#captain's orders

[theinfamousodysseus]

Just thought you all should see this.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy. 

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now. 

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it. 

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out. 

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work. 

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices. 

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction. 

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.  

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head. 

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad... 

“You work?” You ask. 

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?” 

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money. 

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.” 

“Right,” you try not to seethe. 

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky. 

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt���something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell? 

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch. 

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again. 

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes. 

“I’m getting ready--” 

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet. 

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.” 

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says. 

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round. 

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner. 

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides. 

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls. 

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.” 

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists. 

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil. 

“Boring,” she chirps. 

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies. 

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think. 

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read. 

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume. 

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered. 

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own. 

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence. 

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’ 

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying. 

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’ 

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna. 

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up. 

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’ 

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth. 

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.; 

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first. 

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’ 

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so. 

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell. 

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.” 

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out. 

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.” 

“But I need a keyboard.” 

You ignore them and keep going. 

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!” 

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner. 

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks. 

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time. 

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out. 

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible? 

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens. 

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again? 

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her. 

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.” 

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?” 

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.  

“Is it mom?” You whisper. 

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.” 

You make a face. What? 

“Who...” 

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion. 

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.” 

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening. 

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks. 

You glance at him again. You’re lost. 

“Do I know you?” You grimace. 

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--” 

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--” 

“Outside. Privately,” he says. 

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book. 

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.” 

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be... 

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head. 

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers. 

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real. 

[theforswornelite]

All Anthony Mackie has to do is say -

"AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!"

and we'll come running. No questions asked. Captain's Orders

[captain-jones]

My sweet baby girl accidently ran over Doom's gay lover (For the record, he's just fine.) But we have now have a second, bigger problem. The storm has mayhaps closed around Freaky Fields and now we can't get to Castle Doom.

[ao3feed-curlya]

Captain's Orders

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Y4dzSgI by caseyleeee Anya decides to sit in the Captain's chair out of curiosity. Now she's the one ordering Curly around. Words: 3539, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Mouthwashing (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Anya (Mouthwashing), Curly (Mouthwashing) Relationships: Anya/Curly (Mouthwashing) Additional Tags: Friends With Benefits, Smut, Semi-Public Sex, the door just isnt locked, Soft Dom Anya, submissive curly, but theres also a balanced power dynamic so idk, Vaginal Fingering, Grinding, British Curly (Mouthwashing), this is important, author is a lesbian, not sure if that matters but, would this be softcore porn, Vanilla, sorry im basic, Mentioned Jimmy (Mouthwashing), was beta read by the freakwashing discord server, Body Worship read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Y4dzSgI

[theredlanternavenger]

aye, aye, captain!

punch nazis, protect your neighbors and look out for each other

[celestias-descendants-au]

The Tales of Auradon Series (Synopses)

A shred of context behind each story in the series. Potential minor spoilers

Perfect Storms

Hannah learns how to fit in, be good, and form positive relationships in Auradon, while Thomas learns everything about breaking them down. When he's done, he'll be lucky if even Hannah still looks at him like she did the first time.

Captain's Orders

Elizabeth has to leave behind everything she ever knew in order to find the only thing she's ever been looking for. But when she does find it, he's nothing like she expected, and dealing with that is far harder than she anticipated. With nothing left to lose, moving forward seems to be made up of infinite pathways, and choosing whether to return to what little she remember of herself, or reinvent a new life in Neverland is the biggest choice she'll ever make.

Fragile Curiosity

A relationship between Elianna and Alexander develops too late in the school year for anything good to come of it, but in the midst of final exams and preparation to graduate into their respective futures, they're determined to make it work. Can tabletop games, and masquerade balls close the looming gap between them?

Spring's Blooms

Rosa is invited to join a new swordplay team in Neverland. Her acceptance of the offer sees her starting a new school, and a new dance team, if only for a year's placement. The relationships she makes will be impossible to reverse or reinstate, the trajectory of her future will be permanently changed, and the awkwardness of rejection and heartbreak will be something she never forgets.

Against The Tide

A common goal reunites Elizabeth and Edward for a second time, but working together after the ways they've treated each other initially seems impossible. It's not until a threat to Elizabeth's life arises, and she double down on taking on the risk of a curse, are they forced to work together. Because regardless of the complexities of his feelings, care for Elizabeth is the one thing that has led Edward's actions for the last year, and he can't see that changing anytime soon.

I am a Lost Boy

Tobey gets his first experiences with dating, love, and interactions with girls. He'll have to learn the hard way that greed, manipulation, and selfishness will always be uncovered, and the people he hurts don't have to forgive him. Meanwhile, Ivy and Phoebe prove that sometimes a strong friendship is all you really need to be okay.

Wildflower

Rosa's story continues into Neverland's annual production, that she becomes part of by exclusive invitation. A group of new VKs, and a fresh plot concocted by Aurelia puts her friendship with Austin at risk, all while he tries to decide whether he wants to just stay friends with her. Will it all be too late when the truth comes to light?

Privateers

After months, even years of planning, Edward is finally ready to steal a family heirloom that he knows he'd never willingly be given; the Jolly Roger, his father's ship. It's been rotting on the Isle of the Lost for too long, and now with a crew behind him, and enough allies for the perfect plan, he can't ignore the opportunity any longer.

Death's Daughter

An old spell has reawoken, and it yearns for something greater than simply guarding the afterlife. Its connection with Evie is something she can't ignore either, and with the support of her friends, and a few allies with magic ability, they make a final journey to the Isle of the Lost to confront her past, and heal the wounds left behind. What no one realises however, is how deep in the Isle magic runs still, despite Auradon's best efforts to quell it...

Mercator Starlight

A prequel, telling the story of Adam and Belle's eldest daughter, Adaline, and how her name was wiped from nearly ever record relating to them because of her unsanctioned trip to the Isle of the Lost. A girl so different is easy to pick on, and in a place like the Isle, bullying can mean death. Luckily for Adaline, she builds a strong 'allyship' with the son of a pirate, Jed, who also has always been different. Keeping their 'alliance' intact could be make or break for them both, but are two people with such different backgrounds really made to last?

Accidentals

A side story of Neverland's music scene, which Bianca gets introduced to quickly, and all at once.

[loolilyumm]

Agent 3 interrupts the Octo Expansion character selection screen (not clickbait)

[taffybuns]

🦑💥🐙

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The mirror challenges you as much as the man who insists you call him Captain. You've made a lot of bad decisions in your life and this just might be another. Despite Steve's insistence to the contrary.

Worse, you've come so far you can't really ask him to take you back. Not just for the expense but you don't think Shea would take you back.

You frown. Of all the clothes you brought, he didn't keep much. You watch him go through with a fine toothcomb. From torn jeans to stained hoodies to you're not so flattering undergarments. He didn't like any of it. He said the white floral skirt and sleeveless white blouse would do. For now. Whatever that means.

This is why you don't wear that skirt. You can feel it tickling just below your butt. And the blouse is nice, but that criss cross applique at the front is a bit too low and a bit too revealing. You sigh.

The knock at the door makes you jump. You turn and cross the tile. You take a breath. Deep down, you hoped the bathroom might turn into some portal and take you away.

You open the door with a sheepish smile. Steve jabs you in the shoulder and you hiss.

"Posture," he reminds you for the nth time.

You rub where he poked and stand straight. He clucks as he looks you up and down. The dimple beneath his thick beard suggests his disappointment.

"I made some calls. We'll deal with that later," he says without further explanation. "Let's get started."

You hesitate then nod. "Yes, Captain."

He backs up and points you past him. "Kitchen."

You sidle past him and walk down the short hall to the doorway you passed moments before. You squeak and something tickles your upper thighs. Steve pinches the skirt as he tries to tug it down. You trip and twirl to face him just at the threshold of the kitchen.

"Whoa, dude." You exclaim.

"Dude?" He tweaks a brow.

"Sorry. Er, Captain. You surprised me."

"Well, your ass surprised me." He counters.

You blanch and put your hands back behind you. "I tried to say it doesn't fit--"

"There wasn't much to choose from."

You chew your lip. "I know... sorry."

"Don't frown like that. You'll get lines," he reaches to stroke your forehead. "Smile."

He brings his hand down to cradle your chin. You gulp. His fingers are long and thick. You feel fragile even as he applies no pressure. You force a smile.

"Mm, you can do better but it's a start," he taps your nose. "You are pretty when you smile."

The compliment doesn't feel like one. He looks past you and you back up on your heels. You turn and step into the large kitchen.

There's a square island of dark hardwood. Along the thick edge, there are curlicues carved into it. It's a very antique feel. Rustic even. The counters match, with similar patterns in the cupboard doors, with vines and leaves. The faucet is a burnished copper along with all the other metal fixtures. Everything is perfect. You feel even more out of place.

"Instructions are on the counter." He looms in the doorway behind you.

You look around. You don't see anything but a box on the counter. Small but worn. You round the island and read the handwritten label on the box; 'Recipes'. The cursive is tidy and loopy.

You glance at Steve. He watches calmly. you pull the box closer and slide the lid off. There are dozens of browned cards inside, little tabs sticking up with categories; poultry, dessert, soups...

"I like rye bread." He says.

You wince and peek at him again. Your lips turn downward before you recall yourself and reverse them. You thumb through the cards and pull one out. It's handwritten in the same hand as the label.

You find a recipe for 'Rye Loaf'. You slide it out. He hums.

"I expect you'll need at least two loaves a week," he says. "You can make it a weekly task, so long as it's done."

You nod. The silence roils until your ears burn. You stare at the card then glance at him. "Yes, Captain."

He dips his chin and crosses his arms. He leans against the doorframe as you contemplate your life. You've never made bread before. You boil ramen noodles and shove freezer-burnt lasagna in the oven.

You're stuck on the first line. '1 sifter of flour'. What does that mean? Jeez. You can't really ask for help. Not from Steve or the internet.

Next line? '1/2 cup sugar. 1 cup brown sugar.' Okay. That makes sense.

You turn and look around the kitchen. Where would you put the sugar? Likely in a cupboard.

"Pantry through there," Steve points over his forearm then tucks his hand back under. You look at the door nestled beside the cupboards. Alright. Well, he's helping a bit.

You open the pantry door and step inside. Wow. The shelves are packed with drygoods. Ingredients in bags marked diligently. Flour. Yes, you do need flour. You assume the 'rye flour' is correct. Sugar, in a canister, the brown in another.

You balance it all as you come back into the kitchen. You place it on the counter and check the card. Salt. Mmkay. Anise seed. Huh...

There's a spice rack mounted on the wall above the counter between the oven and the sink. You peruse it and find both ingredients. The variety is almost endless.

Next. Lard or butter. Probably in the fridge? You peer around. Wait, where's the fridge?

You stand clueless.

"What are you looking for?" Steve's deep tone rolls through you.

"Um..." you cringe. "The fridge?"

He strides across the kitchen and reaches for the large wooden door opposite the pantry. He reveals a fridge hidden behind. How aesthetic.

"Right, er... doi." You snort at yourself. "I'm a dummy."

He huffs and puts his hands on his hips. "No. Don't talk like that. You're doing yourself no favours."

You resist a frown as you near to look in the fridge. "Sorry, Captain. I was only kidding."

"Even as a joke." He tuts.

You reach for the butter dish and retreat. He's silent as you go back to your harrowing quest to make rye bread.

Milk. Easy. Back to the fridge. It's in a fancy glass jug. '2 cakes of yeast in water'... hmmmmm. Pantry? You go back to the storage and find some yeast. It's probably not the right stuff.

The recipe also calls for molasses. There's some of that. And white flour, with no measure. Well, you will have to eyeball it.

You stand before your array of pieces and wonder how to put them together. You flip the card. There are no directions. Your heart beats like you're taking your chemistry final in high school. Shooooot. Oh god.

Okay. Well, you obviously need a sifter. You are overly self-aware as Steve watches your search for it. You find it in a lower cupboard. Try to remember that for the future. Oh, and a bowl. Alright. Not a disaster. You're brain is operating mostly.

You put the sifter in the bowl. '1 sifter of rye flour.' you guess you would just fill it.

You open the paper bag of rye flour and pour it into the sifter. It clumps out and sends a dusting of powder up in your face. You gasp and right the bag. You stand in shock as the flour settles over your skin and clothes.

Steve steps up to the other side of the island. You peek up at him sheepishly. He blinks but says nothing. You make a strange face. He rubs his forehead and you wipe away the strain above your brows.

You find a cloth and do your best to clean up your mess. You suspect by the end of this, it'll be a full-on disaster. You sigh.

You grab the handle of the sifter and carefully shimmy it. The flour goes through so slow. This is boring. Finally, it's done. Sugar and brown sugar. You can tell by just looking it's some of that fancy organic stuff. 'Natural'. Alright, whatever. You just want to get this done.

You go down the list of ingredients. Whatever two cakes is, you're sure you have wrong as you measure the yeast on vibes alone. You mix it all up except for the white flour. You think you figured that out.

It gets thick. You must be onto something.

You sprinkle the flour over a wooden cutting board then flop down the dough. Steve paces around, hands on his hips. It reminds you of that show, The Bear. The clock is ticking down to your mental break.

You roll the dough then pile it into the loaf pan. You kind of want to slap it. You resist that carnal urge, chalking it up to your caveman blood.

Now baking....

400 seems safe. Or too much. You don't know. You face the stove as it preheats. When it beeps, you flinch. You shove the bread inside. You set a time. An hour?

You spin around, proud until you see the mess you left. Right. You take the dishes to the sink and wipe up the countertop. Oh, the floor....

"Um, I think I need a broom. And a mop..." You say.

Steve bends to look in the window of the stove. You gulp as you see him. He stands straight.

"Closet, across the hall." He directs.

"Thank you... Captain," you choke on the last word.

You scurry out to retrieve what you need. You come back and tidy, dumping the scatter in the bin and mopping up the excess. He hovers near the door.

The bread is almost done by the time you get everything tidy and away. It smells okay. A bit burny...

The timer buzzes. You rush over and open the oven. Your name rasps behind you. You grab the pan. With bare hands!

"Ach!" You drop it and it bounces off the open stove door. Why did you do that?

The bread hits the floor but stays in the pan. You hear Steve barreling toward you. He grabs your wrists and drags you to the sink. He twists it on roughly and shoves your hands under the cool flow. You whimper.

"I'm sorry, Captain," you whine.

"What were you thinking?" He snarls as he squeezes your wrists.

"I... wasn't. I was nervous."

He huffs and shakes his head. He glares at your hands. Your palms are blistering already.

"Could be worse," he mutters.

"Feels pretty bad," you shake as the pain sinks in. "Ow."

He lets you go. "Keep your hands under."

You obey and he stomps away. He closes the stove door and shuts it off. You mope over your tortured palms and sniffle. More scalding than the burns is your pride. You really are stupid.

He returns and shuts off the tap. He points you to face him. He gently dries your hands and you tremble. Your eyes well over and you sniff again.

He takes the tube of ointment he set down on the counter. He applies it with a swab. You can't stop shaking. Your hands are throbbing.

He unwinds the roll of gauze around your hands until they're almost fully covered from fingers to wrist. He secures it and gathers it all up. You flutter your lashes and dab them with your knuckles.

"Sorry," you wisp again.

He doesn't reply. He just leaves. You look down at the loaf pan and grimace. You grab a dish cloth and flip it over. The bread is burnt. You poke it. And rock hard. No give. You fucked up again.

Steve returns and you look up. He snatches the cloth from you and uses it to scoop up the pan. He tosses it all in the bin. You stand and watch him.

"You can send me back if you want." You say. You're almost hopeful that he will.

He exhales and faces you. There's a shine in his eyes. His mouth slants.

"I said I'll fix you and I will." He assures as his hands go back to his hips. "I don't give up that easy and you won't either."

[myxozoan]

ok gumby

[captain-jones]

INTRO POST !!

This will probably be short and sweet, as I like work being finished quickly, but knowing myself, I might go on talking for gods knows how long. Howdy, I'm Jersey (Rogers) Jones, but just about everyone calls me Jonesy, so why don't you just use that? I thought I'd finally make an appearance on this app, though it seems I've already been beaten to it, by multiple, other me's- But that's neither here or there, I'm probably just going to use this platform to document my adventures (the trusty ol' voice recorder isn't so trusty anymore), post photos of my dog, and if you're lucky, I might even drop the chocolate chip cookie recipe.

// OOC // Howdy! I'm the runner of this account! I go by he/they !!! I'll be using these tags when posting !! In character posting: #Captain's Orders OOC posting: #Indirect Orders This Jones account will be run based on friends and my own headcanons, aus, all that jazz, so buckle up! Please keep asks SFW !!!! I don't want any of that in my inbox, thank you !!//Note: This account is more or less based on the new and shiny Captain Jonesy skin? Which godforbid hasn't even been released yet, but I couldn't help myself, this man is already so important too me, why not snag an account while i could?//

[ghouljams]

Big, scary guy and small, frilly dog is such a powerful combo. And you're completely right that Simon would be swimming in pussy. As a dog lover I would absolutely be kneeling down to greet a darling Cavalier, bombarding Simon with a million questions.

"What's her name?" "How long have you had her?" "Oh, she's so well behaved. Such a sweet girl." "She has such a nice coat, you must take good care of it." "Do you usually walk in this neighborhood? Maybe I'll see you two around!" "I swear I could just eat her up! If you're not careful I might steal her and bring her home with me."

Meanwhile, Simon is standing there looking as intimidating as ever as I fuss over his dog.

You see him walking around the neighborhood, stopping in the same shops in the evening, the same cafe at night. Always with a little copper Cavalier trotting beside him, little pink bows on her ears matching the thin pink leash that's hooked lazily around his wrist. Sometimes he has a shop bag in his other hand, sometimes not, but always the god walking beside him. Her little legs tip-tapping as fast as she can manage to keep up with his long strides.

And every evening when you pass him on your way home you stop to coo over the little dog. "Commander," he'd told you when you first stopped to scratch her tiny head. You figured it was one of those compromises that men often have with their girlfriends, "you can pick the dog but I get to name it." Choosing something that felt masculine to make up for the frou-frou dog. It didn't matter to you, it was easier to let your guard down around a man you assumed was already taken.

Crouch to scratch the dog's tiny chin, giving Ghost a nice view down your shirt. Never once thinking twice about bending over to pet her little head, or smiling at the big man in the skull printed mask.

"What a good girl you are," you coo at Commander, as she leans into your hand, "I could just eat you up, you're so sweet."

"You like sweets, pup?" Ghost rumbles, deep voice sliding thick down your spine.

"I bet you do," You squeeze her little face in your hand, "I bet daddy gets you pup cups when he goes to the cafe, doesn't he?"

"Wasn' talkin' t'the dog." You glance up at him, heat flashing over your face as you meet his eye. "Gonna keep callin' me daddy, pup, or d'you got somewhere t'be?"

[ao3feed-curlya]

Captain's Orders

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/perVfmj by praiserukiakuchiki Grant Curly, captain of the Tulpar suddenly starts seeing visions of a burnt, fleshy version of himself, seemingly haunting his every move. Whilst dealing with all this, he starts slowly developing feelings for the ship's nurse, Anya. Curly wants to be free of these paranoid visions and hopefully live a nice life with Anya after their shipment is over. Words: 4313, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Fandoms: Mouthwashing (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Gen Characters: Anya (Mouthwashing), Curly (Mouthwashing), Jimmy (Mouthwashing), Daisuke (Mouthwashing), Swansea (Mouthwashing), Original Characters Relationships: Anya/Curly (Mouthwashing), Curly & Jimmy (Mouthwashing), Anya & Jimmy (Mouthwashing), Daisuke & Swansea (Mouthwashing), Anya & Daisuke (Mouthwashing), Jimmy & Swansea (Mouthwashing) Additional Tags: Angst, Jimmy Mouthwashing isn't an asshole, Though he is slightly annoying, Curly Needs a Hug (Mouthwashing), Anya Needs a Hug (Mouthwashing), Visions, Paranoia, Curly is Paranoid, Slow Burn, Romance, Not Beta Read, idk if this could count as schizophrenia, OCs probably won't show up until the end of the fic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, AU, Curly needs to take his pills, Jimmy mouthwashing is kind of an okay guy in this au read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/perVfmj

[deep4ried]

see yourself

[shuhuflesh]

cunty sukuna