiar voice ghosting his ears.

A little girl screams at the top of her lungs, before giggling and sitting at the far end of a branch on a tree a few meters away, “But it’s out of power-Hi, Uncle Hank!”

The girl has blonde curly hair, bouncing as she jumps on the thin branch that could snap at any second. Steve is about to sprint to rescue when he hears you.

Your familiar voice.

“Come on, Mommy will catch you.” You clap your hand, your back facing Steve, who is hiding in the bushes. Your arms stretched wide open, urging the little girl to come down.

Urging your daughter to come down from the tree? From a branch seven feet in the air? How are you even encouraging the little girl while she could break her neck is unfathomable to Steve. This is stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. A total -

“Come on, little monkey.” You clap your hand again, “It won’t be half as fun if I have to come up and get you.”

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know that the rocket boots will die so soon,” begins a man on your side, apologizing. A thin man with glasses in his 40s. “The battery is supposed to last five hours when I put them on- Oh.”

“Yes.” Steve hears your grumpiness, “Batteries. Hank. My expertise.”

Steve knows your expertise.

Although you studied quantum physics and its application, your interest in Physics derived from your ability to absorb power and power transformation. However, you were not particularly interested in fighting bad guys, that’s why you weren’t on missions as often as he thought you would.

Batteries. You would absorb electricity from it in an instant, even when you are not intentionally doing so.

“Exhibiting her abilities so soon?” Hank gasps in disbelief, raising his head to look at your daughter jumping on that twig, “Normally it would be until their teen years.”

You chuckle, “Missing out on the latest Bio lab, aren’t you? They just published a paper about how mutant parents would cause a higher rate of mutant children, and as a result, their abilities tend to show earlier. Even so,” you kick the sand under your feet, your voice less exciting, “Hers is showing earlier than I did.”

“You showed your ability when you were five, right?”

“Two months till five. But yeah, pretty early. She made the light in our room flick on and off, starting from a month ago.” You make one last attempt at your daughter, who is having her fun with those thick rocket boots on her feet, “Be a sweetheart and come down, alright? Mommy is getting tired and we haven’t had dinner yet.” You plead softly.

“Alright, Mommy.” The little girl answers.

As Steve watches from afar, worrying sick that your daughter would fall from the tree, she spreads her arms and falls from the tree. But like a piece of paper, descending slowly into your arms.

Absorbing gravity to cancel it out. One of your typical moves too. Steve thinks bitterly. No doubt the little girl is your daughter.

Hank offers something as you three walk further from Steve and the bush he’s hiding. Steve didn’t quite catch what he said, but he hears you reply with a certain “Yes”.

Your voice trails away, “But it’ll be fine. Won’t we, little monkey?”

The little girl giggles again.

“Do you want Daddy back, Mommy?” Your daughter Maddie asks abruptly as you take out the storybook before bed.

“I-” It would be a lie, to say that you do not want Steve. But years have gone by and you’ve built your life around Maddie and Krakoa. While you were desperate, wanting him back when you found yourself pregnant with Maddie, the night when he left your house, you knew that the only reason Steve would stick around, which is knowing that you are pregnant. Despite the responsibility he would be burdened with, he would also doubt whether he’s raising some other people’s child, since he already suspects that you were cheating, and your life would be miserable with his indifference.

You remember your panicking and fearing his leave.

Thinking that he can’t leave you, not when you are pregnant, not when you are working on a home and a shelter for your future children, trying to create a safe haven for you and your family.

But he left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You tuck a strand of her blonde curls behind her ears, gazing into her beautiful cerulean eyes, “I hurt your father really bad when I made the big mistake that we talked about. And he hurt me too. Not that he wanted to, but he left me alone in this world.” You kiss her short chubby hand, placing her hand on your cheek, “We won’t be happy ever again. Because I lied to him. And he will always remember it.”

“Oh.” Maddie sounds disappointed, scrunching her little face together, “But Daddy knows you are doing the right thing, right? Building Kra-Kra-Krakoa and our home?”

She tried a few times to pronounce the word “Krakoa”, making you smile.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You explain to her with more patience than you can ever imagine, “I have never seen your father ever since.”

“He should!” Your daughter curls herself up into a ball in your arms, nuzzling your soft pyjamas, “He should be proud of you. And what you did. You help build the island, Mommy. Daddy should know. And he will forget your lying.”

Kids. Always thinking everything in the world is so simple. A small grin creeps up your lips.

But in your heart, the bitterness swirls into a dark pit.

Everyone else understood. Other mutants who had a family, who told their partners they will be gone for a while, who lied to their partners that they were needed for a job.

Their partners did. Their partners understood the cruelty of separation and the pain that those mutants cannot utter a word about their whereabouts, or the details of the job. The worst you’ve heard of, aside from yourself as an example, was a huge fight between Lorna and her boyfriend, but in the end, she forgave him after a week, having enough trust for both of them to continue their relationship and got married two years ago.

But no. Not Steve.

Steve, who quickly jumped to the conclusion that there was no need to continue this marriage.

Steve, after leaving word of divorcing you, left. To some shit-eating place in South Africa, for two whole months.

Two months. Two months of prying eyes and prodding questions from the Avengers, which you knew they were being kind and helpful, but you couldn’t stay there. Not when it brought pain and scars to your chest every time you’d see some possession that belonged to him, and cry your eyes out, nearly losing Maddie as a result. Not when they were also suspecting that you cheated on Steve and scolding you lightly, telling you to “speak to Steve and ask for his forgiveness”.

They were his family. Not really yours.

Yours is here.

You kiss her forehead, tucking her in, “I sure hope so. Good night, sweetheart.”

Your smile fades as your mind drifts to the human delegation that is alleged to arrive today.

You asked to be kept out of the loop and out of the trails that the delegation is visiting. You even confirmed with Hank today that you would take these three days off from the lab.

You blocked all relevant information regarding those visitors.

You were raised by this mutant family, by mutants such as Jean and Hank and befriended them, and you had your heart broken in the human world. You don’t want anywhere near humans ever again.

“These are some state-of-the-art devices. I have to say, I’m very impressed.” Tony tilts his head to the side, reading the metrics recorded on the screen in the up-state Bio lab, “This is not quite my expertise though, the project you are operating here.”

Hank magnifies the part Tony is observing onto the huge screen behind them, “We are trying to incorporate human thoughts into robots, but in a wireless form. With a thought-” Hank, the man in glasses, places two stickers onto his head, and a robotic arm on the far end of the lab begins writing “Welcome”, stopping dead when it comes to “O”. Hank shrugs, not even bothered by the failure of the demonstration, “We have a talented specialist that helps with coding, but there are always some interferences with the transmission.”

Natasha clears her throat to gain their attention, “I’m also very impressed with the construction of the island as a whole. A construction this large should take … what, five years and a couple hundred workers?”

“Two and a half, to be precise.” Hank gestures for them to move forward onto the Physics lab, peeling the stickers off his temple, “About three dozen mutants involved. It would be sooner if it weren’t…” As if he suddenly was reminded of something, Hank let out a short “Ah”, and a brief pause, “if it weren’t some … unintentional held-up with one of our finest mutants.” His eyes land on sulking Steve, only for a few seconds.

Hank said it with a proud smile on his face. It didn’t take Steve forever to recognize the man from the beach last night, who gave your daughter, very irresponsibly, Steve might add, rocket boots.

Your daughter’s father is very irresponsible too. Not even showing up when your daughter is in danger. He thinks, clenching his jaw, praying for strength that he would punch that guy in the face if he ever meets him.

Natasha and Tony exchange a glance behind Hank, failing to notice Steve and his stern expressions.

“But it must have been a huge effort, even with three dozen, to keep them silent?” Natasha jokes light-heartedly, “There’s hardly any secret in the Avengers Compound without the full staff knowing it in three days.”

Hank nods politely, holding the door for them to come through, “Well, yes. But as you are well aware, a few of our best mutants are telepathic, meaning they could plant a gag order in our heads,” Hank taps his temple with his knuckle, “We couldn’t speak to anyone else about Krakoa for three years until it’s established. Our mind forbade us to speak of it because of the gag order.”

“Masochists, and they are proud of it,” Natasha whispers to Tony in a rush.

“It is troubling. Misunderstandings and arguments have aroused based on the gag order and its implementation.” Hank walks them through the long hallway from one building to another, “But we agreed it’s for the best at that moment.”

Tony makes a face that isn’t as obvious, but Steve and Natasha could tell that’s his disapproving face.

As Hank opens another door for them, the first thing they see is a little girl playing with her toy car on a tall chair. She slides the car down from a colorful track, and the track would deliver the toy car back to her hands.

“Maddison!” Hank rushes to her side, looking up and down to see whether the girl got hurt, “What are you doing here?”

“Mommy needs to pick up something.” Maddie points at you, cheering, “Look! Mommy Mommy!” She drops her toy car to the ground, and jumps off the tall chair, running to you and hugging your thigh.

Steve stops breathing. Seeing you, well and alive in front of him, with your daughter, in a rosy-pink dress that you bought while dating him a few years back.

You look … the same.

“Get behind me, Maddie.” You tug the little girl on her arm, to have her shielded fully behind your legs. An undetectable shakiness in your voice.

Maddie peeks from behind you. She doesn’t understand where this tension is coming from, but she understands one thing: “Mommy, is that Daddy?” She raises her head and asks.

You hate to lie to your daughter. But you are not going to let her be exposed to Natasha and Tony, and most importantly, Steve.

“Christ. It’s Y/N.” Tony mutters.

“Mommy, he looks exactly like the photo you showed me.” Maddie asks in confusion, pointing towards Steve, “He looks exactly like Daddy?”

“Maddison, not now.” It takes all your willpower not to push them all out of the lab at once, “Hank, would you mind?” You glance icily at Hank, urging him to solve the problem at hand.

“Yes, of course.” Hank starts to head the other way, “I’m sorry, but we’re behind schedule. If you would come with me-”

“No one is coming anywhere until we deal with this,” Tony announces, one hand already on his wristwatch, which you know contains a small plasma canon if he activates it.

“Is she…?” Steve knows the answer to his question before he asks. The hair and the eyes are similar to his, and the nose and lips resemble yours-

“Boys,” Natasha raises her voice, “Let’s be civil, shall we?”

“How old is she?” Steve feels a lump down his throat, “is she-”

“Civil?” You let out a dry laugh, the exact opposite of amused, “Tony Fucking Stark is ready to attack when he pulls out that wristwatch. And Natasha, long time no see, the same goes for your widow bites too. Yeah, I saw the glowing blue under your sleeves. You are trying to take my child away from me in a heartbeat and call yourself civil?”

“Tony, Nat.” Steve speaks.

Two words that bring the two of them away from their weapons.

You pick Maddie up from the ground, having your back to the Avengers, protecting your daughter from their grasp, “Let’s go, Maddie. I am apparently not welcomed here.”

“Y/N!” Steve calls to your back, “Y/N, please!”

Natasha is tempted to step forward and ask you to stay and talk this out, being blocked by Hank.

“I assume it is best that you stay right where you are,” Hank says politely, though his thin body has no intention of moving.

Maddie hugs your neck, laying her head on your shoulders. Her blue eyes focusing on Steve while you walk away.

Find my The Slumber Party Present Bingo Challenge here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your mouth is dry and your ears are buzzing. You can’t breathe or move. You stare back at Mr. Rogers. Your former boss and eternal tormentor.

Your hands shake and you try to wipe your sweaty palms on your pants. How could he be there? What cruel fate has brought him there? What are the odds that he would know Bucky? Somehow, they don’t seem like a strange pair but at that moment, it’s not an amusing observation.

“Oh, who’s this? Am I interrupting?” Rogers asks coyly, looking from you to the host, “a date?”

Bucky sighs and crosses his arms. You should be heartened that his attitude isn’t solely reserved for you but all you want to do is disappear. You flutter your lashes as you wait for his response, unable to offer much yourself.

“Steve,” he huffs, “we’re working–”

“Working?” Rogers scoffs, “on…?” He narrows his eyes with a crooked smirk, “bit young for you–”

“U-u-uhhhh,” you choke out, chest burning, head swimming, “C-can– d-d-d-do y-you— have a b-ba-bathroom?”

Both men look at you. You sway as Bucky backs up and nods, pointing you past the staircase, “down the hall to your right, just behind the stairs.”

“Th-th-thanks,” you sidle by him, nearly flatting yourself as you keep a staunch distance from Rogers.

He faces his guest again, just as quickly forgetting about you. You can’t forget any of it. Your escape isn’t much of one. A couple minutes if that.

“Is that why you’re dodging me?” Rogers’ timbre follows you, “really not your type. I’m surprised.”

“Would you shut up?” Bucky growls.

You don’t linger to hear the rest of their conversation. You nearly trip into the bathroom and lean on the door to shut it. You feel around until you find the little button to lock it and back away. You clutch your head as panic overflows and reality strikes you. You hold back a scream.

You’re trapped in this house with him. This strange place. You should’ve never come here. You’re so stupid. Just like before, you walked straight into a bad situation. You’re letting it happen all over again.

They are all right. You asked for it. You’re stupid. You’re worthless. You’re weak.

You crumple onto the cold tile, against the door as you bend your head against your arms, hugging yourself as you bite back tears. You’re going to have to come out eventually and you won’t let him see you cry. Not again.

You try not to think about it. The same memories that haunted your day. Following you like ghosts, inescapable, no walls can keep them away. You feel pressure on your throat and close your eyes. You hear his growl as he squeezes your neck, his body pinning yours flat.

“N-n-n-n-n-n-no,” you murmur into your lap, “p-p-please…”

You rock, trying to soothe yourself, trying to calm the maelstrom of nerves threatening to overflow. You bring your hands up around your head. You lift one and bring it back against your skull, beating yourself as if you can knock the thoughts free.

There’s a gentle tap, three solid knocks on the other side of the door, “you okay in there?”

Bucky’s voice has you whipping your head up, turning your back flat to the door as you press your hands to the tile. You gulp down air, hiccuping in your panic attack, vibrating uncontrollably. You hum before you can summon your voice.

“Y-y-yesss,” your voice crawls from your throat, “a-a-almost done.”

“Alright, just checking,” he drones back, his tone as dull as ever.

You wait, listening for the scuff of his soles as he backs away. You climb to your feet, stumbling into the sink and catching yourself. You turn on the faucet and rinse your hands under the cold water, spreading it over your face as you try to wash off the past.

You dry off and approach the door. You stare at the wood as your hand rests on the handle. You don’t know if you can do it. You can’t face him. You won’t survive.

You twist the handle and let yourself out into the dim hall. There’s only the light glowing from the front of the house. You take a breath and walk the hall as if you’re marching to the gallows. As you come to the front of the staircase, you find the entryway empty.

“Hey,” Bucky startles you from behind. You turn to face him as he appears in a doorway further down, diagonal from the bathroom, “in here. Just heating up the kettle.”

You nod and glance around. When you face him again, he’s watching you. Your fingers twiddle nervously as you pad towards him.

“Sorry about my friend. He can be pushy,” he steps back as you get to the door, letting you inside. His kitchen is nice; steely metal and gray granite. The kettle hums on the counter, a blue light glowing through the glass. “I’ll deal with him later though.”

“I-it’s f-f-fine,” you eke out.

“You sure?” He asks.

You stop and turn back to him. You shrug. What can you say? He wouldn’t believe you if you told him the truth. Just like everyone else.

“Y-yeah,” you bring your hands together, tugging on your index finger, wiggling it as if you might free it from the socket, “I th-think…” you lean back on your heel and look towards the door, “th-this will b-b-be a one t-time thing.”

“What?” He snaps.

“Th-the sc-scr-script. M-my lap-top broke a-and… I n-n-need a r-real job,” you sway back and forth, “s-s-sorry.”

He exhales deeply. You can’t even look at him. You hear the disappointment in just his breath but you’re used to that. That’s what you do. You let people down.

“I understand, you got a lot going on at home but I would prefer to maintain the same tone throughout the podcast. I wouldn’t want to get someone else,” he argues, “we haven’t even recorded yet. Can’t you see how it turns out before you make up your mind?”

“I d-don’t know…” you clasp your hands together, squeezing tight until the circulation slows to a throb. “I c-c-can’t–”

“You know, I’m sure your parents want you out as much as you want out. This could be your chance. I’m not paying you pennies.”

You wince. That alone tells you what he thinks of you. You’re pathetic enough to live with your parents so you’ll take anything. Even him and this stupid podcast. Your bat your lashes as your eyes burn. No, you walked out of that office and didn’t look back. You can do it again.

“K-keep y-y-your money,” you spin on your heel and stomp past him. 

He tries to latch onto you but you dodge him. You continue down the hall and grab your coat and purse, shoving your feet clumsily into your boots. He follows you, lurking as you slip the folio under your other arm.

“What did I do? Come on. Don’t walk away. We both know you need this.”

“I d-d-don’t need you,” you insist as you turn your back on him. “I’ll b-b-be j-just fine at my p-parents’.”

You pull the door open and plunge out into the rising storm. The weather reflects your insides. Violent, cold, and thrashing. You stop at the edge of the walk and bend to spit a mouth of bile into the snow. It doesn’t stop as your stomach churns with waves of memories washing over you.

[kittenofdoomage]

In case you missed it...

I'm currently posting a fic a day over on Ao3 for my Tropetober A-Z event on Patreon last year. It's a different character every day from different fandoms, mostly smutty (you know me). All red underlined links lead to AO3, please read the warnings on individual stories 😘

The fics:

A: Alpha/Beta/Omega - Winter Nights

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) You’re an Omega who lives at Kaer Morhen, unmated but belonging, almost like a pack Omega to the Alpha Witchers; Geralt, Coen, Lambert and Vesemir, though the elder Witcher is long past any need for you. Geralt is close to rut when he returns, and seeks you out.

B: Bodyswap - Worth The Wait

(John Winchester x fem!reader) Some supernatural beings don’t want to hurt anyone, they just want to prove a point.

C: Character Death - The One Good Thing

(Negan x fem!reader) You waited so long to have him back, and he’s waited so long to get back to you, now you can be happy again… right?

D: Dark fic - On Our Terms

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) A sorcerer out for revenge leaves you in a dangerous position, and you’re not sure you’re going to make it out of this one.

E: Enemies To Lovers - Trapped

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) An incident on a mission leaves you and Bucky trapped in a vault. Being sealed in a relatively small space is a problem on its own, but you’re faced with another dilemma; you absolutely hate Bucky Barnes.

F: Fake Dating - Keeping Up Appearances

(John Winchester x fem!reader) You haven’t heard from John in three months, after he abandoned you, but now he needs your help on a case. Are you willing to ignore your feelings to help him?

G: Glad To Be Alive - All Is Not Lost

(Negan x fem!reader) A sequel to "The One Good Thing" which was letter C of Tropetober.

H: High School Sweethearts - Bittersweet

(Steve Rogers x fem!reader) In any time or place, she'd love him.

I: I Don't Want To Ruin Our Friendship - Mistakes

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) She took a chance and it broke her heart - can Bucky fix the mistake he made?

J: Just Friends - Nightcap

(John Winchester x fem!reader) She’s sick of correcting everyone, and alcohol loosens the tongue.

K: Kiss Of Life - Near Miss

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) Geralt saves your life, then reminds you to never nearly die again.

L: Love Potion - A Wee Favor

(Dean Winchester x fem!reader x Sam Winchester) Dreams can come true.

M: Mates - Crossed Paths

(Alpha!Geralt Of Rivia x Omega!fem!reader) Destiny put them in each other's way for a reason.

N: New Old Flame - Always Yes

(John Winchester x fem!reader) They came so close to something special, only to have it torn away; is there any hope left for them now?

O: One True Love - Backseat Lover

(Dean Winchester x fem!reader) He's been keeping a secret from her, and when they're stranded alone for hours, he finally has to come clean.

P: Please Don't Leave Me - Vigil

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) He's halfway through a mission when something he can't fight happens.

Q: Queen Size Bed - Never Have I Ever

(John Winchester x fem!reader x Dean Winchester) Drinking can lead to all sorts of decisions, luckily, these are good ones.

R: Roommates - Sleepless

(Bucky Barnes x fem!reader) Turns out, the solution to the problem was there all along.

S: Soulmates - Runaway

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) You run away from the life your parents want for you, and finally find your soulmate in the most unlikely of places.

T: Time Travel - Time Breaks All Things

(John Winchester x fem!reader) - A misstep on a case puts them somewhere they didn't expect to be, and they're not sure if there's a way home again.

U: Unresolved Sexual Tension - Seize The Sam

(Sam Winchester x fem!reader) Dean "Matchmaker" Winchester strikes again.

V: Virgin - Life Lessons

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) The night that Geralt learned his most valuable life lessons…

W: Werewolf - The Wolf Moon

(Henry Cavill x fem!reader) A night of camping leads her right into the arms of fate.

X: Xenafication - Rough

(Geralt Of Rivia x fem!reader) Something changes you, and Geralt isn't sure it's a good thing.

Y: You Can't Fight Fate - Ships In The Night

(Dean Winchester x fem!reader) She keeps running to avoid heartbreak but she's breaking all the same.

Z: Zombies - Full

(Negan Smith x fem!reader) She knows she shouldn't, but the problem is, she wants to, real bad.

If you do check any of the fics out, please let me know what you think 😊

[whencyclopedia]

Chepstow Castle

Chepstow Castle, located in Monmouthshire, South Wales, was first built c. 1067 by William FitzOsbern and then significantly improved c. 1190 CE by Sir William Marshal (c. 1146-1219 CE), one of England's greatest ever knights who served four kings and acted as regent for Henry III of England (r. 1216-1272 CE). Chepstow Castle then became the home of a succession of rich and powerful medieval and Tudor nobles. Despite its innovative design, and the expense of its formidable defensive features - or perhaps because of them, the castle was never attacked in the medieval period. Chepstow is today a fine example of 11-13th-century CE castle architecture and boasts the oldest castle doors in Europe.

Early History

Chepstow Castle was first built from around 1067 CE by Earl William FitzOsbern, an ally of William the Conqueror (r. 1066-1087 CE). As with any medieval castle, the location was an important consideration for the castle's future defence and its strategic value. Accordingly, Chepstow Castle was built at one of the gateways to Wales on a limestone cliff overlooking the River Wye. The dramatic curve here in that river gave the castle its Welsh name - Striguil, meaning 'the bend'. Domesday Book (1086-7 CE) records Chepstow Castle as an asset (one of only two castles to be so categorised) because its owner could outweigh the heavy costs of its upkeep by charging a toll on crossing river traffic.

The Norman castle was one of the first to be built in stone, and it is also unusual for not being located near an urban centre. The solid rock base made the castle impregnable to undermining, and its high walls and towers made any attack by siege engines next to impossible. It is perhaps no surprise then that the castle was never attacked in the Middle Ages but it was largely intended as a fortified base from which to attack southern Wales rather than a point of defensive retreat.

The first version of the main rectangular stone castle keep (donjon) was built c. 1072 CE, one of the earliest to be built in England and Wales. The tower cleverly saved costs by having a thinner wall on the river side, and it had the main entrance on the first floor, a typical defensive feature of the period. Another cost-saving device was to reuse locally-found old Roman bricks and tiles in the lower courses, a reminder that the border region between England and Wales had a long history of conflict. Either side of the tower two enclosed courtyards or baileys (aka wards) were built. After FitzOsbern's son Roger de Breteuil participated in a rebellion against William the Conqueror, the Crown took possession of the castle. Sometime before 1119 CE Henry I of England (r. 1100-1135 CE) then gave Chepstow to a loyal follower, one Walter de Clare. Walter's nephew Gilbert Fitz Gilbert de Clare so impressed King Stephen of England (r. 1135-1154 CE) with his martial qualities that he was made, in 1138 CE, the Earl of Pembroke and the castle became thereafter attached to that title.

Continue reading...

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 2 - Le premier bonheur du jour

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: What happened while you were blackout drunk? What is your actual job on the crew? Why is there a lion on this pirate ship? These questions and more are left unanswered as you stumble your way through your first day on Captain Buggy's crew.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse

Word Count: 6.8k

“The first delight of the day Is a ribbon of sunlight It's the fresh breath of the sea And it’s the beach that awaits The first sorrow of the day Is the door that closes shut But soon after you come back And my life resumes its course."

x

Waking up, all you knew was that you were cold. Freezing, really, shivering so hard that you felt your bones tremble. It was because you weren’t dressed properly. You never slept in your underwear. You forced your bleary eye open and looked off the side of the bed, spotting your bag haphazardly abandoned alongside your boots and bandana. Bracing yourself for the chilly air, you pulled the blanket along like a cape to grab your bag, quickly retreating. Even that small movement left your head spinning painfully, a headache pounding twice into your skull, once at the base and again at the left temple. At least all of your clothes were clean, even if they had been mushed into a wrinkled ball. Moving as fast as possible you put on leggings and a sweater, tugging your fingers through your hair before pulling the bandana over your eye. After that, you huddled back under the blanket, staring at nothing and waiting for the shivers to stop. 

Between the headache and the cold, the only thing you wanted was to go back to sleep. That was the best way to deal with pain, or chills, or hunger, or whatever else you felt. If you were asleep, those things became automatic, you didn’t have to deal with them. 

You were halfway under when somebody knocked. 

At first, you hoped it was in your head. A dream. They knocked again, louder, calling your name. That was the thing to wake up the part of your mind that had been sleeping so soundly, that made you realize how wrong the situation was. 

Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You had slept in a bed that did not belong to you, wearing nothing except your underwear, in a room you had never seen before. The bed itself was set into the wall and hung with thick, velvety curtains. Windows lined the far wall, but they were covered enough to let in only the barest amount of light with more curtains and a familiar Jolly Roger, one with a red clown nose. After you recognized that, everything else fit into place. The desk littered with shiny clutter, the red and white theming, the odd mixture of grunge and opulence. You were on a ship. 

The person knocked again. Growing nervous, you threw off the blankets and pulled on your boots, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You had to cross through an anteroom to get to the door. It exchanged a desk and bed for couches, but was fundamentally the same. The air was cold. You opened enough so you could peer through the crack. Crina stood there, looking impatient. 

“So you are alive,” she said, giving you a once over with smokey dark eyes. “Barely.”

You opened the door a little further, blinking against the light. “What time is it?” you asked, your voice hoarse. 

“Nearly noon. Some ships were spotted so we had to leave earlier than expected, I’m surprised you slept through it all.”

You blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Everything was blurry, bleary, a puzzle with a picture so worn you couldn’t make sense of it. 

“Did you have fun last night?” Crina asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I… I guess…” you said, confused. You remembered the drinking, and talking, and laughing, but the specifics were lost in a blurry whirl. “What time is it?” 

Crina rolled her eyes. “Okay, come on. You shouldn’t be in there.” She didn’t wait to see if you complied before turning around. You followed, stumbling a bit before getting your balance and shutting the door behind you. “Those were the captain’s quarters, and these are the officer’s rooms,” she said as you passed a few more doors. 

“That was Captain Buggy’s room?” you asked, your brain chugging to play catch up. The headache was awful. 

She shot you a frown over her shoulder. “You don’t remember?” 

“No.”

She shook her head, although you couldn’t see her expression. “We’re going down to the officer’s mess. Careful on the ladder.” 

She turned from the narrow hall to an equally narrow drop of steps, easily descending. Dizzy and a little sick, you didn’t match her grace, but you managed to avoid falling. 

With your recollection of the ships you had been on when you were young, you expected the officer’s mess to be fitted with elegant yet utilitarian finishings. Modest, but not so much that it forgot civilization. And, in another life, perhaps it had been. Now it was a pirate vessel, and they did what pirates always did. Various props lined the walls, batons and boxes and fabric and wheels and all kinds of other things. Red and white striped banners hung across support beams as if to mimic a big top tent. Signs of age and destruction were everywhere, indication of the tumultuous seizure, but it had once been a fine vessel. Crina didn’t pause to let you gawk, indifferent to the decor as she led you to another narrow hall and turned. You got an odd sense of deja vu there, pausing. 

“Are we going to the infirmary?” you asked, steadying yourself against the wall. 

“Yes,” Crina said as she unlocked the door. “You’ve sailed before?” 

“When I was young,” you said. “My dad was-” You cut yourself off there, realizing that the end of that statement wasn’t something you should reveal. Marines were the enemies of pirates. It wouldn’t look very good if you suddenly revealed that you were the daughter of a Marine Captain, retired or not. “That was a long time ago.” 

“I see,” she responded impassively, opening the door for you.  

The smell hit you hard, like a brick to the face. Scent formed a sort of endless memory, one so ingrained into your mind that you didn’t know exactly where it came from, that you couldn’t remember independently but never forgot. Your body locked up, arrested by the familiarity. Perhaps it was what every ship infirmary smelled of, even masked with the sweet aroma of incense and smoke.

“What are you doing?” Crina asked. 

You shook your head quickly, holding your breath as you hurried in. It wasn’t like it was actually the same. The room looked far more like a place of mysticism than medicine, with a rainbow of glass bottles lining the far wall, herbs hanging to dry, and scarfs draped to hide the stark wall. It wasn’t even slightly the same. Slowly, you released your held breath. It was fine. 

“Sit,” Crina told you, shutting the door and immediately busying herself at the sideboard. You sat down on the table-like bed set into the wall, your shoulders and head immediately drooping. The surface was hard, meant for surgery rather than sleeping, but you didn’t care. With the weight of your head, you would have happily drooped down onto the floor. “Have you ever been drunk before last night?” 

“No.” 

“How do you feel?” 

“Tired,” you answered. “My head really hurts.” 

“Of course it does, you’re dehydrated,” she said, pouring water into a tin cup. The sound alone perked you up, made your parched tongue that much more dry. She added a spoon of powder before turning and offering it to you.

“Thank you,” you said, taking the cup. You intended to take it slow, but the second you got a taste of water, you couldn’t stop until it was gone.

“That’s two times,” Crina said when you were done and wiping your lips. “Two times that I could have poisoned you.” 

You frowned, looking down at the cup and back up at her. “That was medicine, wasn’t it? Like before.” 

“It’s already in your body, it doesn’t matter if you know what it was.” 

You averted your gaze, flushing. “I’m sorry.” 

Crina didn’t respond to that, approaching you instead. “How’s the bump on your head?” 

“It’s fine,” you said reflexively. It hurt, of course. It would hurt for a while. 

“May I check?” Crina asked. You hesitated, but eventually nodded, turning to give her access. The second she prodded the sore spot, you yelped, tears springing into your eye. “Ice will help with the pain and swelling.” She paused, smoothing your hair back into place. “Did you and Buggy have sex last night?”

“What?” you asked, whirling around. The quick movement did not help your sore head, sending little sparks of pain down your spine, your left temple thumping in protest. 

“You slept in his bed after a night alone on the ship, it’s not an unreasonable question. Everybody will assume, but I’m asking you. Did you and Buggy have sex.” 

“No!” you said, blushing furiously. “No. Captain Buggy wouldn’t… I can’t… There’s no way.”

“Earlier, you didn’t even know it was his bed. Could something have happened and you don’t remember?” Crina asked, her tone softening. You stared at her, stricken, your heart racing with sheer panic. “I’ll ask you another question—Is there any chance that you could get pregnant?”

“No,” you said, rubbing your face to hide the blush, feeling a little sick. Surely you would remember if something happened between the two of you. You didn’t even remember how you got into his bed. What you remembered was the warmth, and the saccharine sweet desire, and… Nothing. “He wouldn’t… do that. I wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not here to judge you,” Crina said. “And I don’t want to embarass you. Do you remember when I warned you about consequences? This is one. Sex is fine, but if you get pregnant, you either get rid of it, or he gets rid of you. It’s better to avoid pregnancy in the first place—safer too. I can help you with that.” 

She let that hang in the small room, waiting for your response. You had none, unable to so much as look at her. The thought of having sex was enough to make you wish the world itself would open up and swallow you whole. More than that, it was absurd to think that any man, let alone Captain Buggy, would bother with a one-eyed midget. It was disgusting to even entertain the notion. You were disgusting. 

Eventually, Crina sighed. “When you need contraception, tell me. You have to look after yourself, god knows that no man will. But that’s all I’ll say on the subject. Do you want more water?” 

You opened your eye. She held out the jug like it was a peace offering, which you accepted after a moment. There was no added powder this time. You wouldn’t have cared anyway, you emptied nearly half the cup before your sloshing stomach uneasily warned you to stop. 

“Those bruises on your wrists are impressive,” Crina said. “May I take a look at them?”

You winced, fixing your sleeve to cover the discoloring and wrapping your hands around the cup to keep them from shaking. “They’re fine.” 

“They look painful,” Crina said, leaning against the sideboard with her arms crossed, fixing you with a stare you didn’t like. It hadn’t been a question, but her silence made you want to answer. 

“I’m fine,” you insisted. She still said nothing, just looking at you. It made you squirm uncomfortably, the table creaking. “I was sick a lot when I was little,” you explained. “I’m better now, but I still bruise easily and… It’s fine, my dad says it’s normal.” He said it was expected for a child, especially a girl, to be a little more breakable. You were weak. Frail. That was why you got hurt so often, got hurt by things that shouldn’t have hurt you. 

“He says that it’s normal for you to have bruises? Did he tell you that broken bones and fat lips are normal too?”

“No… No, that was all my fault,” you said. “Because I’m not careful, I don’t ever think about how weak I am—because I was sick.” 

“What kind of sickness was it?” Crina asked.

You shook your head quickly. “I-I don’t know.” 

“What were your symptoms?”

“I was… sick.” 

“Dizziness, headaches, fatigue, chills, anything like that?” 

“I don't… Maybe. Some of those are because of the accident too.” You touched your bandana, tugging it down to ensure it was covering as much of the scar as possible.

“So you still have symptoms?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” you told her, flustered by the relentless questions. “I’m fine.”

“Why did that man, Randall, claim you were mentally unwell?” 

“I’m not,” you said, shaking your head, searching for the right answer, the one that she wanted. “He only thinks that because my dad… My dad worries about me. After everything that happened, he worries a lot.”

“Is that why you ran away?” 

You shook your head, staring down at your lap. Crying now was embarrassing, you focused your entire self on fighting the sting of tears in your eye. Trying to cover it up, you adjusted the bandana again, desperately forcing your thoughts onto something, anything else. 

“If it were up to me, I would not have medically cleared you to be here,” Crina said. “Asking you to perform any physical labor is out of the question, and you’re frail. It is more than likely that you’ll suffer severe injury by the end of the year.”

“I’m not weak anymore,” you said through clenched teeth, soft enough that she couldn’t hear that you were crying. “I’m okay, really. I’ll get stronger.”

“You can’t fix stunted development,” Crina told you. “But it’s not up to me. I’ll do what I can to help you as long as the captain insists upon keeping you around.”   

Your shoulders heaved with a dry, pathetic sob. 

“Finish that water and we’ll go to the galley to see about getting something to eat,” Crina told you. “Cry now, if you need to. After that, you’re going to have to be someone else’s problem for a while.” 

Crina’s medicine and some food had helped you feel better. The headache remained, a stinging, painful reminder of the past night, but you ignored that as you emerged onto the main deck. Sunlight blinded you and the wind whipped your hair into an unruly mess, the oppressively humid salty ocean air staggeringly familiar. Not all memories were bad. Really, some were good. Since your dad was a surgeon, he was allowed to bring you along to help. Fetching things, bringing meals, cleaning up, running messages, helping tend to the wounded. Back then, you were his sweet little girl.

You shook your head clear of those thoughts, squinting through the sunlight to look around. You were looking for Cabaji, Captain Buggy’s Chief of Staff. A man with green striped dark hair and a blue checkered scarf and, according to her, a sour expression. From the description, you would have thought he’d stand out, but it seemed like Buggy’s entire crew could be described with equally colorful traits. Most of them were busy with some task or another. Those who noticed you watched with expressions ranging from unimpressed to hostile. To your great relief, you didn’t see the blunt-featured Ivo anywhere.   

Assuming you would find the man by the quarter deck, you headed in that direction, trying very hard to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Strangely, your unassuming sweater and leggings made you the odd one out instead of helping you blend in. Eyes made your skin crawl as you passed. Did they all think you had slept with the captain? Crina’s words bothered you. They bothered you a lot. But if the two of you had done something, there would be evidence. More than just a missing dress. 

Hesitating at the steps, knowing it wouldn’t be appropriate to approach the quarter deck without invitation, you stalled out. People were still looking at you, likely wondering what you were doing. You didn’t know either. There, caught in a cycle of anxious uncertainty, someone passed right by you. At first, it didn’t register, but then you blinked and turned. Dark hair, checkered scarf. 

You rushed to follow him, relieved. 

“Excuse me,” you called. Nothing, although the deck was terribly noisy. You had to rush to keep up. “Excuse me, sir?” 

Nothing. He was walking so fast too, with a grace and balance you couldn’t hope to match. 

“Excuse me!” you called, reaching out to touch his arm. Your hand missed the first time, catching air. The second attempt connected, and that finally got a reaction, albeit a slightly violent one. You pulled back, narrowly avoiding his elbow. He turned around, searching at eye level before looking down at you. “You’re Cabaji?” you asked. 

“I am,” he said. 

“Um… I’m-” 

“I know who you are,” he said, cutting you off. “We met last night when you were boarding the ship.”

“Really?” you asked, taken aback. The entire previous day was blurry. Except where it wasn’t, but you couldn’t think about that. “I’m sorry I don’t… remember.” 

His eyes narrowed. “What do you need?” 

“I was hoping to talk to you. If you’re not busy, sir.” 

“I am,” he said, clearly irritated.

“Oh. Right. Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked. “I’m not busy.” 

Cabaji looked at you critically. “Do you know where the kitchen is?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Go down and pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch then wait for me on the bridge. I have to take care of something first. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded, eager to have something to do. “I’ll be quick.”

“Just don’t mess it up.” 

With that, he turned and stalked away. 

Having a task reinvigorated you. You probably drew just as many eyes, but now it didn’t matter as much. How many times had you been tasked to serve meals when you sailed with your dad? Countless. It was something you could do, a way you could contribute. 

Descending back down into the dark belly of the beast, you had to be careful. Last time you were on a ship, you had both eyes. Although you had gotten used to it in so many ways, you had even been able to scale the southside buildings, the sea required a different type of balance. 

“Back for more?” The cook asked when he saw you, his round cheeks ruddy from working in such a small, hot space. “I haven’t got any scraps, you’ll have to beg somewhere else.” 

“Cabaji asked me to pick up Captain Buggy’s lunch,” you told him, unsure if you should be offended by the comment. 

He looked you up and down, his mouth twisting. It was the same look Cabaji had given you, even similar to the way Buggy had sized you up. Nobody lingered on your bandana like the people in town, far more concerned with your size. “If you drop it,” he told you, grabbing a silver tray to put into your hands, “I’ll be frying up your skinny rump instead.” 

“I won’t, I promise,” you said. 

“When the captain’s done, you bring that back to me. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Better hurry then.”

With a final awkward nod, you made your way back up, extra careful with the tray. It was already getting easier to find your balance. You didn’t care if anybody was watching you as you crossed the main deck, all of your attention on not dropping the tray. If you messed up your first task as a part of Buggy’s crew, you’d be better off tossing yourself into the water. 

Unfortunately, Cabaji wasn’t on the quarter deck. The door into what you assumed would be the navigation and office was closed, but that was probably where Buggy would be dining. 

Standing there quickly became awkward, the sun piercingly bright and the tray getting heavier and heavier. You looked around for Cabaji a final time before going into the map room. It was empty, but on the other side of the sliding doors, you heard voices. Cautiously, you circled the large center table, intending to knock. The map, however, drew your attention. You knew it. You had seen it before. Your town was a burgeoning center of trade traffic, and so new routes needed to be mapped for merchant vessels to facilitate that growth. As a retired Marine, dad was always willing to help out with that sort of thing. He was well connected. Respected.  

One of the pirates had stolen the map right out of your own home. 

Before you could figure out how to feel about that, the door into the captain’s office slid open. You jumped, nearly dropping the tray as you turned around. A man with a white fur vest stopped at the threshold, his eyes immediately narrowing.

“Who are you?” he asked, his tone unnervingly accusatory.

“I… Um…” 

“Well, well, would you look at that,” Buggy called. You looked around the man to see Captain Buggy at the other side of the office, sitting behind a big desk with his feet up on its top. “She’s standing and everything, I’m impressed. After how wasted you got last night, I thought you’d be out for the whole day.”

“I brought your lunch, sir,” you said faintly, not knowing what else to say. 

“It’s about time,” Buggy said. “I’m starving. Bring that over here.” You entered his office, nervously skirting around the man who was still glaring at you. 

Just as you set the tray on Buggy’s desk, avoiding meeting his eye, the other door opened. You looked over your shoulder to see a very displeased Cabaji come in. 

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” Cabaji said as he crossed the map room. “I told her to wait for me out there.”

“Don’t worry about it, I was meaning to get you two in here anyway. Mohji, Cabaji, this is my new cabin boy—er, girl. Woman?” Buggy looked at you inquisitively. “How old are you?” He shrugged it off just as quickly, taking the top off of the tray. “Whatever. I had one, but that didn’t work out. An artist of my caliber doesn’t need a spineless yes-man to run my errands, I need a protégé that I can mold into something really special. I knew you were just the girl from the minute I saw you… Wait, no… No, I knew it from the moment you said that you would happily serve me for the rest of your life.” He grinned, cutting off a chunk of meat. “Yeah, that was it.”

You shuffled awkwardly, trying very hard to avoid looking at any of the men. It was true, but when he said it like that, it took on a far different tone. They had to be drawing the worst conclusions. 

“So, you two,” Buggy continued, talking at Cabaji and Mohji through a mouthful of food, “make it clear to everyone that she’s a part of the crew. I don’t want to hear shit about special treatment or whatever. Except for, you know, if anybody messes with her I’ll feed ‘em to the lion. Maybe that’ll perk him up, eh Mohji?” 

“Yes, sir,” Mohji said.

“Great,” Buggy said. “Cabaji, you can take the afternoon to show her the ropes. Make sure she’s up to snuff.”

“What about crew inspection?” Cabaji asked. 

“I’ll be here to help Captain Buggy with that. Your presence isn’t necessary,” Mohji said, looking at Cabaji with what you thought was a hint of animosity.

“I don’t need either of you to judge talent, that’s my business,” Buggy said irritably.

Neither man responded to that, but Buggy’s annoyance dissipated quickly.

“One last thing. Be careful with her,” Buggy said with a wink, his mood shifting yet again. “Don’t get fooled by the whole one-eyed innocent thing, she’s a real freak.”

“Understood,” Cabaji said, deadpan. 

“Great. Now get out of here. She starts tonight.” 

“Yes, sir,” Cabaji said, grabbing your elbow and pushing you in front of him so he could basically herd you out of the room, past the uncomfortably familiar map, and back into the sunlight. 

He shut the door and pulled you to the side, shooting it a wary glance before looking back at you. “Next time,” he said, “do what I tell you. I don’t care about whatever relationship you think you have with Captain Buggy, you will follow the orders that are given to you.” The implied or else was obvious from his intense stare. Part of you wondered what the or else would be, although the other part didn’t want to know. 

“I understand,” you said, bowing your head. “I’m sorry, sir. And I don’t… Captain Buggy and I don’t have any kind of relationship. Last night, we didn’t do… Didn’t do anything. I swear.” 

“That’s not my business,” Cabaji said. 

“I really mean it,” you muttered, although you could tell he didn’t believe you, and you thought about what Crina said, and waking up in your underwear, and you felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with a hangover. 

“We should get started,” Cabaji said, ignoring your weak objection. You swallowed hard and nodded. You had a job now, you needed to focus on that.

The first thing you learned about being a pirate was that you had next to no idea what you were doing. There were hundreds of things you needed to learn simply about living on the ship before you could begin learning your job, whatever that entailed. The biggest problem was how quickly you wore out. Cabaji was accustomed to being on a ship and athletic, you were neither. Having such a bad headache didn’t help. As the afternoon passed, Crina’s medicine wore off. If it were only the one hammering your temple, you could handle it, but the lump on the back of your head pulsed with every heartbeat, sending fresh sparks of pain down your spine every time you moved your head. 

Like a wind-up doll slowly running down, you fell behind. It was only a matter of time before you collapsed, his voice fading out and the world blackening on the edges. You didn’t do something as dramatic as fall, but you distantly felt your legs fold beneath you, too rubbery to support you anymore. 

“What are you doing?” Cabaji asked, stopping. 

“‘m fine,” you said automatically, your voice faint. “Sorry. I’m fine. I just need a second.”  

“Are you sick?” 

“No, jus’ dizzy,” you said, trying to get your bearings.

Cabaji knelt in front of you, tilting your head up with a hand beneath your chin. Your eye spun, his face blurring.   

“Let’s take a break,” he said, dropping your chin and standing up. 

You might have protested, but the truth was that you very badly needed a break. It was embarrassing, but it would be worse to pass out. So you accepted Cabaji’s help getting your feet, the world blackening on the edges. Fortunately, the officer’s mess wasn’t a long walk, and you gratefully dropped into one of the chairs. Cabaji sat opposite you, his dark gaze unwavering. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, but his stoic intensity made you squirm. 

“I’m really sorry, sir,” you said. “This won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” Cabaji told you. “There are things we should discuss. About your role on this ship, and about your duty to the captain.” 

That made you bristle, but you forced yourself to relax. He was your senior officer, this conversation was necessary. “Okay.” 

“Captain Buggy is a very unique man. He demands a lot of his crew, especially those who serve him directly. As his Chief of Staff, it is my responsibility to ensure you’re able to meet those demands. Your failure would reflect very poorly on me.”

“I won’t fail,” you told him sincerely, if a little defensively. “I promise. I-I know what a cabin boy does. I’ve sailed before, sir.”

Cabaji leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes narrowing at you like you were stupid. “Were you listening to what he said? Captain Buggy didn’t hire you to be his gopher or attendant. He gave you an official job to acknowledge you as a member of the crew so the others don’t mess with you, that’s it.” 

“Oh, um,” you said slowly, frowning, “maybe I misunderstood. I’m sorry, sir.” 

“We all know why you’re actually here,” Cabaji told you. “I’ll teach you how to perform basic duties, but your only concern is serving Captain Buggy. You will provide him with whatever he wants—will do anything he asks of you. You do not tell him no, or question his judgment.”

There was an implication bubbling beneath his directions that made you skin crawl, thinking again of what Crina said before, but you forced yourself to ignore it. Cabaji said earlier that it wasn’t his business, and it wasn’t. 

“I understand, sir,” you told him instead. “I really do.”

Cabaji’s demeanor softened slightly, his head tilting to the side. “No, you don’t. I’ve known people like you. Children who grew up on the streets, or malnourished ship slaves. Small. Frail. Weak.” He spoke bluntly, though without malice. “Add in your lack of skill and experience, and you’ve got no idea what you’re in for.” He sighed, leaning back. “I’ll do what I can to help you. As I said, your failure would inevitably become mine as well.”

“I won’t fail,” you muttered softly, staring at your knees, your headache hammering at the back of your skull, down your spine. 

He shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

When you thought about being on a ship, it was with the experience you had on Marine vessels. Strict order, stricter schedules, and militant discipline. What you didn’t think about was exiting the hatch from the lower deck to see a circle of pirates loosely gathered around a nearly empty spot in the middle of the deck. Nearly empty, except for a lone man beneath a makeshift spotlight. Music crackled out of a speaker, providing him a beat to follow for his routine. It looked like a dance, although not one you had ever seen.

“What’s going on?” you asked Cabaji as he came up behind you.

“Crew inspection,” he told you. “These are the new recruits.” 

You watched the man for a moment before your eyes strayed past the spotlight. Captain Buggy wasn’t hard to find. He leaned against the railing with crossed arms, his dark silhouette cutting through the sunset. Although his scowl was only barely visible, tense displeasure underscored every aspect of his posture. 

Following the flourishing swell in the music, the pirate ran from one corner of the emptied area, using his momentum to do a flip. To you, it was one of the most impressive things you had ever seen, but he landed wrong. A sharp intake of breath rippled over the gathered crew as he stumbled, unable to save it and falling down onto one knee. 

“Stop,” Buggy said, pushing away from the railing, waving his hand to stop the music. “Just stop. I’ve seen more than enough.” 

The pirate got to his feet, his head bowed in deference as Buggy approached him. 

“Was that a joke?” Buggy asked. The man didn’t respond. Without the music, a very loud hush had settled over the entire deck, even the flapping sails and creaking wood quieting down in the face of Buggy’s temper. “You’re all in on it, right? Because if you performed like this in front of an audience, the only thing they would do is laugh.”

The pirate muttered something you couldn’t hear. Buggy leaned in with wide eyes to listen.

“You’re hungry?” he repeated. The man spoke again and Buggy nodded sympathetically, his anger suddenly gone. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you were hungry.” He grabbed the man by the shoulder, smiling. “You shoulda said something sooner.” 

Without any warning, he struck the man in the stomach, using the grip on his shoulder to push him to the side. 

“How about some food for thought,” Buggy said, raising his voice as he strolled into the center of the impromptu stage. “I hired you, all of you, because I need talent worthy of my show. That’s what you signed up for. So where is that talent? All I’ve seen today is shit so bad it’s stinking up the deck. I oughta let every single one of you good for nothing nobodies starve until you can give me something—anything—that I can work with.” 

Everybody in the circle shuffled uncomfortably, most of them bowing their heads rather than meet Buggy’s eyes as he looked at each one in turn. 

“We’re done here, go get some grub,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll try this again after you’ve had time to reflect on your failure.” With that, Buggy stalked out of the circle towards the quarter deck.   

“Go get the captain’s supper,” Cabaji told you. “Bring it to his office.” 

“Oh, um. Yes, sir,” you said, nodding.

Cabaji left to follow the captain, and you joined the flow of people going down. It was a solemn group, full of stormy expressions and whispered dissent. You felt a bit of that yourself. Captain Buggy seemed amused by your lack of talent last night, but would that hold? You didn’t have any unique skills, and especially not anything even approaching as impressive as the acrobat from earlier. The only answer that came to mind was Crina and Cabaji’s sickening assumptions. But if that was true, Buggy would have said something. 

It had to be more simple than any of that. He wanted somebody who would be loyal, obedient, and could perform the boring quality of life tasks that captains were too busy for. You just had to prove that you really were the best person for that role. 

Food was already being served to crew members who were not among the new recruits, taken from the kitchen to the mess by other younger pirates. Nobody paid you any mind while you nervously hovered, unsure if you were meant to wait in line or not. You didn’t want to keep Buggy waiting, but you didn’t want to cut in front of anybody and draw attention to yourself. Your indecision was ended by the ruddy-faced cook recognizing you from earlier, giving you the captain’s tray without any further comment. Your skin crawled with the weight of the eyes that tracked you, watching you quickly take the tray and hurry out of the kitchen. 

Working against the flow of people was more difficult than following it, and you had to stop twice to catch your breath, the dizziness from earlier returning. 

The main deck had returned to something like normalcy when you returned. The spotlight had been exchanged for lanterns and crew members had returned to their duties. By now the sun had fallen very low, casting the ship in a smoky haze of near dark. You crossed the deck with your head down, watching your feet to make sure you didn’t trip on anything. 

There were no lights in the map room, just an illuminated line between the doors into Buggy’s office. As you got closer, you could hear Cabaji’s low, calm voice. You had taken too long, and you were a little winded, and Buggy was already unhappy, and part of you wanted to stay in the dark until you could calm your breathing and think of a good reason for making him wait. Instead, you knocked. 

“Come in,” Buggy called, and you opened the door, blinking as you entered his well-lit office. “Took you long enough.” 

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, hurrying to his desk to set down the tray. 

You half expected him to berate you, but he only rolled his eyes, looking back to Cabaji. “You were saying?” 

“Once we seize another ship, we can remain in that area. Those waters are thick with smaller supply vessels and that-” 

“Boring,” Buggy said, cutting him off with a loud enough voice to make you wince as you pulled the lid off the tray. “All of this. It’s all completely uninspired. I’m not gonna drum up any buzz by doing the same tired act as everybody else. People don’t give a shit about small fry supply vessels and shithole villages in the middle of nowhere. You know what makes people pay attention? Giving them something they’ve never seen before. Artistic vision—does anybody else on the ship understand that?” 

Cabaji didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You knew the flint-like look in Buggy’s eyes, in the tone of his raised voice. Any response could be the steel to start a fire.  You didn’t dare draw any attention to yourself, trying to remain as small as possible in the tense silence. A silence that was broken by the door opening loudly. Mohji walked in without knocking, a leatherbound book under his arm. He seemed to realize that he was interrupting something too late, nervously looking from Cabaji to Buggy. 

“I’m sorry to-”

“Did you get what I asked?” Buggy cut in brusquely, his mood shifting yet again to business. 

“Of course, Captain Buggy,” Mohji said. You took that as your cue to leave, passing Mohji with your head down to catch the door from fully closing. 

When you raised your eye to watch where you were going in the dark map room, a pair of eyes reflected back at you. It took a second for your brain to process that what you were seeing was real, but then you yelped in fear, stumbling back into the office and landing hard on your butt. 

“What was that?” Buggy asked from the other side of the room, amused.

“There’s… something in there,” you said, scrambling to get to your feet. “An animal.” 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Buggy said, nonplussed. “Why’d you let him in there? Everything’s gonna smell like wet dog.” 

“Richie doesn’t stink,” Mohji said. Realizing how his clipped tone might come across, he lowered his head respectfully. “Captain.”

“That was a dog?” you asked. 

“A lion,” Mohji corrected.

“A lion?” you repeated, your voice thin. 

“He won’t hurt you,” Mohji said dismissively. 

You nodded as though you understood. Even Cabaji looked more exasperated than concerned. They made it seem like it was no big deal, like lions weren’t terrifying wild animals that you would never want to meet without a set of bars between you. Even if circuses generally had animal acts, allowing one of them to wander around freely couldn’t have been safe. 

“Don’t look so scared,” Buggy said. “Not even Richie would bother trying to eat you. Not nearly enough meat.” 

That was obviously your prompt to leave. Between the embarrassment of staying out of fear and getting eaten by a lion, you decided that the second was at least more dignified. Still, you could feel the cold sweat on the back of your neck when you slipped out of his office and into the dark room. Hidden in shadow, the only thing you could really make out about the creature was its size. How could it even live on the ship? 

Slowly, you circled the table opposite where Richie laid, keeping your eye on him to ensure he didn’t move. You were nearly to the door when you heard the lion growl. Jumping in fear, you stumbled the last few steps to wrench the door open with shaking hands, practically slamming it shut out of terror that the beast would follow. 

Several seconds of silence from within convinced you that you were safe, scurrying away with only a few backwards glances to ensure you weren’t being followed. 

When you reached the bottom of the steps on the main deck, you stopped to breathe. Maybe from wearing yourself out physically, and definitely from being afraid, your head ached with an agonizing pulse, as if the pain were generating a heartbeat of its own. All at once, an overwhelming sense of alienation froze you inside. You were surrounded by strangers, stuck on an unfamiliar ship, there was a lion on the loose, and your only tether to a life you weren’t physically cut out for was a man you barely knew. And the day wasn’t even over. 

The wave of exhaustion that rolled over you at the thought of all you had left to do was almost enough to knock you over.

Squeezing your eye shut and rubbing your temple, you forced all of those thoughts away. It didn’t matter if nothing made sense, or if you were making a mistake, or that you were afraid, or that you were in pain. Those things never mattered, not when you had things to do. During all those dark months after the accident, that’s what dad said. Submitting yourself to service was the best way to deal with unwanted feelings, to express your grief in a way that could benefit others, and therefore be a salve to your wounded heart. 

All that mattered now was proving your own worth to Captain Buggy through service. You could do that. 

[trashytoastboi]

☠️Shanks Masterlist☠️

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks, Ace, Katakuri x Royal! Reader – Working as their bodyguard

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks, Mihawk x S/O Who cannot fight or handle weapons

☠️ Fluff Alphabet: Ace, Shanks – C, F, N

☠️ Fluff Alphabet: Shanks – O, Y, Z

☠️ Headcanons: Zoro, Ace, Law, Shanks - Reacting to their S/O baking a cake for them

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks, Benn x F! S/O who is easily drained around the crew

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks, Benn, Mihawk x S/O Who tends to isolate themselves when they feel they’re becoming a burden

☠️ Headcanons: Luffy, Robin, Shanks x S/O - Discovering their S/O is a sea dragon

☠️ Scenario: Pre-Yonkou! Shanks falling in love with F! Singer

☠️ Scenario: Soul Mate AU! Shanks accidentally discovering his soul mate

☠️ Headcanons: Modern AU! Shanks, Benn, Mihawk

☠️ Headcanons: Bodyguard AU! Ace, Law, Shanks

☠️ Headcanons – Stripper AU! Doflamingo, Shanks, Katakuri with F! Reader

☠️ Scenario: Roommate AU! Shanks x F! Roommate

☠️ Scenario: ABO AU! x Soul Mate AU! Alpha! Shanks with F! Omega Soul Mate.

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks trying to win over his F! Crewmate

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks and Yassop friendship - Benn and S/O reactions

☠️ Headcanons: Yandere! Shanks with F! Reader.

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks, Rayleigh, Whitebeard, Kid – Falling in love at first sight with F! Admiral and how they try for her attention

☠️ Short scenario: Shanks, Smoker - reacting to their Male! S/O putting his face between their pecs

☠️ Headcanons: Jealous! Shanks, Smoker, Killer, Whitebeard x F! Admiral

☠️ Scenario: Shanks and Mihawk with F! Crewmate – Competing for her attention

☠️ Short scenarios: Shanks #5. Can I hold your hand? ; Whitebeard #11. Making the other laugh; Katakuri #13. You are my love

☠️ Scenario: Shanks x S/O - #2. You’re comfy

☠️ Scenarios: Buggy, Kid, Shanks – Meeting the girl of their dreams, but she is a marine

☠️ Headcanons: Law, Whitebeard, Gol D. Roger, Crocodile, Shanks – Crossing paths with an extremely strong girl and them falling in love

☠️ Headcanons: Law, Whitebeard, Gol D. Roger, Crocodile, Shanks with F! S/O who is very curious and ends up in dangerous situations

☠️ Short Scenario: Shanks #8. Jealousy

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks, Zoro, Kid x Shy! Curious! S/O

☠️ Scenario: Shanks x Male! Straw-Hat! Reader – A Flirtatious Encounter

☠️ Short Scenarios: Sanji, Shanks, Whitebeard – Trying to get {Name’s} attention in the middle of a fight in a flirtatious way.

☠️ Headcanons: Sanji, Sabo, Shanks reacting to Crush! Reader who is super wary about sleeping around other people, but is fine around them.

☠️ NSFW Scenario: ABO AU! Alpha! Shanks x F! Omega! – #13. Knotting

☠️ Headcanons: Whitebeard, Shanks, Oden x Marine! S/O - Leaving the marines to be with them

☠️ Headcanons: Kid, Law, Shanks, Luffy x S/O - Walking in on their partner “confessing” to their vice captain

☠️ Headcanons: Shanks x F! S/O – Being an analyst of Geopolitics for the Revolutionary Army

☠️ Headcanons: S/O smacks Shanks, Ace and Kid’s butt.

☠️ NSFW Headcanons: Kid, Crocodile, Sanji, Shanks x S/O using their safeword.

☠️ Headcanons: Platonic fluff: Shanks x Younger! Reader who sees him as a father figure.

[alyana-luvs-u]

ocean eyes

!AUsteverogers x reader

Summary: y/n has to find a suitor by the end of the night or her aunt will arrange her marriage

🥂⋆⟡˚｡⋆🦢

word count: 1262

song: ocean eyes by billie eilish

🥂⋆⟡˚｡⋆🦢

Skirts swept the dance floor as adoring couples swept past you briskly, the soft melodies of the orchestra doing little to soothe your worries. The year was 1945, and the grand ballroom was filled with the sound of music and laughter as the guests twirled and swayed to the elegant symphonies of the orchestra. You stand tense at the edge of the dance floor, your heart fluttering with a mix of dread and trepidation for you were a maiden of marriageable age, and your aunt, with whom you had lived since your parent’s death, had made it clear that this ball was your last chance to find a suitor before she would arrange a marriage for you. Hours seemed to pass mesmerisingly as you excuse herself from yet another conversation you had unwillingly participated in. Grasping a champagne glass, you sip from it, before jumping as a mysterious hand taps your shoulder. The translucent chalice slips from your grasp as the bubbly liquid spilt upon your favourite dress dress. Turning around, you were met with startling blue eyes gazing at you apologetically. Viscount Steve Rogers meet your eyes, grimacing subtly at the mess upon the fabric.

“I-I apologise, Miss, I did not mean to scare you. Please, let me help you clean up.” He smiled charmingly, offering a napkin. You gape like a fish, trying to find the words to respond that somebody of such nobility and handsome had talked to you. Grinning easily, Steve took it upon himself to crouch down and wipe the mess, leaving only a faded brown stain upon the white.

“Please Miss-”

“y/n. Miss y/n l/n.” you manage to stutter out, still in awe of the man standing in front of you.

“Please Miss y/n, let me make it up to you with a dance.” Wordlessly, you accepted the outstretched hand, your own fitting in seamlessly with his own warm and calloused. You unsuccessfully attempted to conceal the wide smile that crossed your face as they glided upon the glossed wooden floor effortlessly, as whispers erupted about the two of you. It was well-known in court that the Viscount was single and looking for a wife to wed, and mothers had eagerly shoved their daughters in front of his dismissing eyes. You found your own gazing into his now, as he took in all the small details of your face, from your mesmerising y/e/c down to the beauty mark just above her lip. The dance was over all too soon, and the night swept on. Men came and offered dances just as well, but you declined them politely, deciding to step into the gardens for some fresh air. As you study the night sky, biting your lip, Steve steps out behind you, startling you once more.

“Pardon me Miss y/n, but you look troubled. Is there anything I could do to assist?” y/n placed a hand against her heart once more, before her eyes settled into a more comfortable warmth, as she shuffled upon the garden bench.

“You manage to scare me every time,” Steve flashes you an easy grin, settling next to you, so close that you could shuffle over an inch and your knees would touch.

“It must be my talent.” He clears his throat, his tone softening to a more serious one.

“Is there anthing I could do?” Smiling softly, you duck your head and look in his ocean eyes, finding nothing more than earnest truth.

“I…” You start, taking a breath as you scan the garden beds, flowers full in bloom, pink and red dripping from the leafage.

“My aunt. If I not find a suitor this evening I will be wed off not my own will.” Steve’s eyes widen, placing a caring hand on her shoulder. You feel butterflies caress your ribcage as he does so, electricity seeming to tickle the spot he touched.

“I…am sorry.” You sigh, already coming to terms with it.

“Thank you sir, that is most kind.”

“I…have an idea if you are interested?” His voice ends with a question as you tilt your head curiously.

“I am listening.” Steve takes a moment to look over you, as you blush self-consciously.

“I request us to have a fake courtship. My own mother, is pressuring me to wed, and I believe the next step is one your aunty has taken. We will assume interest in each other, and you will attend events, balls and dinner on my arm.” Your lips part in surprise at the offer, before you purse them in thought.

“that…might work.” You say slowly, taking the proposition in. It would be difficult, but with a believable story and good acting you just might be able to pull it off.

“I’ll do it.”

Being Steve’s escort was surprisingly easy. You just had to sit there, nod along and answer questions when asked. You had constructed together a believable alibi, that you had captured his interest at the recent ball, which was easily believable due to the big crowd that witnessed your dance. Steve bought you endless gowns and jewellery, gifts and piles upon piles of roses, which your aunt always teasingly mentioned whenever a new bouquet was dropped off. As you were getting ready for a dinner with Steve, your eyes fall upon the most stunning gown. It was perfect, and bound to blow away Steve, (not that you were caring anyhow) As you carefully step into it, shimmying into the silky material and stare at your reflection, you can’t believe it. You look…so you but not you.  The dress fit like a glove, exhibiting your features in the best way. It was a deep royal red, flowing off you smoothly like a blood waterfall in intricate patterns of lace and jewels. You quickly pin your y/h/c curls in a simple yet elegant hairstyle, clipping it in place with a barrette, before slipping on your red heels and starting down the stairs. You send Steve a nervous smile as he turns around. His lips part, as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

“What do you think?” You say unsurely, when he doesn’t say anything, his eyes fixated on you.

“Y-you, I-I, You look…stunning” you smile, twirling so the skirts flair out, before grasping your purse and standing upright slowly.

“Shall we?” He managed to splutter out, offering an arm to you, to which you accept and smile gracefully.

“We shall.” You whisper, starting towards the carriage, as Steve opened the door for you, gesturing for you to go ahead. You murmur a thanks as you step up, staring out the window as Steve stepped up himself and the ride started towards the Romanoff manor.

“I-You look amazing in that dress.” You grin, poking his chest playfully,

“and you look charmingly handsome as usual.” You sat in silence for a bit, admiring the view of the countryside as you rode into the hills, before a specific bump in the road sent you hurtling straight into Steve’s lap with a squeak.

“y/n.”

“steve.”

“I would like to propose an idea.” you feel the familiar spark of curiosity simmer as you nod, narrowing your eyes ever so briefly.

“go on,”

“I would like…to change this.” He gestures to you and then to himself.

“how so?”

“I would,” He took a breath. “I would like to make it so it is not pretense. So it is…real.” Your breath hitches in your throat, as you stared once more into his ocean-blue eyes fondly, butterflies erupting in her stomach as her heart rate sped up once more.

“I would love to.”

[lokisgoodgirl]

Clean [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After a difficult mission, your ex Loki has a revelation. (w/c 1.6k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Pining. Feelings. Smuttish. Loki x Fem Reader. A/N: I'm planning some filthy stuff soon - but for now, we're still in angsty romance era. 😇

Loki sat hunched with his back against the bathroom wall, head in his hands. Blood was smeared over the white shirt: his own and not his own. It was ripped in several places, sleeves folded up to the elbows.

“It wasn’t locked,” you said stiffly, fingers tightening around the knob. “Would it have mattered? I expect you’re quite desperate to see me like this.” He tilted his head, voice sharp, eyes tired. “Don’t you wish to capture the scene on your device? Surely Rogers would relish a commemoration of my ineptitude.”

Loki had made a scene as the team exited the Quinjet, throwing his ruined suit jacket off the roof of Stark Tower and kicking a fire bucket for good measure. His voice was choked with anger.

“Let me be,” he’d roared after Steve shouted something about medical in his direction. The Captain had turned to the rest of you with a defeated shrug, but your eyes hadn't left Loki's back as he waged a path though the doors and they slammed behind him in a flash of green.

Loki had taken the worst of the heat from the Hydra agents working undercover in downtown Chicago. He’d been cornered by three of them, and soon a capture order had turned into a triple kill—but not before taking some punishment for his efforts.

‘I tried to subdue them humanely,’ Loki had muttered afterwards, inspecting a deep gash on his forehead in the Quinjet’s sheen. ‘They wouldn’t listen to reason.’ ‘How hard did you try?’ Steve had sniped. ‘We’re in a pickle now, thanks Laufeyson. A real pickle indeed. Typical.’ To that, Loki had said nothing. He’d refused all clean-up on the way home, sitting in a fury-riddled silence that tainted the re-circulated air.

You took a step over the bathroom’s boundary, and then shrank back.

Relations between you had been frosty since you’d gone your separate ways: to this day you weren’t quite sure what had happened. One day, everything was perfect. The next—it was over. You’d chalked it up to the god settling in to life on Earth; him realising you weren’t the only person on the planet who thought the sun shone from his perfectly formed arse…but that had never felt right. Despite snooping, you’d never got a whiff of him shagging anyone else. Based on your experience with Loki, that was especially odd.

You took a deep breath, crossing the floor and extending a hand. To your surprise, he took it and heaved himself up. Fuck, you’d forgotten how heavy he was; how his forearms bulged when they flexed, how his body felt pressing down on yours as he railed you gently on the bed you’d shared.

Ok, maybe not that last one. You cleared your throat, pulling your hand back. Loki sighed, eyes cast to the floor.

“I’m filthy,” he said with an air of disgust, reflexively running a hand across his waist. Pain rippled across his features.

“You’re hurt, you need to go to—” “I’m quite well.” “Loki,” you warned. His lashes fluttered up, nailing his gaze to yours. An eyebrow cocked. Feeling your cheeks heat, you turned and switched on the shower. “Steve shouldn’t have spoken to you like that earlier,” you said, trying to keep the flurry of nerves from your voice. “You did what you had to do—they’d have killed you.” “Please,” Loki snorted. “They would not have killed me. I’m offended that you would even imply it.” You glanced over your shoulder. Even in his dishevelled state, he was giving every inch the haughty, regal snob that you’d fallen desperately in love with. And that was the problem, wasn't it? It was the only version of him you'd ever been granted.

“Then why are you in such a state?” Loki’s brow furrowed. “A what?” “Why are you upset?” “I’m not upset.” “You were literally sitting on the floor with your head in your hands.” “It’s an Asgardian victory custom.” “Loki…”

His jaw clenched as you leant against the sink and his keen eyes darted over your face. “I…tried not to kill them,” he said through gritted teeth. It was the same voice he’d used when the two of you had ‘the conversation’—you hadn’t heard it since. An icy finger trailed down your spine at the bitterness in his voice as he said, “I failed.”

Understanding blossomed through your mind. You remembered a cold winter’s night, Loki curled naked against your back, confessing his deepest secret while he thought you’d slept. I’m afraid I’ll never be good, he’d whispered in the dark; that I’ll always be stained with the curse of my past.

You realised the mask of stoicism had slipped from your face at the exact moment Loki’s expression shifted. His gaze broke, returning to the floor. “You should leave,” he said. “You’re not safe with me.” The echo of the last time you’d been alone together—the same words. Does he remember?

Pushing off the sink, you shuffled towards him, cupping his forearm. The grit of dried blood rubbed beneath your fingertips as you squeezed. “You can’t think that. It’s been years…”

Suddenly Loki’s hands ran up your cheeks, thumbs pressing into your jaw as your back met the wall. He’d pinned you under the shower, speckles of water hitting off his shoulder and splattering your skin. His eyes searched yours: all fire, and destiny.

“I’ll never be free,” he said. His gaze dropped to your lips and back to your eyes. “I’ll never be clean.”

You caressed the well-trodden path his buttons made up the front of his shirt. Still beautifully tailored despite the dirt, and sweat, and blood. “Not with that attitude,” you said, and his brows peaked. “Everyone knows your history, Loki. We need you here. We want you here.” “And you?”

The shower seemed very loud all of a sudden. Especially me. “You really have to ask?” You brushed the sides of his shirt apart and Loki swallowed, his eyes closing a heartbeat too long as your fingers lingered on the bruise forming over the flat of his abdomen. “Loki…” you chided, tracing the blossom of indigo across his alabaster skin. “Steve was right, you should be in medical.” He snorted, hands falling by his sides. “If you’d come five minutes later, it would have been gone.” Fat droplets of water roll over the tips of his cheekbones, streaks of pale skin beneath the dust and dirt of the mission. You’ve never seen him like this. He never let you see anything other than the perfect prince; the unshakeable god. “Doesn’t it hurt?” You circled higher on his chest, appreciating the taut skin firm beneath your own. You'd swear you could see the thrum of his heartbeat.

“Always,” he said sadly, and something in his voice told you he wasn’t talking about the injuries. God, I miss this. I miss him. Now, finally, you could admit it to yourself. The weight of the confession slid from your body, circling the drain as Loki shivered, and the dark pools of his pupils spread wider.

Cautiously, your hands ran up his chest, over his shoulders, peeling the soaking shirt from his back and down his arms. It fell with a slop to the shower floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a faint narrow of his eyes. You licked your lips, unsure of what how to answer. What are you doing? But it was now or never. This kind of vulnerability was a particularly rare ship to dock in Loki’s harbour.

Running your palms up his neck, he groaned softly as they slid up the sharp prow of his jawline, up the bladed cheekbones and into the slick of his sodden hair. He closed his eyes, a low sigh rattling his chest. For a moment, there was only the patter of water against porcelain.

“Showing you how to be clean again,” you whispered before your lips fastened to his. Loki’s eyes shot open, one hand slamming to the tiles behind your shoulder to steady himself as you pulled away. Your heart thumped between your ribs.

Oh god, he doesn’t want it. You’ve fucked it up. Memories of the longing glances you’d seen painted on his face across the room, the brush of his touch on your arm which lasted a second too long, the anger simmering beneath his skin when he thought you’d moved on. It had all been in your head. The thought was almost too much to bear.

“Why did you stop?”

Breath caught in your throat as his words soaked through the rising steam; low and smooth. The response fell from your mouth in breathless stages, hyper-focused on the shirt plastered to his skin. “I didn’t think you wanted it, I’m sorry I—” A soft, disbelieving chuckle rumbled in his throat before he said, “How could I not want you?” Your eyes rose.

The god was fully soaked now; hair plastered to his neck like ink, shirt and trousers moulded to the sinews and meat of his body like a second skin. The last traces of dirt from his skin were gone, and the water around your feet ran clear. You pulled the back of his neck towards you.

Loki’s kiss was an eruption of desire, of pain, of need; his palm slipping on the tile behind your head before switching to your waist. It worked over your hip, your breasts, your ass, never staying in one place, never lingering too long. “Gods, I missed you, I've missed you,” he murmured wet against your cheek. You crossed your arms over your chest, pulling the sodden top over your head. “So soon?” A soft smile curled at his mouth. “We’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?”

In answer, Loki ran a finger from the hollow of your neck between your breasts. A chill skated across your skin as your trousers dissolved— his too. He pressed his body to yours, warm against the sharp sting of the tiles. Water pooled in the crevice where your skin met, Loki’s kisses sliding over your lips—one slipping into the next—pants of devotion wisping down your throat. He lifted your thigh, manoeuvring himself inside with one, liquid movement. You clasped to his shoulders, nails digging in to his flesh like he might vanish. All you could feel was his body, his presence, his faint moan of relief in your ear.

“No more living in the past,” you panted. “Loki, promise me.” He tilted his cheek into your wrist, water droplets falling from the ends of his hair to the curve of your breasts below. “A fresh start,” he said quietly, kissing the delicate skin. You groaned as he thrusted gently inside you. “Clean,” he panted, “New.” “Together,” you said. “Together,” Loki replied.

And then, among plumes of steam and the slide of bodies and wordless promises, there was no more talking.

Tags in comments ❤️

[aimbutmiss]

another snippet from the shuggy fic I'm writing:

“You’re doing great, Buggy.”

Rayleigh nodded proudly with a smile and crossed arms as he watched the detached hand fly back to its owner, seamlessly reconnecting to Buggy’s wrist.

“It still feels weird.”

“That’s only natural. There’s nothing normal about it.”

Neither Rayleigh nor Roger had devil fruit powers, so even if they helped with his training, neither could help Buggy to a full extent.

“It’s in your own hands to figure this out and get through it. It’s scary, I know. But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

That’s what Roger had said, but Buggy wasn’t so sure. He didn’t feel like he had what it takes to figure this mess out on his own.

His breathing still got jagged whenever he detached any part of his body, his mind recreating the pain that should have been there but wasn’t. It worked similarly to phantom limb ache; your eyes see your hand get ripped clean off and it fills in the gap. It’s not like Buggy was actually in pain, but it felt very uncomfortable. It was getting better though, the more he used his powers. His mind was starting to catch up to his body. But that didn’t make him feel better. His own body felt alien to him. Nothing felt like it used to. He was sweating a lot more, and while Roger joked it was puberty, they both knew that was not the case. His overall body temperature felt much higher than usual. Crocus did checkups on him regularly, which showed that while he was indeed warmer, it was not to a dangerous extent. But he was still under the doctor’s careful watch, just in case.

Buggy didn’t let any of that stop his training. He put on a brave face because he didn’t want to look weak, to disappoint Roger and Rayleigh. He couldn’t let a minor inconvenience break him, not when Shanks was still training, getting stronger every day. Buggy might not have conqueror’s haki, but he could still be strong like his friend. At least he got the other boy beat in the smarts department.

Buggy could get through this.

He started sneaking out at night, when most of the crew was asleep, to find a quiet corner and practice. And while Shanks usually slept like a rock, he was weirdly susceptive to Buggy’s absence. It didn’t take long for him to realize what his friend was up to.

“Rayleigh would be angry if he caught you. You’re cutting up on your precious sleep time.”

Buggy rolled his eyes. “Sleeping one hour less is not gonna kill me. And Rayleigh can shove the worried father act up his ass.”

Shanks chuckled at the foul words. “Don’t let him hear that.”

The red head settled down on the wooden floor of the ship, making himself comfortable as if he was going to watch a show.

Buggy turned to Shanks with furrowed brows. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Watching you.”

“Why? Just leave.”

“Nope.”

Buggy felt like punching his friend to the other side of the Grand Line but managed to keep calm. He couldn’t let the boy waste his precious training time any longer. “Ugh. Fine, whatever.”

He started by detaching his fingers first, quickly pulling them back. Then he worked his way up, doing the same with his hand, his forearm, and eventually his whole arm. Then he detached them all at once. That still felt the worse. He could handle doing it one at a time, but cutting himself up too much made him nauseous. He went on to do the same with his legs, the foot first and working his way upward… Shanks, who had been weirdly silent up until then, finally spoke up:

“Have you tried detaching both feet at once?”

Buggy looked at him with wide eyes, shutting the idea down quickly. “Of course not! I’d just smack to the ground.”

Shanks rubbed his chin with curiosity. “Hm, maybe. But you can make your parts fly, can’t you?”

“…” Buggy stared at his feet in apprehension. He hated to admit it, but Red’s logic was sound. If he could make his limbs float, he could technically do the same with his whole body, right?

Shanks walked closer, holding his arms out like a safety net around him. “How about this? I’ll catch you if it doesn’t work.”

“… You better.”

“I’d never let anything happen to you.”

Buggy’s ears got red at the blunt confession. It confused him, how easy honesty came to the other. It was as if he could never feel ashamed of how he felt. Buggy would have felt envious if embarrassment didn’t overwhelm his other emotions.

“… Shut up.” He simply deflected because he didn’t know what to say. He turned his attention back to his feet and reluctantly raised one, detaching it from his foot. He stayed like that for a few seconds, not knowing how to go about this. It’s not like he’d be hurt badly, but losing your footing was not a pleasant thought. Everything in his brain screamed “Don’t do it!” but it all quieted down as Shanks’ hand sneaked its way into his, squeezing in reassurance. Buggy didn’t even realize it, but his other foot slowly detached from the ankle, skipping away from his body. He opened his squeezed-shut eyes one after the other, looking down at his lack of feet. But he wasn’t touching the ground.

He was floating.

He panicked at the sight and fell on his butt, or at least he should have but he just gently landed on it. He looked back at Shanks, who had held him from his arms to slow his fall, with grateful eyes. His feet skipped back over to him, reattaching themselves. He took the hand Shanks was offering and the boy pulled him up to his feet once again.

Shanks looked at him with wide eyes and an even wider smile, the picture of pure amazement. “Buggy, that was amazing!”

He looked away in embarrassment, unsure of how to feel of his accomplishment. “More like creepy.”

“But you can fly now! Imagine getting the hang of that… This is so cool!”

Buggy was still apprehensive about the absurdity of his powers, but he had to admit that this was pretty exciting news. He was still mourning the loss of his ability to swim, but he could fly now... sort of. Maybe it was true that you win some, and you lose some.

Still, floating felt terrifying, even when he was only a few inches off the ground. He was certain that nothing could ever fill the void the comfort of the sea had left behind.

“I think we should go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, probably. You did great today.”

Buggy smiled brightly at him. “Thanks to you.”

Shanks looked away, rubbing his nape as his face grew red. “W-well it’s what friends are for…”

Buggy slept like a baby for the first time in a long time, but Shanks kept staring at the ceiling till the first rays of sunlight filled the room.

[xxinkys-ocsxx]

First post on Tumbler! ^^

Hiya! I'm Inky! This is my introduction post, and at the time of posting, this is my first post on tumblr! but definitely not my first time on tumbler lol (I have a alt acc on my laptop)

(just a random reminder that this blog will include oc x cannon, if you don't like that stuff please be respectful ignore my blog and proshipers, ped0s, homophobes, racist, zoophiles etc, dni with me or my blog.)

I'm probably going to be posting art and POSSIBLY writing some oc x cannon/x reader fics on here because yass👏👏Anyway here's just a summary of me but as one of my ocs profiles loll

Name: Inky

Nickname: Inks

Gender: Cis female

pronouns:she/her

Species: Little sona gal

Nationality: England☕

Fandoms I'm in:

A:

Arcane

Animal crossing

B:

Bluey!

BEASTARS

Beetlejuice

Bendy and the ink machine

Black butler

C:

Circus of wishes

Cuphead

casino cups

Charlie the union

Chicken nugget

D:

Demon slayer

Deadpoll

Dark deception

Dhmis

E:

ENA

epithet erased

EYES ARG

F:

Fanf

Ferngully

Far fetched

F.r.i.e.n.d.s

G:

Glitter force

Garten of ban ban

Generation loss

GURBY

Guardians of the Galaxy

Gacha

Gravity falls

H:

Hazbin hotel

Helluva boss

Heart of Titans

Heathers

Hamilton

Heart stopper

Hotel transylvania

Harry Potter

Hilda

I:

Indgo park

J:- none yet-

K:

Komi can't communicate

L:

Lackadaisy

Lamas in hats

Little nightmares

Little misfortune

M:

Murder drones

Metal family

Mean girls

My little powny

My friendly neighbourhood

Mario

Monkey wrench

N:- none yet-

O:

One piece

Obay me!

P:

popee the performer

Perfect husbands

Poppy playtime

Portals

Purcy Jackson

Q: - none yet-

R:

Royal high

Ramshackle

rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

Rise of the guardians

S:

SpyXfamily

Spooky month

Sam and max

Sad ghost club

Skylanders

T:

The amazing digital circus

Tokyo ghoul

Toilet bound Haiko-kun

U: - none yet-

V:

Vampire series

Villainous

W:

Welcome home

Who framed Roger rabbit?

Wimpy witch

X: - none yet-

Y: - none yet-

Z:

Zipped up

There are probably SOOOO meny more I just can't think of rn :/

But yeah! That's me! Expect to see lots of art, mostly oc x cannon

I'm excited to start posting, until then bye!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You leave your things in the guestroom, feeling less than homey in the unexpectedly cozy space. You stop at the top of the stairs and listen below. You hear a door and feel cold air seep in. Bucky grunts and you hear a loud clack as he mutters.

As you descend, the noise comes clearer. You approach the wide doorway to the front room and peer inside. He kneels in front of the fireplace, setting split logs inside as he bends forward, reaching back to rub his lower back.

He takes a flyer from the pile by his knee and shreds it into strips, stuffing it under the tent of wood as kindling. He takes the long barbeque lighter and lights and end of the newsprint and leans forward to blow the flame to life.

You observe him, rapt by his diligent work. You're not very good at those things. Not much of a camper or anything like that.

Finally, the wood begins to crackle and he sits back on his heel. He stacks the leftover wood against the wall and gathers up the newspaper. He places it on top and tilts his head up to stretch his neck.

He groans as he turns, starting as he sees you standing in the door. You clear your throat and sidle through.

"Sorry, I... d-didn't w-want to get i-in the way," you murmur.

"So, how do you feel about sandwiches?" He asks without a beat, "about the only thing I got that doesn't need the stove."

"Y-yeah, that's fine," you shrug and head back to the window, finding comfort in the peaceful fall of snow.

"Ham or turkey?" He asks.

"T-turkey, sure," you say over your shoulder, "I c-can help."

You turn to peek over your shoulder. He shakes his head, "I think I can handle it." He hesitates, "you don't think I'm tryna poison ya, do you?"

You blink and give a look. You know he's joking but it's a bit dark. You try to laugh but it's more a croak.

"Kidding," he says tenuously.

"I kn-know," you reply, "sor-ry, just... still a l-little antsy."

"Ah," he nods, "I'll... be right back."

You face the window again as he strides into the kitchen. Well, this is awkward. You rub your neck as you stare out at the night, bright with the pure snow. The noise of cutlery and plates fills the silence.

You close your eyes, trying to clear your mind. At least in this weather, you know his friend won't be coming back. Mr. Rogers... the last person you ever wanted to see again. You can barely even think about him.

You'll have to tell Lisa. She'll help you figure this out. She doesn't know everything but she knows he's dangerous.

You shudder and hug yourself. You don't feel good about it, even if he is gone. He knows you know Bucky, you could run into him again. You really don't think this is going to work out. He's ruined another job for you.

"Here ya go," Bucky interrupts your spiralling dread.

You flinch and turn to him as he crosses the room. You accept the plate and look at the tall can in his other hand. He offers it along with the sandwich.

"It's craft," he explains, "I got a bunch and it's just me so... I figured after today, you could use it."

"Oh, uh, th-thanks," you take the tall can as well, "I'll t-try it."

You sit down in the armchair and place the plate on the low coffee table. You take one of the coasters and lay it down. You pop the tab of the beer and sip as Bucky disappears back into the kitchen.

When he returns, you're setting down the can. It's alright, not really your favourite. You don't really drink and when you do, you don't go for beer.

"Th-thanks," you say as he sits one the couch, a can of his own in hand as he balances his plate in his lap.

"Yeah, don't sweat it. Bit of an unexpected twist to the night but better than getting lost out there in the snow," he comments.

"I g-guess," you say before nibbling on the crust.

"So... why'd you run off so quickly?"

"I..." you shake your head and swallow. You don't know what to say. He must think you're dramatic.

"You didn't like my friend," he says, "you're shy or something?"

You keep your eyes down and take another bite. You don't want to think about it anymore. It's as if you can feel Mr. Rogers, his hand on the back of your neck, his desk under your cheek--

"Sorry, I ov-ov-over-re-re-acted," you sputter, "I w-wa-was-wasn't expect-ting h-him."

"Me either."

You focus on eating. Letting him linger in silence. You reach for the beer and slurp.

"You're worked up again."

"S-st-stop," you say quietly, "I-I-I'm f-fine."

"Don't sound fine."

"I h-h-have a st-stutter," you exclaim, "y-you don't n-need to ke-ke-keep remin-ding me."

"I wasn't meaning..." he huffs and juts his jaw out, "I'm trying to ask you if you're okay?"

"I s-said so," you snap. You close your eyes and hang your head. 

"Sorry," he apologises, again. Somehow, it doesn't help. "And I'm sorry you have to put up with an asshole like me."

"I d-d-didn't say th-that," you open your eyes and put what's left of the sandwich on the plate.

"I must be if you're trying so hard to get away from me," he sniffs, "I'm used to it. I know I can be blunt but... I thought we were working well together.”

You frown and entwine your fingers in your lap. Your heart is hammering. You could tell him right then who his friend is. Why you wanted to run. You could do it but you're embarrassed and scared and after all, you never did tell him no. You let it happen.

Your eyes tinge and your nostrils flair. You gulp thickly, "I--I-- I'm wh-what you s-s-said. A dis-dis-disappointment to ev-everyone."

"That isn't..."

"D-don't ask me w-w-why," you turn your face away as your eyes gleam, "ask him."

"Him? What?"

You cover your mouth. Why did you say that? Stop talking.

"N-nothing."

"You know him?" He asks.

"N-n-no," you grab the plate and bring it into your lap, "n-no. I--I'll h-help w-with the re-re-recording, o-okay?"

"How...?"

"Stop!" You squeeze the bread until you mush out a glop of mayo. You look down at the plate and drop the sandwich. "I s-s-said I'd do i-it. O-okay?! J-just--"

--like you told him. Just like did whatever he told you to. Just like he did whatever he wanted to you.

"Fine, alright," he raises his hands defensively, "god, you know, I'm trying to be nice and you just can't accept it."

Your lip trembles. You can't do it. You're fighting so hard and he just can't stop. You said you'd do the stupid show. You just want to change the subject.

"I... what did I do?" He's quiet.

You look at him as a tear slips out, "i-it's me," you say creakily, "I'm u-u-useless."

You stand and put the plate down next to the beer. You don't wait for an answer. He calls your name as you rush away, eyes bleary as you stagger to the stairs and grip the railing as you barrel up them. You shut yourself in the guestroom and sit against the inside of the door.

You're so stupid. Get over it! It's over so why don't you just grow up like everyone keeps telling you?

[invye]

How They Met [2/3] - CoraHawk

[CoraMiShanks Fix It AU]

I think it's time I write up my thoughts about how exactly Mihawk, Shanks and Rosinante met and outline the start of what will become their relationship. And since I am pathologically incapable of writing short posts, I'll cut it into three, so I can take my time.

Mihawk & Shanks [link]

Mihawk & Rosinante/Corazón [this post]

Rosinante & Shanks [link]

- Mihawk & Rosinante/Corazón -

Technically, Mihawk meets Rosinante before he meets Corazón. It just takes until meeting Corazón for him to realise that he did indeed cross paths with then Marine Ensign Rosinante a couple years back.

For that he can 'thank' Vice Admiral Garp. The Warlord system was created about a year into the aftermath of Rogers' execution; and with nothing better to do, Garp apparently decided that Mihawk would make an excellent addition. They spent another year playing catch across the Grand Line, with way too many cannonballs lobbed at Hitsugibune way too close for comfort, until Mihawk gave in.

Really it was less giving in and more getting bored. He had fought his way through the new and coming pirates, had found himself the old and established swordsmen and beat them all. Two years and the only interesting challenge left for him was Shanks, and the Dark King Rayleigh, whenever he deigned to resurface again. It wouldn't be long until the title is his, some people already considering him the Strongest Swordsman, and with the amount of Marines he has killed along the way, he's gained quite a lot of attention. A fact that becomes annoying as the Marines sent after him are more of an insult than a threat.

So Mihawk accepts Garp's invitation to join the Warlords. His acceptance was met by Garp laughing, clapping him on the back and then turning to a blond Ensign and saying: "See Rosinante, I told your old man I'd get him!"

Mihawk didn't make a habit of remembering Marine Ensigns, but when five years later that very same Marine turns up at the Warlord meeting as a silent shadow to Doflamingo? Colour him intrigued. He knew it was worth attending the meetings for the wine and the drama alone.

Corazón is not having a good time. Two months in deep cover and he couldn't convince Doffy not to drag him everywhere and loudly announce his long lost brother returned. So now he's standing in the corner of a room with six of the Seven Warlords assembled and has to pretend he doesn't know Sengoku sitting at the other end of the table. To make matters worse Doffy is making a scene as usual and the (former? please say former--) Marine Hunter has been unblinkingly staring at him ever since they walked in.

To make it even worse, Knight of the Sea Jinbe, leans over to Mihawk, says something, receives a response and then proceeds to give Rosinante Corazón an extended quizzical look of his own. The cherry on top comes at the end of the meeting, in form of Dracule Mihawk, Marine Hunter, walking by Corazón on his way out and quietly, just for them to hear, saying: "Good luck on your assignment, Donquixote Rosinante. You will need it."

Corazón falls over his own feet with how quickly he rushes after him.

Turns out the Marine Hunter / Strongest Swordsman / (Hawkeyes?) / Dracule Mihawk a) is not at all intimidated by Rosinante's silence ability, b) remembers Rosinante from his Ensign days on Uncle Garp's ship, c) dislikes Doffy with an unexpected fervour and d) thinks Rosinante is the worst possible choice for the job. Great.

Oh and also his Observation Haki is so strong that even despite the Silence blocking out all sound, he knows Doffy is about to walk in on them having a conversation. With words. That he isn't supposed to be able to speak.

Corazón swears he has been given extensive undercover training before all this. He swears. The deep cover preparation was a whole big thing across an entire year. But how is he, an alleged mute, supposed to explain away an extended interaction with another Warlord during which he didn't write a single note??

So here he is. Kissing the Marine Hunter and praying that Hawkeyes won't kill him for it. Or blow his cover.

And for some insane reason Rosinante will never forget to thank his luck for, Hawkeyes goes with it. Kisses him back (okay, first off, wow), gives Doffy the coldest side eye that has even his insane brother take a step back, says something about Rosinante better being safe in the upcoming storm, and manages to slip him his contact information under the guise of pulling out Rosinante's sunglasses which he proceeds to put on his face for him.

Rosinante Corazón is floored.

Doffy is delighted that his brother brings a connection this powerful to the table.

The message going along with Hawkeyes' number reads: "For when you inevitably require competent assistance" in perfect cursive that Mihawk must have written before all this.

[reineyday]

i posted these mishanks figure skater/hockey player au doodles and @giurochedadomani and i got to talking about mihawk wearing shanks's jersey during an olympic skate and then i typed this up lol i am extremely sleep-deprived rn but im not gonna clean it up unless i write the rest of it so. we'll see. ;P uhh and i'll tag @ellii0tt too since your post started this whole thing haha. ✨️

shanks loves to look at mihawk, and while the ice dancer's face when he skated was what first drew shanks to him, it wouldnt be inaccurate to say mihawk's oft-displayed chest might have also been a large contributing factor.

it's what he's expecting to see when mihawk skates out for this gala exhibition routine: the centre of mihawk's chest surrounded by glittering sparkles or ruffled lace or gauzy stretched tight fabric, the cross he loves prominently centred where shanks used to like to bury his face at night. he was expecting the opportunity to ogle--the invitation, really, as all mihawk's solo outfits usually were invitations to look and be captured by the way his body moves on the ice.

when mihawk steps up to the rink's gate to remove his skate guards--before shanks lets himself ogle--he takes a customary look at mihawk's expression, only distantly noting for now that mihawk is clad in a more vibrant red than the figure skater generally enjoys sporting. it'a just that shanks always likes to gauge mihawk's mood right before he goes out for a routine, so he can guess at his frame of mind for after his performance. today, mihawk seems more nervous than usual, like there's a lot riding on the line. it's strange because he looks more anxious before this exhibition skate--something just for fun that the figure skaters do for the audience, totally optional--than he does when he's about to do a routine that could net him an olympic medal.

shanks doesn't really take in exactly how familiar the red is until his eyes finally trail down to do some ogling and he finds himself confronted with his own hockey team's jolly roger logo. his mouth drops open as he registers that mihawk is wearing shanks's jersey--and it is shanks's, mihawk hasn't shown his back yet but the 39 on the sleeve is prominent enough--and he's wearing it on the olympic exhibition skate night on international television, and about to do a routine in it.

shanks would ask what it means, but he already knows. there's gasping and chattering as mihawk finally skates out and does a turn to reveal the large AKAGAMI 39 on the back of the jersey. shanks covers his mouth with his hand, already feeling his eyes start to burn with tears.

goddamn mihawk and his stupid goddamn--everything! shanks was fooling himself for ever thinking he could get over him.

mihawk makes a few more circles around the rink, gratuitous for him since he usually likes to just start right away. it's like he's showing off the jersey, making sure all the cameras get a good view of the back. all that extra time to look does actually make shanks realize it's a jersey from way before, so old it doesn't have his captain's C on it, because it was from before his captaincy. shanks huffs out a laugh as he suddenly remembers a laundry day early in their relationship where he accussd mihawk of stealing his jersey and mihawk told him point-blank that it was just lost. this asshole liar. shanks still loves him so much.

mihawk finally makes his way to the centre of the rink and poses in a starting position, raising his arms and drawing attention to the way the sleeves are folded back once to reveal his lithe wrists.

the music starts.