cautious-creation

[cautious-creation]

Angel Shot (Meeting Jason Todd)

Fandom & Character: DC, Titans TV show

Pairing(s): OFC (unnamed) x Jason Todd (Curran Walters)

Word count: 1981

CW/TW: creepy drunk guy behaviour (incl. minor physical contact), mildly violent self-defence, vague description of a minor panic attack, drunk character, alcohol consumption (potentially underage depending on what canon and era you're visualising)

Rating: RT: suitable for teens

Summary: MC (unnamed OC) is being pestered by a drunk creep at a bar on a night out, fortunately she happened to choose a seat beside Jason Todd, though she didn't really need his back up anyway.

Author’s note: this is one of the options I came up with for how my OFC would meet Jason in that long multi-chapter fic that's been plaguing me for more than a year now.

RE. Angel Shot: An angel shot is a code word that a customer can use to discreetly signal to a bar or restaurant staff that they feel unsafe. The staff can then take action to help the customer.

Jason sat at the bar beside her, both having their own, independent, nights out. Unfortunately, she was bracketed on the other side by a pestering creep. Jason observed the far too confident douche bag with amusement, knowing that he was going to beat the crap out of him before he could hurt the unfamiliar girl even a little.

Jason scoffed at his lines and gagged at his dirty talk. MC heard J’s responses and felt a little more confident, or at least like the creep was pitiful and not dangerous.

Jason decided to intervene when saw MC getting more nervous.

"Hey, 'scuse me, my name’s Jason, can I buy you an angel shot?" He saw the recognition on her face, then relief as her fear seemed to dissipate slightly.

“That… that’s really nice of you to offer. I’m set for now," she gestured with her bottle of soft drink, "but, thank you, Jason.”

“You're welcome.” he saluted her with the neck of the bottle he held, “Let me know if you change your mind.” With a last smile, he sipped on his beer and returned to his night.

The creep was angry, baffled, and irresponsibly drunk.

“Why does he get you being nice to him and you’re all shitty to me?"

What a child. “Because he used his manners. He didn’t eye-fuck me before even introducing himself. He offered me a drink without expecting me to pay him back with sex. He gave me the option to remove myself from the interaction. And he didn’t get desperate and needy like a little bitch baby when I said no to him.”

Jason smirked, a little proud at the praise and definitely enjoying seeing the asshole suffer.

“I do not consent to you touching me. I have never consented to you touching me. The way you are speaking to me is making me feel uncomfortable and unsafe. Continuing to talk to and touch me now constitutes sexual harassment and/or assault, and, if you do continue to talk to or touch me, I will interpret that as a hostile and violent act and react in self-defense.”

The creep looked like he only heard every second word, mostly because his gaze was fixed on MC’s tits. “Sounds like baby’s feeling a little bratty for daddy.”

An honest-to-God gag ripped up her body, then she froze. His hand was plastered against her thigh, clammy and warm in the most disgusting way.

Jason froze, anger and violent thrill circulating in his bloodstream.

Within a second, the creep's head was extended as far back as it could go, with MC's thumb jammed into the underside of his jawbone, pressing against the sensitive lymph nodes. Her other hand had two fingers pressing down hard, nails first, into the top of his collarbone where it terminated into the shoulder capsule, the pressure causing his hand to fall numbly and limply from her thigh.

“Jason, may I have that angel shot now?”

“Absolutely,” he didn’t hesitate, “you want it with some lime?”

“Neat, please.” her gaze didn’t falter from ragefully glaring at the criminal in front of her.

“No problem there,” he said, taking the last sip of his drink and standing to escort her out.

She released the pressure from the fascia points, snatched up her handbag, and left, half a step ahead of Jason.

Once past the door, she slammed herself against the cool exterior face brick, trying to counteract the accelerating hyperventilation.

Jason took two steps through the door, then turned to her, looking confused, curious, and kind of amused (not intentionally invalidating or mocking her distress).

“Sorry, just need thirteen seconds to panic before I get out of here,” she said, gesturing to her small second-hand car.

“Cool,” Jason casually let his body fall against the brick beside her, hands in his pockets, like the suave-cool-dude he clearly was.

There was a small pause. Jason was chill. He seemed to have nowhere else he needed to be.

She focused on breathing, her head spinning with thoughts. Y’know, like: ‘holy shit, that could’ve become death’, ‘what did I just do’, ‘I could have died’, ‘is it work hours for my therapist right now’, ‘do I need to call someone about this’, ‘I feel like I’ve done something wrong’, ‘holy shit, there's a strange guy right next to me, and I have no idea if he’s safe, I’ve inconvenienced him, he helped me, maybe he expects something in return?, I should apologise for messing up his night; no, that's bullshit, I could have died’.

“So what’re we panicking about?” he asked.

Her breathing stopped on an exhale, then she burst out laughing.

He smiled, glad to hear her laugh, finding it a good look on her, and feeling pride at being able to evoke a positive response.

“Holy shit, dude,” she said, winding down from laughing. “Can I use that? One hell of a replacement for ‘wanna talk about it’.”

He chuckled along, a pretty, toothy smile semi-intentionally pulling at her heart. “How often do you ask people if they wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“Often,” she said with a fake wince, “Imma go with ‘often’ on that.”

“Shit,” he said, gaze skyward, “Might need different friends then.”

“Nah, I like my two whole friends,” she said.

He looked at her with a smirk. “What about your four half friends?”

“Those bitches were toxic. They never once asked me what we were collectively panicking about.”

He laughed and shook his head, looking back up at the sky. They were both really happy with the casual, playful conversation. She genuinely didn't know if this was flirting. He definitely was trying to flirt but wasn’t quite sure if she was reciprocating.

She risked a couple of glances at him, feeling proud of making him laugh, and pleasantly surprised that he hadn't just left. She admired his looks for a moment.

He seemed playfully content and wistful while he gazed at the sky. She perceived a streak of nihilistic or anarchistic cynicism in the way he watched the few visible stars.

She thought to herself, 'This is nice, the ambient city life, the cool night air, being with him,'. A voice in her head countered her thoughts with: 'WTF, you just met this guy, you were sexually assaulted, have had 15% of a panic attack, and you’re basking in the moment?' She then argued back with herself: 'I’m grounding, being present in the moment; things my therapist told me to do'.

She shook off the back and forth from her head and took a deep breath of the night city air before pushing herself up off the wall to take the last couple more therapeutically paced breaths.

Jason watched her move, feeling sad as he sensed the moment coming to an end. He knew he'd likely never see her again and lamented losing what could have been based on how nice 'what was' made him feel about himself. He chose not to reach toward her, to try to see more of her, to re-experience what her presence made him feel. He hoped this was something he could re-experience without her specifically, as this feeling probably wasn't meant for him, given his life, his job, his past, him; maybe he didn't really deserve it.

He didn't show her this, instead bringing his gaze to her with a slight tilt of his head, preparing to send her off and tell her she'd be just fine. He knew he'd probably watch her taillights fade down the street as she drove away, feeling a thin shard of sadness sticking into his sternum. He might even stand on the pavement, unsure of what to do with himself for the rest of the night, undecided on whether or not he should try to drown the new little bit of turbulence and sadness in a couple hours of billionaire-inspired hedonism and substance (ab)use.

She opened her eyes from her grounding breath to look at him. How had this happened to her? A gorgeous, ‘mainstream-cool’ knight in shining armour (kind of), standing- staying with her while she brought herself down from being in danger. Did she do something to inspire him to do this for her?

She knew she "wasn’t like the other girls" (yuck), but she didn’t think she had anything that would encourage a "mainstream-cool" kind of guy to sacrifice his time and energy for her safety. She certainly didn’t think she was simply pretty enough to warrant such a decision on his part.

She decided she was being prejudiced, assuming he was superficial based on how he looked and carried himself… and the type of club she had found him in. She would take it as it was, and be grateful to him and for whatever factors encouraged him to look out for her the way he had.

“Thank you, Jason. I don’t really want to bring it up, but… you may have saved my life tonight. So, really, thank you,” she expressed gratefully as they both drifted towards her car. She easily found her key in its designated pocket in her handbag.

“Well, you were the one who gave that asshole whatever that Vulcan nerve pinch thing was. And you were handling yourself perfectly fine before that too,” he complimented as she sat and turned the key in the ignition far enough to roll down the driver's side window.

“I mean,” her lips held a playful smile as she closed and locked the car door, “you’re not wrong,”

He chuckled, then removed one of his hands from a pocket to place it atop the car as he bent down slightly to see her.

“So, uh, you gonna be okay?” he watched her hands move while she secured her seatbelt. She sighed, looking ahead of her and biting her lip in thought, something he found quite endearing.

“You know what, give me your hand real quick,” she extended her hand to the sill of the open window and reached into the cubby hole (glove box) with the other.

Jason looked at her hand, noticing her gel-painted nails, a simple, dark maroon red, cropped to a reasonable, type-able length. Her skin was unmarred by the scars he bore, or the callouses thickening along the undersides of his fingers. He tentatively placed his palm against hers, half-preparing for her to recoil at contact with his tainted skin. Instead, she curled her fingers around his, so gently and with a type of care that caused an unfamiliar warmth to fill his chest.

Her other hand brought the nib of a pen to the back of his hand, “DM me tomorrow morning. I should have an answer to that question by then,” she said, finishing her ballpoint message. She looked up at him, trying to hide the hope she felt.

He nodded, “Fair enough,”

She responded with a smile that made her worry she’d shown him too much of her hope. She gently squeezed his hand before letting it go to turn the key in the ignition.

That last touch stole ten degrees of temperature from the blood in his veins, proving to be a slightly jarring half-second. The warmth of his skin lingered on her palm against the steering wheel.

“Again; thank you, Jason.”

“You’re welcome…” he stumbled over reading her Instagram handle from the back of his hand where she had placed it.

They both chuckled as she rolled up her window and pulled out of her parking spot, answering the siren call of her shower and bed a short drive away.

Jason stood on that pavement and quietly muttered to himself: ”…what the fuck just happened to me…?”

He was half right in his expectation of how his night would continue, because the billionaire-esque hedonistic substance abuse he chased did nothing to distance her and that bit of turbulence, comfort, sadness, and hope from his mind.

💖 reblog for more 🪷

[cautious-creation]

I'm itchin' to come back

I've been chipping away at a Titans fic (the 2019 show), jumping around the timeline of the fic, I don't even have the plot line planned out lol. I'm proud of my writing. I'm approaching 70 000 words in the doc and I want to start posting it (despite its chaos). So (if all goes to plan) here comes some Jason Todd (Curran Walters) x OC oneshots from a full fic I'm writing.

P.S. Season 4 wasn't available on my local streaming platforms when I started writing this and I haven't re-watched the show since starting to write, so...chaos + likely non-canon-compliant, ig.

[cautious-creation]

8/1/2022 Inspiration rained down out of the shower-head this morning and I got to jotting down some shit into the google docs document where I keep my fanfic WIPs. In the process, the strangest thing happened: I spent 30 minutes to an hour on Wikipedia learning about my country’s politics, law, and a part of what led to the riots and looting that fucking terrified me last year. (I almost only ever hear / read about USA politics and current events.)

My conclusions: we had a desperately greedy, absurd president for two terms too many, and...we do still have good apples in the lot. 

(also...probably shouldn’t have been listening to a villain playlist while planning a story about hackers that undermine an economy)

[cautious-creation]

Bucky Barnes and equine therapy

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); the Winter Soldier / Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan)

Pairing(s): 1st person readerxfriend!Bucky (is that how you do that type of tag?) intended eventual Buckyxreader

Word count: 450

CW/TW: horses...? (like, only mentioned, but if you’re that scared of horses then maybe skip this one?), canon divergence, OOC (”Bucky’s SHIELD psychiatrist” as fucking if)

Summary: Reader discusses with Bucky’s SHIELD psychiatrist the potential merits and risks of equine therapy (and then she and Bucky leave...that’s it. Literally just that)

Author’s note: I kinda...hate this. But...here it is. I remember wanting to do a whole little oneshot about equine therapy and horses being empathetic and picking up on people’s emotions and OC’s horse being a little shit and Bucky running after it...sigh. (I’ve ridden horses for +/- 10 yrs.) If only I‘d had the courage to write it then, because I fucking hate this thing now (not the word use or phrasing, though, I’m kinda proud of that for how old I was when I wrote it)

After all his torturous trials with Hydra, Bucky was physically, emotionally and mentally scarred. Of course I decided to do whatever I could to help him. "Doctor, are you sure this is a good option for him, I mean, what if he panics and ends up hurting the poor thing? That'll reverse any progress we've made." I asked. I could see James eyeing me with a concerned expression, almost completely masked by an indifferent gaze, key word being almost. "We know what we're doing ma'am. Horses are some of the most emotionally in tune and defensive animals that man has domesticated. If they feel threatened, they'll do something about it and with your experience with the creatures, you can intervene before anything bad happens." The SHIELD psychiatrist responded. I sighed, he has a point. Five years on horseback and two years of shadowing Psychology experts should qualify me to help a friend to open up a little bit about the past 50 years of his life. I nodded and stood to leave. "I'll call if I need anything, or if something goes wrong." I headed out the door, but not before I heard the doctor wish me luck. Bucky looked up from his seat in the waiting room at the sound of the door closing behind me. I smiled at him, he stood and followed me out the medical wing of the new S.H.E.I.L.D base. Only Director Fury and the doctors involved knew about the Winter soldier now being in my care and my 'mission' to...rehabilitate?...him. Once in the elevator I decided to explain the plan to my 'patient'. "The doctor wants you to do Equine therapy." He looked utterly confused. I sighed. "Horses, he wants you to make friends with some horses." He nodded and returned his gaze to the elevator doors. "When will I meet these horses?" I almost jumped at his first few words for the day. We're doing well considering it isn't even noon yet. "I was hoping we could go today. There are a few wonderful ponies in the riding school at the yard where my horse is stabled. If you're willing to go so soon." I looked to him for a response. He nodded. "That sounds nice." His gaze was unwavering as I set my hand on his shoulder. I was standing to his right so I know he could feel my touch on top of his jacket. I'm relieved I've finally found a subject he'll comment on, even if he uses one of the worst adjectives out there. "I'm glad you think so, I'm sure we'll have fun today, my horse loves to meet new people."

[cautious-creation]

Smithsonian

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); Captain America / Steve Rogers (Chris Evans)

Pairing(s): implied future readerxSteve Rogers

Word/page count: +/- 800 words

CW/TW: editing isn’t rigorous on this one (if that’s a warning i need to include...?)

Summary: Accidentally fawning over Captain America in front of Steve Rogers at Bucky’s Smithsonian plaque / display. He invites you to have coffee with him.

Author’s note: This is a simple, short piece, probably written around grade 10. I was inspired by reading Marvel preferences books on Wattpad so this is essentially a ‘meeting Steve’ preference. 

28/11/2021- I’m itching to post something new so imma post this. I haven’t edited it yet, only skimmed it over for mistakes that would be distracting. It’s not polished, its not finished or finalised, but I’m posting it to show my subconscious that things don’t have to be perfect for me to be proud of them.

2/1/2022- Edited as best I could. I’ll probably cringe at it again in a few years but -shrug- I guess that means my standards for my own work are higher 😊 (I hope). I hope that, even if I’m not super happy with it, you enjoy reading this.

🖖Wishing you a prosperous 2022 to grow and leave your mark on the world and feel accomplished by the year’s end !  🖤 💛  💚 🤍 💔 💙  (ADHD moment making my national flag from coloured heart emojis)

He walked past the popular pictures and text displayed on the walls toward his favourite part of the exhibit. I say favourite, but that isn't quite accurate. How could a display of a lost loved one be a person's favourite? No, it was more the most meaningful display. Whether it upset or cheered him up, it was always comforting to read about and look at the pictures of his best friend. He was usually the only one at the display. Most other people were more interested in all the other parts of the Captain America exhibit, but today there was someone else in front of that etched glass panel in the centre of the room. "James Buchanan Barnes. Steve Rogers' BFF. Greatest loss of the war, if you ask me.” there was a small sad smile, “I mean, Rogers seemed to manage his grief pretty well, much better than I would, but then again I don't have a Nazi organisation that I could blame and punish.” an eyebrow quirked cheekily, then furrowed to a frown “God it must've hurt." She dragged the edge of her thumb nail along the fingerprint of her index finger as she attempted conversation with the stranger beside her. "Yeah, it looks like he was a great person." He gave a tight lipped smile looking at the picture before him. "Cap seems like such a noble and decent guy, I can't imagine how great a person Steve is. Fighting for what's good and right, justice, freedom, all that stuff. I don’t think that can be turned off so... it would only make sense that Steve would have these characteristics too, they'd probably show in different ways though. I guess Bucky was the same." She thought aloud. The man smiled slightly, looking at her for a moment then back at the display. "I'm sure he was even more so." "Oh, um, I'm Y/N." she turned to offer the stranger her hand. "Steve." He shook her hand. "Uh-huh..." she nodded eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. "Might I ask your surname?" She asked, biting her lip and hoping she wouldn’t get the response that she expected to get. He lowered his head slightly. "Rogers." He mumbled. She nodded, scrunching up her nose, cringing slightly with so much regret at her choices. "Of course the person I was talking about would hear every word of it." She gave a breathless chuckle. "Did you really mean all that stuff about Bucky?" He asked, clearly having heavy thoughts and doubt of how accurate her opinion may be. She smiled softly. "Yeah... I do. It makes sense though, doesn't it? If you're as great a person as everyone says you are, then why wouldn't he be? He gave his life for you, went to war with you, protected you when you couldn't protect yourself, and the way he looks at you in the photo over there just screams determination and dedication to a cause that he believed in. Which was...protecting Steve Rogers." "I'm sure he’d appreciate your faith in him." he wasn’t sure if that made the path through his dilemma easier or far more difficult, but her input was helpful. "He'd probably be more proud of you though.” she deflected, evidently uncomfortable with validation, “Defeating Hydra, saving the world, doing right by him, all that great stuff." "He'd probably sock me in the jaw first for being so reckless." He laughed. "Well, isn't that what best friends are for?" She beamed. "Say, would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me? I’d like to talk to you more." He asked. She was taken aback, having to pause to rearrange her thoughts to respond, "You, uh, you mean now, right?" "Oh yeah, yeah.” he nodded, “Probably could’ve been clearer about that." He muttered. "I'd love to." she nodded, beaming and blushing. A text buzzing interrupted their short sweet silence. Steve frowned at his phone as he read the message. "Something's come up, could, um, could we rain check?" his face showed his sincere regret at the missed opportunity. "Of course." She nodded, accepting his silent apology. She dug around in her hand bag then handed him what looked like a business card. "Here's my number. Let me know when you're free?" She gave him a hopeful look that convinced Steve that there was no way he was going to miss that coffee date. "Of course." He smiled, assuring her he'd call. "Nice to meet you, I'll see you soon." He assured her, giving a small wave and headed towards the exit of the Smithsonian exhibit, "See you soon." he was out of earshot, so she hoped that he didn’t hear the giddy anticipation from her smile.

[cautious-creation]

Feminine / female dominance deserves revered titles.

Content waning: swearing, inelegant feminist rant (link to what feminism means),  brief mention of porn, to clarify: by ‘sexuality’ I don’t mean specifically (exclusively) sexual orientation

(this’ll probably stay in my drafts. I just got so angry at this realisation that I needed to write it down. I’m allowed to be angry that my power has been reduced to my sexuality) Fuck it. I’m posting.

I’m writing a romance piece where a guy addresses his female partner from a submissive stance, in a way that would empower her and indicate his respect for her.

The only feasible word I could find was... 

mistress

Connotations / synonyms for MISTRESS: 

Femdom, dominatrix, a woman with which someone has an affair, a headmistress of a school (female dominated field, y’know gender role expectations of child care)

I googled ‘dominant woman synonym’. I googled ‘powerful woman synonym’. I put variants of the sentiment into WordHippo.

I got things like ‘queen’...but I also got things like ‘harlot’ and ‘wench’.

A woman’s power is not inherently in her sexuality. I am not an authoritative, capable, respected woman because of my sexual appeal to others, or because of my past sexual experiences and sexual habits. Power to (self-identifying)  harlots, wenches, prostitutes, sluts, sex workers of all types. A woman’s sexuality being turned from a matter of societal shame to a means of power forces misogynists to reconsider what gives a woman value (yay!).

I am not a sexually powerful woman, but, if I’m in a position of authority or dominance, I deserve a term to be addressed with respect.

The words I have:

Mrs: defining a woman by her marital status, by her spouse

Ms: associated with a divorced or widowed woman, a woman who is looked down upon (at least from attitudes at the schools I attended)

Mam / ma’am / marm: adequate, but reserved almost exclusively for teachers. Also, I’m 19, pls don’t call me that

Miss: younger than ‘mam’ but less respected, considered young and naive, used for female students (and...well the ‘school girl’ dynamic in porn has arguably normalised the inappropriate treatment of young girls by older men, so I don’t really want to be referred to that way either)

Words men have:

Sir: powerful, used for all ages, all marital statuses and maintains the expression of respect, used for those having received a knighthood from a fucking monarch.

Mister: used for all ages, all marital statuses and maintains the same respect.

So...the immediate problem: Bucky can’t respectfully refer to his gentle-fem!dom-OC lover in a piece I’m writing (’mistress’ just doesn’t work with the dynamic)

Why I’m angry: the English language doesn’t have respectful words for women. There are no terms for powerful women outside of those with sexual connotation, reference to a woman’s value being tied to her marital status, or literally the word ‘bitch’ (that bitch, the bitch, boss-ass bitch).

To me, this is a reflection of how society and societal views shape and create language. It’s a reflection of historical views of women, and the language hasn’t changed. The language needs to change.

It’s so degrading. Why don’t women...actually, I know why: systematic societal misogyny and subordination bred by history and thus etymology. I just... *frustrated feminist noises*

TL;DR: I want a word that gives me the power of a man being called ‘sir’. I want women to have language that makes them powerful, without having to get their sexuality involved.

Something else that pissed me off in my brief research:

(To clarify: I’m not at all suggesting that WordHippo or anything related to it is misogynistic or anti-feminist or something.)

According to WordHippo, ‘main-squeeze’, ‘kingpin’, ‘master’, ‘figure head’, ‘maestro’ (literally ‘master’ in Italian) are synonyms for ‘mistress’, then there’s this:

I ended hyperfixating on analysing and identifying why this next one is such fucking bullshit, and why it got me so upset:

[cautious-creation]

A goat and a labrador -Spiderman/Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU) CA:CW era; Spiderman/Peter Parker (Tom Holland), 1st person gender neutral y/n. Mentioned: Happy Hogan (Jon Favreau), Iron Man/Tony Stark (RDJ), Flash Thompson (Tony Revolori)

Pairing(s): rom Spiderman/Peter Parker (Tom Holland) x 1st person gender neutral (I did it yay!) y/n

Word/page count: 5000ish words, 5ish pgs

CW/TW: fluff, low key threat of angst, swearing, non-sexual intimacy, thirsting, friends/colleagues to lovers

Summary: y/n helps (wrangles) Spiderman during his work trip to fight Captain America. A connection emerges between the odd pair.

Author’s note: Written when my country’s COVID-19 lockdown started and I’m still proud of it, so here it is. I think this ended up with a gender neutral y/n, I read and wrote it from a gal’s perspective so I struggled to pick up anything that would contradict it being gender neutral. If you, potential reader, spot anything, I’m open to comments, critiques and corrections (just be nice...I’m fragile).

He's hot. He's so fucking hot, and I want him.

Oh god that sounds awful. It kinda sucks that it's accurate.

You see, I met him during the Stark internship, the difference between us being that I actually was part of the Stark internship. How I of all people was accepted for the program still baffles me (I'm not exactly the type of genius you'd expect to be Tony Stark's protigé) but I'm definitely not complaining.

I suppose you could say I was shadowing Happy Hogan, it's not entirely accurate but a close enough approximation, that was the job I was given. I won't deny that I became a little concerned when, a couple months in, I was handed a fifty page non-disclosure contract with an impressive salary attached (impressive as far as first paycheques go) provided that I comply. I read it through, obviously, and had a lawyer clarify whatever I didn't understand, as one ought to, and signed up for one of the more exciting things I'd ever agreed to.

The rumour was that Stark himself was needing someone a little younger than Happy to be on this assignment (no offence intended to Tony Stark’s head of security). I was quite flattered to later find out that Happy had put my name forward. Apparently I was more responsible, respectful and difficult to be persuaded than the other candidates. Not to boast, but I think I remember the word ‘promising’ being used too. I wouldn't necessarily describe myself that way but it did get me the job.

Everything seemed to be on a "need to know" basis at first. I think they were trying to make sure I wasn't going to be stupid about this assignment, considering how important it was. They probably realised it wouldn't be a problem when I kept reminding them about the contract I signed every time they tried to emphasise the secrecy of the whole thing, they gave up eventually.

One day I was told to pack for a week-long businesses-y trip, then taken to Queens in a car with tinted windows. That was when I first met him; Peter Parker. To be honest: of all the things I'd thought this secret assignment would entail, I never expected to be tasked with being Spiderman's nanny (Happy actually described it like that once).

He was such a genuinely pure and sweet person. I soon realised how realistic a cover the Stark internship was for him (he fit the criteria perfectly). During the whole Berlin business, he was kind of just a happy Labrador that I had to try to keep focused on what he was supposed to be doing.

It was so heartwarming to see how excited he was to have the chance to make a difference, even if neither of us were entirely sure what his role was in the whole thing.

He and I shared a room throughout the trip, mainly so I could make sure he didn't do anything too stupid. Secretly, I think it was so that Happy didn't have to deal with him as much, he and Peter butted heads a lot.

Sometimes Peter would just lay awake staring at the ceiling. He'd say he was too excited to sleep but I quickly realised that he was also anxious, he didn't want to let Mr Stark down. I don't blame him (I didn’t want to disappoint Mr Stark either, I mean, he is my boss’s boss). On those nights, I'd slip into the bed, beside him, and tell him to just talk; no particular topic, no expectations, just talk.

Initially it was a bit odd (I won't deny that I had to be super aware of my behaviour and what I said to make things as non-awkward as possible) he couldn't quite figure out what to say. When I'd notice him becoming uncomfortable with a silence I'd start talking, just to fill the air until he was okay with talking again and I'd just listen.

He soon really realised that he could talk about literally anything, whatever popped into his head, trivial or not, and I would listen. Gradually, he became less uncomfortable with pausing, awkward silence just became silence. And gradually I became more comfortable.. or actually.. comforted... by his presence.

He rarely spoke about anything particularly heavy or emotional, which he seemed to initially think I'd expected him to (I didn't). Yet we both knew that he was communicating all of it, everything that was, and previously had been, bothering him. Everything that he didn't want to admit aloud was painful.

And I would listen to all of it. I would hear everything, even the things he didn't say, the things that words couldn't have communicated anyway.

At times, there were tears involved, admittedly, not only from him. I didn't make a fuss of it, as he learned to do too. The lights were always off anyway. Which, at times, I was quite grateful for, considering the entranced, somewhat longing stares I began to give him. I'd come to truly know him.

Those talks quite clearly helped him to fall asleep. As he became more comfortable with the concept he'd fall asleep sooner. He'd start talking slower, with more pauses, yawns would start to punctuate his sentences and slowly he'd drift off. Once he was asleep, I'd slide back into my bed and, myself, fall asleep, faster than usual.

One night, after a rather tearful conversation about our childhood memories, I started to leave Peter's bed to return to my own when I heard him sleepily murmur for me not to go. I was frozen still, wondering if it was just a wishful dream I had heard, until I felt his hand reach for mine.

"Are you sure?"

"Stay," He paused ",if you want." I held his hand as I climbed back under the covers.

"Good night, Peter." He responded by intertwining his fingers with mine and rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand.

That one gesture made my whole body catch alight, I was blushing all over. My breath had caught in my throat and my heart rate was boosted up by 20 beats per minute within seconds (I checked my fit-bit the next day).

I hoped to hell and back that Peter was too far asleep to have noticed anything, or at least enough so that he wouldn't realise what had happened. And if he did, it was unlikely he would remember by morning.

Perhaps I'd have preferred if he did remember.

I helped film some of the vlog he was making of the whole Berlin experience. I couldn't help but grin at his antics in front of the camera while trying to keep him quiet enough to not disturb Happy next door.

There were times that Peter and I were stuck in our room for hours at a time. I had to figure out ways to keep him busy, otherwise he'd go wandering off to who knows where - like I said, he's a Labrador. We did both have homework to get done, but with our combined talents for science and languages it took hardly any time at all, so when conversation started to get boring, I had to get creative.

At one point we were playing 2 truths 1 lie star wars vs star trek edition (and here I thought he was a Trekkie like me). We spent at least an hour showing each other our favourite cat and doge memes. (Yeah, I'm that type of fun nanny, woke to all the fresh memes).

We were clearly getting desperate when one of us suggested ‘spin the bottle’, of course, we agreed that it would be somewhat pointless with only two people.

Then, when Mr Stark took him off to the airport, I was … well.. I was scared shitless for Peter. Happy had set up what was essentially a viewing room in the hotel where Stark's entourage could watch the fight from whatever cameras they could access and any news channels reporting on it. I sat there, terrified. If I were a nail biter, my fingertips would have been bleeding when I walked out of that room.

When I first saw Peter after that, I so badly wanted to run to him, wrap myself around him and kiss him until we'd both be gasping for air. I almost did. I actively had to remind myself: this was my job, I was working, my boss and my boss's boss were right there, caring this much about Peter was not part of the job description, in fact it would have probably threatened my position had anyone found out.

To see him back at the hotel, safe and with that Labrador excitement, was a relief to say the least. Peter's enthusiasm as he told me all about his experience consoled me beyond belief.

It was on the day he came back that I became truly screwed. We'd done quite well until then to time our showers so that the person had the room to get finished and dressed. But after the battle, Peter needed an "unscheduled" shower before any wounds could be addressed. And this is where things went wrong. Of course, I wasn't thinking as I sat down on my bed, tablet in hand, to do some admin work I'd been given.

No longer than five minutes into my work, did Peter walk out of the bathroom brushing his teeth, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. That action in itself wasn't exactly problematic, we'd become comfortable enough with each other that it wouldn’t’ve been, an issue. I glanced up giving him a little smile, you know, to acknowledge his presence. Thankfully it was only after looking back down at the tablet that I really realised exactly what I'd seen.

Before then I'd only kinda seen the muscle definition on his arms, and hadn't given it much thought. But now.. here he was. In glistening glory. The build of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps, his pecs, his abs, the peaks of his hip bones and that curve travelling down...fuck.

My eyes stuck to the tablet that my hands began to tighten around. Just one glance, I'd only had one fucking glance and this is what I'd been reduced to? A flustered, objectifying mess. It felt like my lungs had stopped breathing. I didn't even know what my heartbeat was doing. "Don't make this a big deal." I mentally instructed myself. "I cannot make this a big deal. If I do I'll be destroying all of the work I've done to help him feel comfortable."

Out of my peripheral vision I saw him turn his back to me to get some clothes out of his suitcase that sat on a shelf in the cupboard.

I had to look, I had to witness this. I stole another swift glance. Shit. That muscle, supple skin. Flawlessly defined. The movement created as he shoved stuff around his bag. The tensing and contracting. Fuck. My skin went red hot. I sat very still, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The muscles over my belly tensed of their own volition. "Wtf was that reaction?" I took a deep breath, trying to pass it off as a sigh.

"I'll be out of your hair in a moment."

"Huh?" I looked up, a little too quickly, Peter was still rummaging through his bag.

"Idiot me forgot to bring clothes when I went to shower." The sweet amusement in his voice was a relief, he hadn't picked up what I'd just experienced on the other side of the room.

"That's okay. I'd prefer you don't go roaming the hotel half naked." It was a surprisingly smooth response considering how flustered I was.

"Agreed." He answered laughingly, "One sec." He headed back to the bathroom, clothes in hand.

"No rush." I heard the door close behind him.

My whole upper body relaxed as I released half a breath I didn't realise I was holding in. The tablet ended up shmushed against my forehead, easing my compulsion to bang my head against a wall...almost.

Like I said, I'd become well and truly screwed.

My glances had been too quick to notice any bruises or cuts left on his body after his battle with, and against, the Avengers. Which I would later have to notice while patching him up and assessing and reporting any injuries severe enough to need attention from a medical professional. I'm not sure why that was my job. Maybe Happy figured Peter would be more comfortable with me.

It's odd to think that all of this happened (and that I’d formed such an affection, connection and attraction for Peter Parker) within a week, at most.

The flight home was quiet. I think Peter and I were both quite tired from the whole experience; and, I’d like to think, he was also considering the fact that he and I were likely not to see much of each other anymore, at least for a while. I know I was. The atmosphere was...peaceful. Some conversation could be heard from the staff at the front of the plane but was obscured by the constant hum of the engines. Neither of us slept much, but we weren't trying to anyway. On the whole, it was a pleasant flight, despite how long we were in the air for.

I’d been tasked with writing a report on what had happened in Berlin, which I finished far quicker than I’d expected to. I tried a few times to watch this movie or that, I couldn’t even make it through a whole episode of some of my favourite shows.

So, much of my time was spent on my sketchbook. I take a stylus with me everywhere I go so I can draw on my tablet, but I also try to keep a small sketchbook with sturdy white paper for whatever doodles, sketches and even full art pieces that come to mind.

I ended up making little sketches of Peter’s profile from my angle to the side of him. I’d try to capture the little hints of frustration that would cross his face when working on some of his school work, the joy that would sparkle when he came across a particularly cute doggo on his insta feed, or the contentment in his aimless stare out of the window. 

I’d make detailed anatomical studies of his forearm, wrist and hand as it held up his chin, his fingers as he leafed through a trashy magazine he’d found somewhere onboard, the creases in his lips as he unconsciously bit it or stuck his tongue out slightly while addressing a particularly challenging equation or calculation in his homework, his hair when it fell forward against his forehead while he was looking down at whatever he was busy with. 

They weren’t particularly good sketches, the proportions were off and I couldn’t quite get the detailing to show his muscle definition. I suppose I was just trying to document everything about this person who I’d so quickly become genuinely enthralled by. If we wouldn’t be seeing each other again, perhaps ever, I wanted to be able to remember exactly what he’d made me feel.

Often, opening my sketchbook is just a means to kill time, scrawling down meandering patterns, odd shapes and lines for me to fill in like a colouring page. I’d been doing just that when Peter woke up from a nap and took interest in what I was busy with.

“What’re you doing over there?” his face tilted into amused bewilderment. I looked up at him, smiling, I went back to my drawing. He took the cue and slipped across the aisle to sit by me.

“Patterns.” he asserted after assessing the pencil sketch in front of him. My smile widened in amusement and I replied with a small nod, not looking up from my work.

“Planning to add any colour?”

“That’s why I draw ‘em.” I softly answered, excited that he was showing interest. Reaching into my bag, I gripped a black fine liner in my dominant hand and handed him a set of colour markers with the other.

“I outline, you colour?” I suggested, finally looking up and engaging his tenderly affectionate gaze. An enthusiastic smile responded.

I hadn’t known that he and I would be spending a night at Avengers tower (or I suppose it’s returned to being Stark tower) to ensure we were ”well enough to get back to normal life without any complications”. Which was really just a way to mildly intimidate us, make sure we wouldn’t say anything about the true nature of our “Stark internship field trip”. An important purpose of that night was having Peter’s remaining injuries treated with all the fancy medical equipment at the tower and making sure that we got our sleep cycles back to New York time.

We were assigned an area allocated for visiting associates of the Avengers, which had an impressively innovative floor plan. It wasn’t big, but it was comfortably liveable. It was all open plan, the living area had a kitchenette, dining table and a few couches. The three bedrooms each contained a queen sized bed (it’s Tony Stark, would you expect anything less?) and there was only moderate sized cupboard space (I guess that was a way for Stark to prevent his guests from staying too long). There was one bathroom, but that was really all that the occupants of that room would need.

We both kept ourselves busy during daylight hours so we could sleep more easily that night. The high strung tension of the mission was over. Things between Peter and I felt more casual, still professional but I felt like there was less pressure for me to ensure that Peter was accounted for at all times and at his best. We could both just breathe.

“I’ve been so busy, all day, but I don’t feel like sleeping.” Peter told me during our dinner. I couldn’t let his bedtime become too late, that would just worsen his jet lag, but I decided it wouldn’t hurt to let him stay up a little longer; I’m not an unreasonable nanny.

“Same. Mustn’t push it too late though. We could watch an episode of something, but I think a movie would be too long.” both of us had finished eating so I began clearing the table to put the dishes in the sink.

“Cool. I think I saw some microwave popcorn earlier.”

“Oh yay! I’ll sort that out, can you set up on the TV?”

When I sat down on the couch, holding the popcorn, Peter sat next to me, closer than I’d expected. Which wasn’t a bad thing, there was just more pressure for me to not screw anything up. The cover poster on the screen showed William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy and Deforest Kelly in Starfleet uniform.

“Star Trek? You planning to become a traitor to the Jedi?” I raised an accusing eyebrow at him.

“Never.” he smiled, “Just wanna know why you like it so much.” my heart fluttered.

“In that case,” I handed him the popcorn in exchange for the remote, “we can’t just start from the beginning. I’ll have to find an episode that truly represents the franchise. I might even have to look at Captain Picard, or Sisko, oh but Janeway is fantastic. Maybe you should start at the beginning with Jonothan Archer.”

A little way into an episode of Star Trek: Enterprise (forgive me, Trekkies, I’m just a sucker for early 2000′s wardrobe choices), Peter stretched and put his arm over the back of my shoulders, and I felt my skin warming. I worked up the courage and during a scene with Trip and T'Pol I sighed and shifted so that my head rested on Peter’s shoulder. I had to actively make sure that I was breathing normally so Peter wouldn’t notice my messed up heart rate.

“Flox is cool.”

“Yeah, I love Flox.”

“Love him? I can’t imagine what your boyfriend must look like.” I couldn’t tell how sincere he was being.

“Ha, what boyfriend, and if that’s what you think of Denobulans I can’t wait for you to see a Cardassian, or the Klingons.”

“Kardshian?”

“Cardassian.”

“What’s the difference?”

“They’re just as sly and passive aggressive but Cardassians do not have the looks to market a makeup line, or get any views on a sex tape.” I felt Peter’s laugh against me, he squeezed me close for a moment and rested his head on top of mine. I took the chance to reach up and push the hair out of his face. My fingertips grazing his skin made my tummy tense weirdly again.

I was in bed later that evening when there was a soft knock at my door.

“Hey, you awake?”

“Yeah.” I yawned and rolled onto my back to see Peter in the doorway.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah.” he shuffled his feet nervously, “could we...talk?”

I started getting out of bed, “Sure.”my voice sounded sleepier than I felt.

Peter must have noticed me scrunching up my face in response to the bright light beyond my door because he took my hand to guide me into his room. We climbed into either side of his bed. Peter pulled me to his chest. There was a moment before he asked,

“Is this okay?” I nodded against his chest,

“Yeah, unexpected but not unwelcome.” my mutters were muffled slightly by his shirt and I placed my arm over his waist. For a while the only sound between us was our steady breaths and slow heart beats.

“Thank you.” he must have felt my eyebrows furrowing against his skin because he continued,

“For this, for helping me keep a steady head, for listening to me, I don’t know, for just...being my goat.”

“You mean like for... stressed out racehorses?”

“Yeah, you’ve been my goat.” 

I smiled, “That’s possibly the greatest review you could’ve given my work.”

He shook his head slightly, “Not just work, just... in general. You’re a beautiful person,” I felt myself tearing up, my heart swelled, “,you’ve got a beautiful soul.”

“I’m crap at taking compliments,” I justified the tears now dropping onto his shirt. “, thank you.” I beamed. I wrapped my arm further around his waist, hugging him, he pulled me closer to him and rubbed my back in return. We both fell fast asleep quickly after that.

That was probably the last opportunity I’d have to tell him how I’d come to feel about him, even if I wasn’t so sure myself how I felt.

My Stark internship continued. Peter continued his work as New York’s friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. Our jobs didn’t cross over much, especially because of Happy’s irritation towards Mr Parker. I missed him. I’d see the videos of Spidey out in the city, helping the elderly cross the street, catching petty thieves, giving tourists directions, thwipping across the city from high rise to high rise. I wanted to see him again.

One morning Happy sent me off to bring Peter to Stark tower. Apparently he had been spamming Happy’s phone ever since Berlin. I don’t know why I, as the person assigned to Spiderman, wasn’t the one getting those messages instead, but I guess a more direct line to Stark would be more reliable.

“Good morning, Miss. I need to borrow Peter Parker for a couple of hours.”

“And who exactly are you?”

“I’m here on behalf of Happy Hogan,” I turned to look at Peter, “about the Stark internship.” concerned, he darted out of his chair.

“Is something wrong?” he started packing away his books.

“I can’t say, but we do need you.”

“Wait, Peter is actually part of the Stark internship?” Flash gawked.

“Yes.” Did this ass doubt Peter’s eligibility? “He’s one of our best people.”

“So, is Peter actually friends with Spiderman?” Flash gained back enough composure to smirk, thinking he’d found an opportunity to humiliate his classmate.

“Well, he came by while Peter and I were working one day. He’s such a cool guy, a genuinely good person.” a slight smile crossed Peter’s face at the compliment.

“Ha! I knew you weren’t friends with him!”

“Dude, none of us in the program are technically allowed to know anything about Mr Stark’s superhero shenanigans, including Spiderman. So Parker and I shouldn’t even have met him.”

“And I don’t remember ever saying I was friends with him.”

“We need to get going, Pete.”

“Right,” he swung his bag over his shoulder, giving one last look to his classmates, “see you later.”

“Parker! Page 180 and..”

“I’ll make sure he’s up to date with all his work, Miss. Good day everyone.” I closed the classroom door behind Peter and I. I never would have pulled a power move like that if I didn’t have Stark’s name to back me up. It was fun.

Peter jogged to catch up with me down the hallway after taking a moment to stare at the door.

“So what are we working with here? Aliens? Mutant criminals? The mob?” such a Labrador. I laughed.

“Peter, I’ve been told to bring you to Stark tower, I don’t know anything more than that.” we fell in stride, navigating to the exit.

“It’s good to see you again.” he may have been making conversation, but I knew it was sincere.

“I’ve been kicking myself for forgetting to ask for your number.” I smiled. That was pretty smooth of me.

“Same, I’ve really been wanting to talk to my goat.”

“Ok, that may have been flattering about a month ago, but it will not become my nickname. Understood?” I shot him a pointed look, having to suppress the butterflies when I looked into his kind eyes.

“My kid?”

“Better. But: no.” he grinned, looking at his shoes.

“Really should’a gotten your number.” he uttered.

“Agreed.” I nodded, an involuntary smile stuck to my face.

The sounds of the traffic beyond the car window was oddly comforting. I could tell that Peter still had his conversation with Mr Stark running through his head. It would have been faster for us to walk, but I wasn’t going to just tell Stark’s driver to turn around halfway through his trip into Queens and leave us wandering the pavements. Besides, at this point, I’d make use of any time I could spend with Peter. Shit, that sounds so needy. 

Based on what Stark had said, he wouldn’t be calling on Spiderman much any time soon, which meant I’d probably have to go back to shadowing Happy full time. I’d really hoped that today’s meeting would be the start of...something, anything that would make Spiderman more closely associated with whatever Stark was doing. Peter was more than capable of taking on more.

“You’ve been doing good work, you know?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on any online mentions of the Spiderman, and I’ve been seeing some really good stuff.” he gave a small smile.

“New York’s damn lucky to have you.” he looked at me. I could tell he was doubting his value, particularly to Stark.

“’A cool guy, a genuinely good person.’ Was that about Spiderman or Peter Parker?”

“They’re both you, Peter. And even if Stark isn’t giving you big, high stakes missions, it’s not because you couldn’t handle it. You can kick ass when you need to. Trust me, I’ve seen every video there is to be seen online.” his dorky grin spread a warmth across my chest. 

He locked eyes with me. Usually I wouldn’t be able to hold such a gaze, I’d give a smile and look away, hiding a blush. But this time I didn’t, I couldn’t. He had me pinned, telling me everything. Everything. I smiled, my gaze softened even further. I placed my hand against his cheek affectionately.

“You got this shit, Pete. Someday you’ll save the whole fucking world.” I don’t think I’d ever sounded so kind and encouraging while swearing before. I started to take my hand back, but he moved to gently hold my arm where it was. Our eyes were locked. Nothing around us registered in our brains, only each other and the conversation our minds were trying to have, the emotions we were trying to show each other. It was intimate, I wished it were more than platonic. If it were I’d have been leaning toward him to connect our lips. 

He nuzzled his face into my touch, padding his thumb over the back of my hand like he had the first time we’d shared a bed in Berlin. I could feel him unclenching his jaw. He slowly closed his eyes in comfort then looked up at me from behind his lashes. I shouldn’t have glanced down to his lips, he definitely noticed, even if he didn’t react. ‘Thank you’. He didn’t need to say it, I could feel it all, everything. He gave a contented sigh and pulled me next to him, against his chest, the arm laying across my back held my hand, the other wrapped around my waist, his fingers gently moving against my skin, my free hand lay against his chest, moving my fingers similarly along his chest, collar bones and neck, our foreheads rested against one another, our eyes closed, savouring this moment. 

He’s so fucking hot. It was platonic, I could tell, so could he. I couldn’t afford to do anything to fuck this up. But oh how badly I wanted to. He was so close. I could feel his breath against my skin, his heart beating against my palm. His hand against my back set my skin alight,

“Fuck.” I murmured. Peter opened his eyes to look at me with a beautifully innocent concern etched onto his face. A small, sad smile darted across my lips, 

“I want this, Pete.” I looked down and then back into his eyes. “And the internship won’t be giving me anymore opportunities to have it for a while.”

Instead of responding, a pained expression crossed his face, he kissed my forehead, then rested his forehead back against it. His eyes were closed as he pressed a sweet kiss against the corner of my lips. He wanted to kiss me, I could feel it. He held back out of respect, because of how he cared about me. A slow smile dragged along his skin as I gave a kiss along his beautifully sculpted jaw.

“I want this too.” we wrapped our arms around each other.

“I think...I need this.” I smiled against his sculpted shoulder.

“I want you to be more than my goat.” I shook my head, my smile turning to amusement.

“Such a gentle soul, Peter. You know what else works in your favour?” I looked up  at him,

“You’re fucking hot.” he threw his head back and I joined him in laughing. Shit. He really is just so fucking hot.

[cautious-creation]

Here it is. The first cover I’m posting on Tumblr. 😁🤩😁🥰😁

Girls / Girls / Boys - Panic! At The Disco

Below I comment on: the song choice, singing / audio, cover art / visuals...

The song: I love PATD, the stylistic exploration, lyrics, instrumentals...🤯 I aim to be able to sing the stuff Brendon Urie sings. Their songs are SO MUCH FUN to sing and have taught me so much. I have an album’s worth in my repertoire. Also: gotta love media by LGBTQ+ artists with LGBTQ+ topics. (also also: screaming “girls love girls and boys” is super cathartic and validating and something I kinda wanna do at a dinner with my homophobic extended family.)

Singing / audio: I recorded this on my phone during a singing lesson for 2020 pride month (with the backing track playing on my speaker on my desk). The only audio editing I did was adjusting the bass / treble levels and reverb to make it sound less...tinny...shallow (I’ve heard audio people use those words, but I just moved the sliders until it sounded a little better). There’s no tuning (autotune) and you can hear that in a few places.

Cover art / visuals: I mashed together stills of Brendon Urie from the music video, added a pic of him performing while covered in pride flags, cut the smoke out of the “Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die!” album cover art, spent longer than it should have taken to write words prettily, and then spent hours playing around with them and ended up with two images I really liked so I put them both into the ‘video’.

I probably put more effort into this than I should’ve. IDK if this is even something that people do on Tumblr so... 3 cheers for INNO-fuckin-VATION!!!!...? *shakes head at own antics*

Thank you for watching / listening, I hope this brought some sort of positivity to your day / night! 

💜 💜 💜 💜

🌒

[cautious-creation]

Steve plays guitar and only Bucky knows

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson), Hawkeye/Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner)

Pairing(s): (suggested) Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) x 1st person reader; Clintasha (non-romantic)

Word/page count: 1200+ words

CW/TW: none I noticed

Summary: Reader hears Steve playing guitar and offers to be his vocalist ft. an Ed Sheeran song.

Author’s note: This is based on an imagine / headcanon type thing I’ve lost in the internet over time. I wrote this when I was in grade...9?...ish. I mention it because I don’t like it much in hindsight.

It'd been yet another day of intense training. Natasha and Clint were in charge of planning and coaching the torturous activities for me. Target practice, boxing, sparring and flexibility training were included in my morning 'workout'. I walked through the tower, past the living quarters of the avengers, who I looked up to and aspired to be like. As I turned a corner, I almost bumped into an, unusually cheerful, James Barnes.

"Hey." He acknowledged.

"Hi" I gave him a tired smile.

"How's the training going?" He must be in a pretty good mood, he usually doesn't seek conversation, specifically with me.

"I know I shouldn't complain about having such an awesome opportunity, I mean; I'm training, and living with the Avengers, but Lord knows this is draining me." I stretched my back sideways, I was sure to be hella stiff the next day. James chuckled. Okay, he's probably the happiest he's been since he returned from that mission where they destroyed a HYDRA based he'd been trained in. I'd have to bring it up with Steve.

"I assume you're referring to training with a couple ex-assassins." He smirked.

"I swear, Clintasha are going to kill me in the gym downstairs before I see my first mission with either S.H.I.E.L.D or you guys."

"Clintasha?" He looked at me quizzically. Had I said that aloud?

"Ugh, Hawkeye and Black Widow. Please don't tell them about that nickname. I find it easier to refer to them like that considering they're pretty much always together." He smiled.

"Sure, I'd prefer to postpone your apparent inevitable doom. You make good food." He walked off chuckling and shaking his head then saying ‘Clintasha’ and laughing louder.

I continued my journey to the destination shower when I heard a familiar set of chords being played on an acoustic guitar. It definitely wasn't the original song, or any other recorded version of it for that matter, based on the pauses between strums and small mistakes that appeared occasionally.

G, C, G, G, C and C. The appropriate rests were in between each strum which were each their specific length to play the fun, quick paced song that Ed Sheeran gave to the world. It was being played slowly, as if the musician was unfamiliar with the song.

A couple of repetitions of the first verse later and the soft hum of the melody could be heard as the guitarist added sound to where the lyrics would be sung. I quietly sang the lyrics as I neared the source of the music.

"It's late in the evening, glass on the side, I've been sat with you for most of the night." I reached the closed door separating the world from the beautiful sound resonating from inside the room.

"I need you darling, come on set the tone, if you feel you're falling won't you let me know."

I took the chance and knocked on the door to the room of one of the Avengers, I was about to find out who.

The song stopped, I could hear some shuffling, then footsteps on the wooden floor approaching the door.

It opened to a slightly flustered Steve Rogers, probably a bit embarrassed by the possibility of him being caught playing an Ed Sheeran song.

"Oh, I was expecting...never mind. How can I help you?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could help you, sir." I suddenly became incredibly shy, fiddling with my fingers and lowering my head in the presence of the beautiful piece of man in front of me. My role model and superior.

"I believe you may want a vocalist? Quality playing deserves to have a melody accompany it, don't you think?" I was certain to be blushing by now.

"You sing?" He smiled. I nodded.

"I took lessons before I got involved with S.H.I.E.L.D, participated in a few national competitions actually, I was asked to be the lead vocalist when my friend started a band too. I'd be glad to practice with you if you'll take me." I shrugged.

"You know, I'd really appreciate the help." He started heading back into his room before turning back to me.

"On one condition." His face was stern.

"Name it." I smiled.

"No one finds out. Neither of us would ever be able to live it down if anyone finds out, especially Tony." He picked up a classic wooden acoustic guitar.

"I assume we won't be performing for anyone then." I smirked.

"Absolutely not." He chuckled.

----------

We'd gone through the song about five times when the door flew open revealing an otherwise occupied James Barnes.

"There's this song I thought you'd....oh." He looked up to see Steve holding his guitar and me holding a Stark-Pad for the both of us to see.

"I see you finally took my advice, Stevie." He smirked placing his hand on his hip almost sassily.

"No one finds out, huh?" I quipped, surprised.

"Only Bucky knows." He shrugged questioning whether or not I'd accept that as a reasonable excuse.

"Okay." I shrugged.

"What advice?" I asked James.

"To get someone to teach him how to really play."

"Really?  You think I know how to play guitar, actually, more importantly: you think Captain Rogers needs a teacher." I was baffled, he got that song down in under ten repetitions.

"Omg, please don't call me that. It makes me feel old." I laughed. They looked at each other confused, which only made me laugh harder.

"Really?" I managed to stop laughing.

"Modern acronyms don't suit you, first off; and secondly, it makes you feel old? Seriously?" I looked between the 90 something year olds, the one desperately trying to stifle his laughter while waiting for the other to understand.

"Oh, you mean because I am old." James sighed and covered his face with his hands. I just smiled and shook my head.

"This is why you fail so miserably at communicating with Tony, buddy." Bucky walked off chuckling and muttering ‘old man’ to himself.

"From the top?" I asked, walking back to where the lyrics were being displayed from the tablet at the foot of Steve's bed.

"Miss Y/L/N? I believe you are due for another round of training." J.A.R.V.I.S.' voice sounded, causing me to groan.

"Can you let Miss Romanoff and Mr Barton that I'll be down once I've returned from the physio therapist, chiropractor and spa. Just make sure they know that was sarcasm."

"Last thing I need is for a couple of ex assassins to have reason to torture me further than what they already do." I muttered.

"I could train you if you'd like. I have a feeling we'll work better when it comes to communication and knowing physical limits. You do need to be able to walk tomorrow." Steve suggested.

"That's allowed?" I asked hopefully. He nodded.

"Oh please! Please, please, please!" I begged. I grabbed onto his shirt, genuinely desperate.

"Okay, if you're done being weirdly affectionate with our boss, I believe we have some training to get done." Clint smirked as he entered the doorway.

I dropped my head awkwardly, stood up slowly and smiled through my intense blush, hoping that my expression was as innocent as I needed it to be.

"um...I'll just...head down so long. I'll see you there." I started walking.

"Preferably the hottest of you three." I muttered, looking back to see Steve discussing (intensely) with Clintasha.

[cautious-creation]

Steve in Wakanda while Bucky is in cryofreeze

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), 1st person gender neutral y/n. Mentioned: Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan)

Pairing(s): Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) x 1st person gender neutral reader, non-spec

Word/page count: 550ish words

CW/TW: none I picked up

Summary: Steve reads the Morse code in the reader’s tapping.

Author’s note: This is based on a prompt or imagine or something that I saw a while ago but I don’t remember where I saw it or who posted it, though I’d love to give credit. Originally Written in 2017ish.

It had been an uneventful day, not that many days are particularly eventful here in Wakanda. I can’t leave because...well I’m an associate of fugitives and have no idea how to handle being interrogated, and I can't seem to find duties or jobs that weren’t already taken. So most days I sit in Bucky's cryofreeze room at a desk I'd put in a few days after he went under.

Some days I watch videos on my tablet, scrolling through social media and keeping up with trends. Other days I catch up with the outside world and look for anything new on our old friends or enemies.

But today I decided that I wanted to create something. I started sketching random things, only to remember how unsteady my hands are; so I moved on to writing out song lyrics in curly fonts and block letters. After becoming bored with lyrics I settled on writing short descriptive writing pieces about things I'd experienced.

The tension between the Avengers when we were introduced to the Sokovia accords. The mix of emotions radiating from the people that surrounded me while I watched a live feed of Bucky's government psych evaluation. The foreboding ache in my stomach that I could feel but not cure as the surveillance screens showed him restrained in his glass cage. The atmosphere at the airport as civilians cleared out and the Avengers arrived, separated by their differing opinions of the Accords. The tear through my heart at seeing my friends, the world’s mightiest heroes, destroyed by a political argument.

Three o'clock turned to five o'clock and, with tiring eyes, I looked over my writings for any lapses in logical progression. Steve joined me in the room for his daily visit to his best friend and took a seat beside me after talking to Bucky for a while. Bucky may not be conscious but talking to him has become a habit for Steve and I, especially when we're particularly stressed or otherwise upset. Steve's company always comforted me, just having someone familiar around that I could have a proper conversation with if I needed to.

When I wasn't pencilling in changes to my writing I was tapping my fingers against the table's surface, an unconscious action I'd only recently started doing. The tapping must've upset Steve because when I looked back up from my paper I saw him with a concentrated glare fixed on my fingers.

"Steve?" My gentle tone attracted his gaze, which softened when he realised that he was scowling.

"Are you alright?" He spoke. His hand reached out, covering mine and stopping its tapping. I nodded to answer then furrowed my brows questioningly.

"Why do you ask?" He chuckled a bit.

"Your tapping. In Morse code you were tapping out 'woe is me' over and over." I laughed.

"I had no idea, I've never really paid attention to the patterns of my tapping." He took my hand in his and brought it up to his lips to kiss. I could practically feel the red rising into my cheeks. He gently stroked my clasped hand and gazed at it with a gentle smile.

"Don't be sad, hand. You have purpose in life. What more could a hand want?" I smiled at the adorkable gentleman in front of me. As his gaze distanced again I went back to correcting my writing, this time with my hand not tapping but rather enclosed in Steve's comforting hold.

[cautious-creation]

Adjusting to the 2000's-Steve Rogers

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans). Mentioned: Col. Nick Fury (Samuel L Jackson), Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan)

Pairing(s): Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) x 2nd person female y/n

Word/page count: 2500+ words

CW/TW: cringe...so much cringe, unrealistic interactions, ignoring canon timelines, tickle fights, coming on too strong, ...I’m sorry

Summary: “You are a S.H.E.I.L.D agent assigned to help Captain Steve Rogers to adjust to modern day society and technologies. Steve had only just woken up in S.H.E.I.L.D's fake hospital and been chased into the center of New York by the organization, you being previously selected to be his P.A. and housekeeper.”

Author’s note: I hate this, I hate this so much. I wrote this when I was about 15 and it’s...just so bad. (It’s even got emojis as scene dividers) But here it is anyway, unedited aside from auto corrected spelling errors.  Enjoy the cringe. 😅 👍

You held out your hand in greeting. "Y/n y/l/n, Captain Rogers. I'll be helping you adjust to the 21st century." He looked at you, a small smile of appreciation gracing his gorgeous face. He shook your hand. "A pleasure agent y/l/n. I'm glad there's someone to help me with all...." He looked around at the S.H.I.E.L.D vehicles surrounding him and the Big Apple's high rising buildings. "....this." He looked back at you sheepishly, embarrassed of his inability to find a better term. "Yes. I ought to get you to where you'll be staying for the meantime." You put your hand on his shoulder, guiding him away from the centre of the road and prompting him to tear his gaze away from the city surrounding him. "I'll be staying with you in one of S.H.I.E.L.D's residencies until you've been deemed fit to live alone." You continued as he followed you to one of the vehicles blocking the rush hour traffic in order to help the newly thawed Captain. You'd been driving for a while before he finally started talking. "So, I've been sleeping for seventy years, we won the war and this... Nick, character has assigned you to help me figure out the rest. Right?" You looked at him. "Yup, you seem to catch on quickly. I guess I won't have a problem getting you up to speed." He chuckled; a beautiful sound you'd be hearing a lot of, as it turns out, in the time you'd be helping him. "Let's hope so, I never was the best student." He smiled at you. "I suppose we'll have to see how well your teacher explains modern politics. Something I'm only aware of because my job requires it." You shrugged. He shook his head laughing. 😊😚😊😚 "Well, welcome home Captain." You opened the door to the medium sized apartment decorated in typical 40's fashion. "Wow. Indoor decorating hasn't changed very much." He stepped in, admiring all the detail used to help make him feel at home. "Oh it has. We just decided it'd be better to have a home that looked familiar, so you have a place of comfort in this new and strange world." You set down the keys and your hand bag on the kitchen table before slipping your feet out of your three inch black pumps and sliding them under one of the chairs around the table. "So." You turned around to see Steve still admiring the open plan kitchen and lounge. "Tour?" 🙂🤔🙂🤔 "...and this is your bedroom. We got some of the clothing essentials for you, but I've been given a budget for when you want to buy something more to your taste." He held a teal shirt that was two sizes too small against himself. His gaze went from the shirt to you and back to the shirt. You laughed. "Which I can see will be happening sooner than my colleagues who bought that expected." He turned the shirt around and looked at it from an arm's length. "You think?" He teased. "No, no no no. You're supposed to say 'ya think'. It sounds more sassy." You put your one hand on your hip and snapped a 'z' in the air with the other. Now that is sass. You both laughed on the way to the kitchen. "As far as I can remember, there's a pre made meal for tonight and then I'll need to figure out what I'm cooking from tomorrow onward." You rummaged through the fully stocked fridge. "I could cook if you'd like." Steve offered concern in his voice. "No need, I've been cooking supper for myself almost everyday for three years. Now where is that darn... Ha! Found you!" You pulled a cling-filmed dish of honey mustard chicken fillets with fluffy white rice out of the fridge. "That looks delicious, I've only just realised how hungry I am." Steve said, marvelling at his first taste of proper unrationed food in who knows how long. "Mhhmhh, sure does. It'll take a few minutes to reheat though. I saw a bag of apples in there if you're that hungry." You responded  unwrapping your supper and putting it in the microwave. "No, I'd like my first meal after the war to be a proper, unspoiled one." You chuckled at his adorable mock determined face. "Okay. You're the one with abs of steel. I'm not going to argue with those." You poked him in the abdomen. He leapt back releasing a Yelp like giggle. "Wait, are you ticklish? Is Captain freaking America freaking ticklish?!" Another jab to the stomach proved the unthinkable. That's such a compromising weakness! "Are you?" He asked eyebrows raised playfully. "No no no no no no no no hahahahaha....." He jabbed you in the ribs, unleashing a litter of kitten giggles from your petite frame. And so the tickle fight began. You were the first to end up on the floor, pulling the super soldier down next to you on the lounge carpet. You two were rolling around on the floor in fits of laughter, you trying to stop his jabs to your stomach and ribs, and him crying from laughing so much at your kitten giggles and walrus cackles. "Ok...ok....ok..I give up." You panted. "You win, Rogers." You were both trying to stop laughing and catch your breath when the timer on the microwave went off. You managed to stand, eventually. "Alright, that's enough for now. I thought you said you were hungry?" You held out your hand to help him up. "Hungry? Please, I'm starving!" He grabbed your hand and pulled himself up. You chuckled. "Then lets EAT!" You grabbed a towel off the stove top to get the hot food from the microwave. He snatched the towel straight out your hands and stuck his tongue out at you as he proceeded to try and fail to open the microwave door. You laughed and pressed the, clearly labelled, open door button. He responded with a 'hmf', a pout and stuck his nose in the air as he used the towel to take the steaming hot food out of the microwave. "Oh, well done Captain Rogers. You've successfully taken a dish of food out of the microwave and placed it on the counter top. Well done." You proceed to slow clap sarcastically as he did jazz hands and bowed; but what happened next, you did not expect at all. He threw his hands in the air before bringing them down to wrap around you and lift you off the ground in an, almost bone crushing, hug. He spun around the kitchen, still holding you with your arms pinned to your sides. "Ok...um...you're excited." Your voice was filled with shock. What the hell was he doing? He put you down and continued to look in cupboards and draws for cutlery and crockery, acting as if nothing had happened. "Okaaayy? I'm now very confused." You looked at him sceptically. "Now why would the extremely intelligent agent y/n y//l/n be confused." He looked at you, innocence plastered all over his face. You shook your head in mock disappointment. He chuckled as you helped him dish up your first meal together. 😧🙄😧🙄 "I've got a few paperwork assignments I need to get done in the next few weeks. They should keep me busy while you're reading up on what you've missed. Speaking of which..." He looked up at you from his plate that he'd been silently staring at for a while. "Would you prefer for me to catch you up from after you crashed to the present or from now back to when you started your nap?" You asked teasing slightly. "Um...then to now, that way, if anything comes up you don't have to keep going back to the present to add on what's happened." He gave you a small, distracted smile. You nodded, understanding his distanced mind. You ate the last forkful of rice on your plate. "Right, I'm going to shower. You can put your plate next to the sink with mine when you're done. And...um...yeah. See you in a bit." You stood from your place at the kitchen table, picking up your empty plate and pushing in your chair. 😕🍴😕🍴 "...say what you wanna say, na na na na na na, honestly, I wanna see you be brave..." You sang softly to yourself as you walked into your bedroom to get changed into your pajamas. "...with what you wanna say, and let the words fall out, honestly I wanna see you be brave, I just wanna see you, I just wanna see you, I just wanna see you, I wanna see you be brave." There was a knock on your door. "Y/n? I'd like to ask you something. Are you decent?" It was Steve's voice, shy and vulnerable. "Just give me a sec." You slipped on your track pants and sweatshirt. "Ok, done." He slowly opened the door, his face was full of confusion. "What's wrong?" You sat on your bed looking at his sad expression. He sat next to you, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. You put your hand on his back comfortingly. "I....um,....I'm just trying to get my head around all this...all my friends are gone...everywhere I used to go out is either closed down and refurbished or nonexistent...my childhood home is gone and different...everything is so different." He sighed. You started rubbing his back. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sure some of your friends are still around, and you'll be surprised how long some of the Brooklyn restaurants have been open for. I'm here to help you through this. WE can do this. It's going to be fine, trust me." You rest your head on his shoulder comfortingly, giving him a sideways hug. And that's when the tears started to fall. You heard his muffled sobs, which caused your own tears to appear silently. "It's okay. It will be alright. We'll get through this, Steve. We can do this....you can do this." He turned towards you, eyes red, tears staining his cheeks. "I...I just." He sighed and tears started falling again. You pulled him into a comforting hug, rubbing his back up and down, whispering encouragement. He wrapped his massive arms around your small waist and dug his face into the crook of your neck. "I'm scared y/n." He confessed in a small whisper. "I know, so am I. But we can and are going to get through this...together. Okay? You're not alone. I'm right here." You answered honestly. You stayed there in each other's arms for a while as the tears slowly stopped falling. "Y/n?" Steve shifted his head off your shoulder slightly. "Yes?" He lifted his head, turning to face you, his eyes looking down. You put your hand on his cheek and gently wiped his tears. His gaze found yours. "You...um. You said you were scared." He looked at you for confirmation. You nodded. "Why? What are you scared of?" You left his gaze sighing and sliding your hands into your crossed legs. He put his hands on your shoulders. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He apologised. A sad smile crossed your face. "Being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D puts my life at risk. I have information about people who aren't particularly fond of my superiors. I recently blew one of my covers. They're sure to be after me soon if not already." You looked into his sympathetic eyes. "But that's not what I'm scared of, I'm scared of who they'll send after me. I could easily take on one of their assassins or gunman. But there's a rumour, a legend if you will, of a highly trained, physically and mentally enhanced, ruthless, master killing machine. He's been around for decades and is still as young as he was when he started. He has no emotion, no soul, no past, no family, not even a name. He's referred to as the Winter Soldier by the few in the intelligence community who believe he exists. He's a ghost, everything I've told you, that's all S.H.I.E.L.D knows about him; and we have some of the best hackers and infiltrators in the world." You shivered at the thought. "Enhanced." He muttered. "Is that all you got from what I just said?" You chuckled. "Does S.H.I.E.L.D know about any Hydra scientists taking in people to experiment on?" He asked, fiery determination in his eyes. "I'm sure there are plenty of human enhancement files in the Hydra filing cabinet, but that's not our immediate concern. You just worry about catching up. I'm sure I can figure the rest out myself. I am a secret agent after all." He chuckled. "True, if ever you need help sifting through those documents....let me know." He looked at you, he wanted confirmation that if anything happened you wouldn't hesitate to ask for his help. You nodded. "Thank you, Steve. I really appreciate your concern. It's not often someone is willing to help me. You know, before I've saved their lives, and them mine, a few times." He pulled you into a nice warm hug. You hugged him back, finding comfort in his arms. You wrapped your arms around him, wishing the moment wouldn't end. He slowly pulled back only to cup your face with his hands and wipe away tears you didn't realise you'd shed. You sat there, eyes locked, emotions stirring, so close, but something preventing either of you from making the obvious next move. He glanced at your lips. You smiled, cocking your head to the side slightly and leaning back to stand up. You didn't know what made you do that, but you felt it was the right thing to do, given the fact that both of you were swimming in a pool of mixed and confusing emotions. "Coffee?" You offered. He nodded with a smile. 😪😙😪😙 "But...how?" He stared at the coffee machine. You put your hands in the air wiggling your fingers. "Magic." You said mysteriously. You both laughed, heading to the table coffee in hand. "So, what's the first thing you'd like me to teach you about?" You sat down, sipping the cappuccino in your hands. "Well, at some point, how on earth that thing works..." He pointed to the coffee machine, you scoffed smiling. "But for now I think we should start with the basic, everyday things. Like that, and this, and definitely that." He pointed at the microwave, your phone and the tv respectively. "Okay, well this you won't be using until yours arrives from S.H.E.I.L.D, that I'll show you how to use when next we need to heat food, and that...c'mon." You headed to the couch, grabbing the remote from it's place atop the TV cabinet. "Okay, this red button with the circle and the line, that turns it on." It turned on showing the news channel at an eardrum bursting volume. "This controls the volume!" You shouted over the reporter's bored voice. Once the sound was at a tolerable level you looked at Steve. "Well, that was interesting." You giggled. "This changes the channel. We've got about two hundred to chose from. So, hopefully you won't run out of stuff to watch." You were flipping through channels when you came across some really old footage shot during the Second World War. "History channel. Wanna check if these people even bothered to do their research properly?" You asked. He shrugged. "Might as well. You never know, they might even play one of my videos." You both chuckled and got comfy, this looked like it'd be a long documentary. 🎞📺🎞📺 😂😍😝😘😂😍😝😘😂😍😝😘😂😍😝😘

[cautious-creation]

Meeting Pietro

Fandom & Characters: Marvel (MCU); Quicksilver/Pietro Maximoff (Aaron Taylor Johnson), Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), 3rd person female y/n. Mentioned: Iron Man/Tony Stark (RDJ)

Pairing(s): Quicksilver/Pietro Maximoff (Aaron Taylor Johnson) x 3rd person female y/n

Word/page count: about 100 words

CW/TW: brief mention of Cap and his PTSD, Steve and a punching bag

Summary: Pietro, the handsome cheeky flirt, meets y/n.

Author’s note: I wrote this a few years ago as part of escapism from high school woes. I didn’t do much editing before posting, just grammar and spelling and added an actual conclusion which I hadn’t done when I first wrote it.

"I have those files you...oh!." She looked left and right trying to spot the cause for the sudden burst of wind. The air conditioning had been faulty but not to the extent where it randomly shuts on and off creating split seconds of gale force gusts.

She shrugged it off and continued further into the gym where the Captain was practically destroying a red punching bag. 'Red in front of that angry bull's beefy biceps' she thought to herself, then shook her head at having thought it.

"I've...", punch, "got...", punch, "the...", punch "files..." She spoke between her superior's fists hitting that poor, innocent punching bag.

He paused, holding the bag still and panting. She'd spent enough time with him to know that he'd been having one of his flashbacks, PTSD is not a particularly easy thing to live with, never mind also being expected to do superhero work. This was his way of managing it.

He closed his eyes forcefully, probably trying to escape from his traumatic memories, "What was that?" He started unwrapping the protective strapping from his hands approaching his ‘Tony appointed’ assistant.

"You asked for some documents on basic DNA altering experimentation, like the stuff Hydra’s done. I managed to find some in the 'bad guys' science stuff' folder." She handed him the freshly printed and stapled wad of papers. Steve rolled his eyes at Tony's folder naming system.They started walking towards the exit of the gym.

"If you don't mind me asking, what do you want them for?" Another gust of wind almost knocked her off her feet after she'd said that.

"What the hell is that?" She grumbled. Steve didn't seem at all fazed.

"For him." He pointed absentmindedly behind him, where something she hadn't noticed before was speeding around the gym almost too fast to see the trails of blue and silver behind it. She became mesmerised by the speeding object, so much so that she didn't notice that it was hurtling straight towards her at an alarming rate.

And before she knew it she was in the strong arms of the beautiful silver haired stranger, tilting backwards with her hands on his toned biceps. "Umm...hi?" She said in a timid voice. He smiled. "Hi." He set her straight.

Steve glanced at the two, both a little irked and endeared by Pietro’s choice of introduction to the assistant.

"That's Pietro Maximoff. One of HYDRA's successful DNA altering experimentation subjects. Code name: Quicksilver." Steve elaborated while skimming through the information in front of him.

"Makes sense." 

Steve interpreted her statement in reference to the answer to the question she'd asked him a moment before, Pietro took it in reference to his code name.

He set her back on her feet, smirking. She smoothed out her clothes, cleared her throat, held out her hand for him to shake while hoping to the heavens above that her cheeks weren't as red as her lipstick like they'd usually be after any sort of compliment. He took her hand and gave it a gentle kiss, never breaking eye contact as he did so.

'If I wasn't blushing before I'm definitely am now.' She thought.

"Y/n." She practically squeaked her name, Steve gave them a questioning glance as she did so.

"Pietro." He replied chuckling.

A few silent moments passed, the newly acquainted Avengers team associates simply gazing at one another; both mentally questioning the other's relationship status and wondering why or how they hadn't met already.

Steve ended the emotional staring contest when he gently set his hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, awaiting instructions. His gaze slowly lifted off the document in his hand once he'd finished reading the second page.

"I'll carry on reading this when I have a chance. Can you leave this on my desk next to the team's files? Oh, and please remind Stark that we've got an armorless training session booked and if he is so much as a minute late I will be making use of fitness training before we start." Steve handed her the documents an appreciative smile on his face. She smiled back. As she set off for the stairs up to the main level of the training room, Pietro, once again, caught her attention as he fell in step with her.

"Aren't you still busy down here?" She asked. He shrugged.

"The Captain is to busy daydreaming about the good old days, he won’t notice. Besides, I'm sure he won't mind me doing the gentlemanly thing and walking with the beautiful lady into an area of danger." She particularly took note of the way he looked at her as he said 'beautiful'; and the unnecessarily attractive lilt of his accent.

"Area of danger? I'll assume you're referring to a certain Mr Stark's twenty meter vicinity. Or just his lab, even when he's not in it." She responded. He smiled further at this.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"Yes Miss." The AI replied.

"Tell Mr Stark that his superior officer is already in a bad mood and threatening to make him do fitness if he's late for hand to hand combat training...again." She instructed. There were a few seconds of silence before the tower's speakers activated again.

"He asks when his session is." Y/n chuckled.

"Let him know that if neither him nor his computer system and assistant know when he's supposed to be down there then it's almost certain he's either late or missed it completely." She smiled rolling her eyes at a certain billionaire genius' poor time management.

"So you work for Stark?" Pietro asked, confused as to why the tech genius would need a human assistant when he had his electronic babysitter.

"Sort of. Tony Stark hired me to help the Captain with admin and such. We started to work, communicate and get along quite well so I've been doing other odd jobs for him as well. I'm sort of a...second assistant to the Avengers; I could never be first though, F.R.I.D.A.Y. is too organised and efficient and I'm, well, human." she explained.

"Glad I can be of service Miss y/l/n." The automated voice commented.

"And it's an honour to work with you F.R.I.D.A.Y." she replied.

Pietro leaned towards her as they walked, now approaching Rogers’ office, “Don’t tell the computer,” he whispers a few inches from her ear with clear humour in his tone, “but I think I would prefer to work with you.”

She hadn’t expected the giggle that came out of her mouth, it was in response to feeling his breath against her cheek as he showed his interest in her. She wasn’t particularly adept at flirting, or taking compliments, but it seemed he was willing to flirt enough for both of them.

Neither could deny that they looked forward to spending time with the intriguing person they’d just met.

[cautious-creation]

I’m so glad you enjoyed it!!!!

💜💜💜 🌒

Spidersense fear response-Peter Parker

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); Spiderman/Peter Parker

Pairing(s): none

Word/page count: 1 page

CW: idiocy, lil’ awkwardness, prob’ly some cringe too

TW: maybe swearing…?  Analytical discussion of fear responses & anxiety disorders

Summary: 

Peter was turned towards his desk, gathering his laptop and books when May threw his cellphone at him. Spontaneous mild panic surged through my head and halfway into my larynx as I almost yelped out to warn him. What stopped the embarrassing noise from exiting my mouth was the sudden shock at Peter catching the device flawlessly without turning to look at it, which snapped my jaw shut. “Uh…” Peter looked at me, wondering if there was something he could do to resolve my audible confusion. He frowned for a moment before he realised why my face had it’s odd contortion. “You didn’t tell ‘em about your Peter-tingle?” May had witnessed the interaction. My eyes widened further at the term. “No, I told you we weren’t calling it that, May.” “Then what are we calling it?” “I don’t know. Jus… “ “Wait. What are we not calling what?” May and Peter had seemed to miss-prioritise which issue to address first. “It’s… I have this…“ he ran out of explanation, “Don’t say Peter tingle.” he held up a finger to his aunt. She exposed her palms in surrender, extracting herself from the conversion to continue about her business. “It’s this… internal warning system, heightened senses that set off, like, an alarm, when I’m in danger.” I took a moment, part of me just processing and another trying to come up with a name for ‘it’. “Aside from the “heightened senses” aspect, that kinda sounds like… consistently accurate anxiety.” he mulled it over, “Your enhanced senses detect a stimulus, your brain efficiently and effectively analyses it, determines if it is a threat and chooses an appropriate response to the stimulus. Sometimes all the physiological self-preservation stuff is triggered. Increased heart rate and respiration, pupil dilation, blood localises away from the digestive system into the muscles to facilitate reoxygenation… “ I couldn’t remember the rest of the list I had studied for biology half a year ago, “Anxiety is kind of just… the brain being trigger happy on labelling stimuli as being threats and activating a fear response. Your brain just seems… more accurate about it.” “Huh… that makes sense.” he seemed impressed by my analysis, “So I’ve now got a Super Anxiety Alarm System?” I scrunched up my nose in disapproval, “SAAS? No.” “It’s better than ‘Peter tingle’.” he seemed ready to settle for one of the two. I was disappointed at his willingness to concede, “You’re Spiderman.” he deserved a dignified term, and I had a point to make. “Yes. You know this.” he wanted me to continue. “You have heightened senses.” he nodded, agreeing with both points, “You have…“ my pause was a personal drum roll, “a Spidey sense.” I connected the points and his face lit up, eyes widening and lips parting into a grin. He stepped toward me, “Thou hast save’d me from the curse of the Peter tingle.” he reached for my hand, lifting it in his, “Eternal gratitude and good fortune to you, o herald of better nomenclature.” he kissed the back of my hand with a slight bow, looking up at me to watch my reaction, he already knew what to expect though. I grinned, finding the stupidity annoyingly funny and appreciating the genuine appreciation and affection it held. “T’was mine honour, sir Spider. I bid thee prosperity, and victory upon thy name.” I extended my other hand to the side and my one foot behind the other in an incorrectly formed curtsy. I’m always willing to play along with Peter’s sweet idiocy.

[cautious-creation]

Human-dodie; Barry Allen fluff

Fandom & Character: DC; Flash (Grant Gustin)

Pairing(s): Flash/Barry Allen (Grant Gustin) x 1st person gender neutral reader

Word/page count: 1200ish words; 1,5 pages

CW/TW: fluff, little bit of insecurity &/or impostor syndrome

Summary: reader gets home from a tough day at work then sings a duet with his/her/their boyfriend, Barry Allen

Author’s note: I LOVE this song, I was listening to it as I was falling asleep one night and came up with this. I’ve been doing singing training for years so I thought I would use some of the terminology and describe techniques and such that I use. I can’t decide if I nailed what I was trying to do here or if it’s confusing and cringey. I’m being brave posting it though🤷  Also, is this a song fic? What makes a fic a song fic?

Music video of ‘Human’ by dodie

It had been a long day. Not necessarily rough, certainly not easy, but long. I'd given many deep sighs on the way home from work, through the kitchen making a mug of tea and grabbing a few biscuits, and heading up to my room. The mug sat on the bedside table, cooling to a drinkable temperature beside the biscuits, as I shed the clothes of the day in lieu of a pair of large, boxers and an unwashed baggy shirt from the floor, beside the laundry basket.

When I flopped onto the left side of the bed, I had my earphones in my hand -unfortunately in a matted tangle of cables and earbuds- with my phone -ready to be plugged in to charge on the bedside table. I'd figured out as a child the exact length of time to dip these biscuits into hot tea to not lose half of it to the drink and have it still crunchy enough. Just how I liked it. The warmth that spread down my throat from the tea almost made the throw blanket over my legs, below my waist, redundant.

I didn't have the mental energy, nor felt the need, to choose a playlist, so music drifted into my ears on shuffle -once I'd managed to negotiate the cables of my earphones apart. The pillows behind my back angled my head so I didn't have to hold my phone in the air to see my Instagram feed. 

It wasn't all that interesting. Some celebrity had said something inappropriate, prompting commentary and memes. One of my high school classmates was getting married, another was threatening to delete Instagram, again. My ex-bestfriend posted the setup of her desk as she studied for her PhD, it made me smile a little to myself, proud of the person she had become and what she'd achieved. A picture of a Canadian social media influencer's cat prompted me to 'aww' aloud.

Reaching the end of the new posts in my feed, I blanked the screen of my phone and set it by my mug on the side table to charge. I placed my hands over my belly, twisting the wooden beads of a bracelet that I kept on my wrist between my fingers. I stared at the ceiling for a while, then closed my eyes, resigning to the music and my own thoughts.

"She's a little ru-u-u-u-u-un away." I hummed along at times, occasionally whisper-singing some lyrics.

A familiar, rhythmic, guitar plucking sounded. It brought a soft smile to my face. I took in a deep sigh of breath. My fingers tapped against my torso with the chiming of a second instrument that I just couldn't quite identify.

‘I wanna pick you up and scoop you out’ I’d always admired Dodie’s cute British annunciation.

‘I want the secrets your secrets haven't found’

“Paint me in trust.” I sang softly with her, trying to mimic the gentleness in her tone.

‘I'll be your best friend. Call me the one.’ I heard shuffling near the door and peaked at Barry through a half open eyelid.

“This night just can't end.” He smiled at me with the same softness I smiled at the song with.

“Woah-oh.” He'd ditched his shoes and took a few long strides to lie in the bed beside me. He must've come from STARR labs with the sweatpants and t-shirt he wore.

“Will you share your soul with me?” He sang. The sound gave my skin a subtle warmth, I'd always loved to hear him sing.

“Unzip your skin and let me have a see.” I answered the line he sang.

‘Paint me in trust.’ The line muffled slightly as I handed the earbud that had been in my left ear to Barry.

“I'll be your best friend.” I sang

“Call me the one.” He joined

“This night just can't end.” I took a slow, deep breath, hearing him continue.

“Woah-oh.” I enjoyed the feeling of the notes vibrate through my chest.

“I'm…so,” I closed my eyes to truly hear the melodic chorus of the last word, “hu-u-man.”

Barry turned on his side to look at me. There seemed to be a brightness in his eyes.

“We're just,” I heard him take a breath to harmonise the title word with me, “hu-u-man.”

I looked at him. I could tell he liked how it had sounded.

“Lean for me and I'll fall back.” The fingers of his left hand danced along my right arm.

“You'll fit so nicely, you'll keep me in tact.” I joined my right hand in his left.

“Paint me in trust.” His eyebrows lifted slightly on the higher note

“I'll be your best friend.” I joined him, “Call me the one.”

“This night just can't end.” He let me sing alone.

“Woah-oh.” He seemed to enjoy that part too.

My smile faded slightly. My gaze flittered around his face, admiring him.

“I want to give you your grin.” To show I meant it, the tips of the fingers on my left hand danced against his cheekbone.

“So tell me you can bear a room that I'm not in.” His expression mimicked mine as he joined me

‘Paint me in trust.’ we both took a beat to emphasise our previous lines

"I'll be your best friend," Barry broke the brief silence, "Call me the one"

I grinned at the words, his enthusiasm for our relationship, "this night just can't end"

'Woah-oh.' 

Slowly, my smile fell and I looked away from Barry with an unfocused gaze, "I'm so hu-u-man." I don't know if I'd ever voiced to him my insecurity about me, an unremarkable non-meta, being unworthy of The Flash.

He caressed my jaw so softly, encouraging me to look back at the sympathetic, hopeful, loving expression on his kind face, "We're," he leaned his forehead against mine, ",just,"

His reassurance returned a subtle spark of contented happiness to my face. I breathed through my smile to join him in the final harmony, ", hu-u-man." 

The sweet tone in that final word was encouragement, our reminder to each other how much we care about each other and our relationship. I bit my lower lip, grinning. His own grin shone back at me.

At the final beat of the track we both started giggling.

"We're such dorks." He pulled my body close to his.

"Then you, Barry Allen, are adorkable." I booped him on the nose with the index finger of my hand that I'd freed from his grasp. He recaptured my hand in retaliation.

I let myself sigh into him.

"Most couples ask each other how their day was when they get home from work." His expression was mockingly accusatory.

"And we perfectly sing random, unprepared duets." I shrugged, "I think we're winning." He shook his head at me with a smile.

When he started shifting, I moved to lie on my side, facing him. My right hand held his left, between us, against the bed. His right arm draped over my torso. My left hand rested on his shoulder, fingers delicately tracing nonsense against his neck, jaw and cheek.

His face scrunched up a little when his hand drifted down my side, reaching the bottom hem of the shirt I wore, "Are you wearing my clothes?"

"The shirt: yes. But the boxers are mine." I became a little concerned at the subtle flash of horror that crossed his face.

"Have I been wearing your boxers?" It was a mere whisper.

I burst out laughing.

It may have been a long day before I got home from work, but being there-in bed with Barry, talking, watching videos on my phone, holding each other-made me wish that the rest of my day could've been a lot longer.

[cautious-creation]

“Ensign.” “Commander.”

Fandom & Character: Star Trek:Voyager, Commander Chakotay

Pairing(s): Chakotay x 1st person female y/n

Word/page count: 3300ish words, 3.5 pages

CW/TW: fluff, superior officer x subordinate relationship, past loss of a grandparent, discussion of grief, power dynamic

Summary: an ensign and her commander fall in love in the Delta quadrant

“Ensign.” he walked into the lab, holding what I assumed was the information I needed,

”Commander?” it didn’t make much sense for him to come down to the lab to deliver it. He looked up from the data and gave me a smile in greeting, which put me at ease; at least there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. I returned the smile.

“I’ve got that data from Seven.” he handed me the data.

“Thank you, sir,” I turned in my seat back to my work station, “you really didn’t need to come down here, I was about to head to astrometrics.”  he leaned against the work station beside me, looking at another information pad he’d brought with him.

“Captain’s in command and I needed a break from the bridge. I’ve heard about how quiet it is down here this time of day.” he dismissed.

“That’s why I prefer this shift, sir.” he paused from his work, looking at me.

“You don’t need to be so formal, ensign. After two years stuck in the delta quadrant together I’d think we could all benefit from being a little more casual.” I chuckled.

“I’ll try. It’s become a bit of a habit. Early in my starfleet career I was told I had a tendency to speak a little too casually, particularly with senior officers. I had to… re-train… myself. I seemed to have unintentionally made a few officers feel disrespected.” I smiled, reminiscing.

He nodded in agreement, “I’ve always found it a little problematic, some senior officers seem to use it to stroke their egos.” I laughed,

“That was part of my problem.” he laughed with me. “I understand why it’s necessary, but some people take it too far and it gets in the way of strong relationships being formed by the crew.” he smiled, seeming to admire my perspective.

“I’m glad I came down here. I think we could have some very interesting conversations.” 

I nodded “I think so too.” 

He pushed off of the work bench, “I need to head back to the bridge, good luck with that assessment, ensign.” he headed for the door, giving a nod for farewell.

“Thank you… commander.” he gave me a smirk as he walked out the door. I grinned, turned back to my console to put that luck to use.

-

“Well, my professor for xenosociology seemed to have a burning hatred for students like me, who actually question things, so I decided to move to xenobiology and that ended up expanding out to botany, neurology, anatomy, I almost took a psychology course. That professor made me never want to take a sociology course again, and yet, I still keep on looking into it myself.” Chakotay and I both smiled fondly at the memories of our respective experiences at Starfleet academy.

“Considering the horror stories I’ve heard from some of my Maquis friends, I had smooth sailing through my days at the academy. Sociology is fascinating, but I’ve always loved anthropology.” 

“Anything else for you two?” Neelix came past our table, gathering our used dishes. It was something he tends to do when he’s trying to ‘subtly’ listen in on people’s conversations. He’d been doing it a lot when Chakotay and I had meals together.

“I’m alright thanks.” I looked at Chakotay, he shook his head,

“Thank you, Neelix.” Neelix gave a small nod and left the table.

I waited for Neelix to leave earshot before I spoke again.

“I think he might be spying on us.” I leaned forward and spoke in a playful whisper.

He chuckled “I’ve been told that our… association has become a subject of gossip among the crew.”

We smiled at each other.

“Well, aren’t they presumptuous.” he shook his head in amusement looking down at the table.

When he looked up, our gazes locked on one another. Everything around us seemed to go quiet. I tilted my  head to the side, a furrowed brow and slight smile on my face. He’s a handsome man, charming too. So kind and gentle, righteous, patient. A good man.

Subconsciously, my hand dragged along the table until the backs of my fingers touched the back of his hand. He hooked his index finger over mine. It was practically a ‘pinky swear’. Just that little bit of physical contact felt like so much. It was a good feeling. I looked down at our hands and sighed.

“Are you alright?” his question drew my gaze back to his now concerned expression. I gave a lazy smile and slowly nodded.

“I just… “ I decided to take a risk, “Why don’t we have dinner in my quarters this evening? There’s a family recipe I’ve been meaning to try and I could use the excuse to finally do it.” a small, thoughtful frown crossed his face as he looked at our hands.

“No obligation, commander. Just an option. I’ve put it off this long, and the recipe isn’t going anywhere.” I spoke softly.

“Actually, I was just thinking about timing. My shift ends at twenty hundred hours, yours starts at… oh three hundred?” I nodded, “That doesn’t give you much time to sleep.” his concern was sweet.

“I can manage with four to five hours.”

He beamed at me “Then, ensign, I accept your invitation.” 

I smiled. I couldn’t deny I was excited for this dinner. All our meals so far had been in the mess hall. I’d started to get uncomfortable with all the glances we’d get. Perhaps it’s a bit odd for an ensign and a ship’s first officer to spend so much time together, or to be so close with one another; but it’s not as if we’d been doing anything unsavoury and definitely nothing that would go against regulations. Little goes unnoticed on a ship like this and whatever gossip may be circulating is milked dry very quickly; any new material is quickly scavenged upon. I didn’t want to risk Chakotay’s reputation or even his position. Nothing unbecoming a Starfleet officer.

It would be nice to spend some off duty time together away from prying eyes. We’d come to enjoy each other’s company, and Chakotay was right, our conversations were quite interesting.

He was taking a sip of his coffee when Tuvok called him to the bridge. He excused himself, saying he’d see me later, I wished him luck on the bridge and went back to the novel I’d been reading. Neelix came by soon after Chakotay left, not-so-subtly prying into the nature of our relationship. I played dumb, not falling for any of his sneaky questions. It was amusing to watch him getting progressively more frustrated, my form of justice for his intrusion.

-

I spent that afternoon napping and cooking. At nineteen hundred hours I showered and changed out of my uniform. I couldn’t decide what to wear so I ended up putting on a fresh uniform, sans jacket. I spent probably more energy than I ought to on decisions like what tablecloth to use, candles or no candles, wine or no wine and I decided to only dim the lights slightly. I didn’t want to push it, we hadn’t defined the nature of our relationship, I’d prefer to go too platonic than too romantic.

Five minutes after twenty hundred hours my doorbell chimed and Chakotay presented me with a bottle of wine.

“Oh, fantastic. I couldn’t decide if I should open a bottle.” he smiled and I stepped aside to let him in. He’d clearly just come from the bridge. His uniform made him look quite dapper, but I could tell he was fatigued from his duty shift.

“So, what’s this family recipe you’ve been so excited about? It smells amazing.” he approached the dishes of food on the table.

“How about you sort out the wine while I dish up?” I handed him the bottle and a corkscrew, then moved to the table to give him the story.

“My great aunt gave me instructions for green beans, creamed spinach and butternut puree. The bread is my paternal grandfather’s sourdough recipe; a lot of research and development went into that one; and my uncle taught us the trick of dipping bread in a shallow bowl of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. There’s a tradition that I think my dad started, to fry or grill sticks of halloumi cheese and season them with lemon.” Chakotay had poured the wine and sat in the chair opposite me. I placed a plate in front of him and sat down to mine.

“It might not be the most cohesive meal but together it reminds me of home.” there was a pause, an unprompted moment of silence for those we were so far away from.

He lifted his glass, “To… our families back home, and the one we have right here on Voyager.” I smiled. The crisp sound of the glasses touching split the hum of the ship for a moment. Such a beautifully wholesome sentiment.

“How’s the bridge, commander?” I tore some bread and dipped it into the oil vinegar mix.

“The bridge is just fine, ensign. No alien contact, no helm challenges, refreshingly quiet. How about the lab?” he took a forkful of butternut.

“We’ve been getting some momentum on that analysis. Surprisingly, there’s been a lot of data to sift through. The sample turned out to be far more interesting than we thought it would be.” he nodded,

“That’s good news.” I took a sip of my wine, “Now, enough about work. How’s life?” 

I chuckled, “Life is work and work is life here on Voyager, commander.” he shook his head, amused.

‘Ensign’ and ‘commander’ had become our pet names for each other, an inside joke that he and I shared. With all the prying ears and eyes it was fun to have something they didn't understand, and it helped us to seem more professional with each other for the sake of those concerned or bothered by the relationship Chakotay and I had developed.

“I’m glad we could have dinner without spectators for once.” I nodded, agreeing. It had started to feel invasive.

“It’s kind of unsettling to have everyone watching and listening to us. I get that it’s a small ship but surely that doesn’t mean we’re no longer allowed at least a little bit of privacy.”

“You’d think a crew of Starfleet officers would have a little more discretion than this.”

I scoffed playfully, “at least we haven’t been getting much commentary from our colleagues.”

“The captain said something this morning,” I frowned

“She did?” he nodded

“It wasn’t about us specifically, but the implication was there.”

“What did she say?”

“Something along the lines of being sensitive to the consequences of specific relationships within the crew, considering that we’ll all be stuck with each other on Voyager for a long time to come.”

“I’m impressed, an approach like that to a situation like this takes a lot of finesse on the captain’s part. But I’m not surprised, we’re ‘stuck’ out here with one of the wisest Starfleet captains I know.” He nodded. I could see how he admired her.

“I can’t think of another captain who would’ve been able to keep Voyager going this long out here in the Delta quadrant.” I agreed.

“You know who else’s work out here has been exemplary?” I decided to lighten the mood, “Harry Kim. If it was up to me he’d be a full fledged lieutenant by now.” Chakotay seemed amused,

“His work has been exemplary.” The sentiment was sincere.

“You haven’t done too badly yourself, commander.” His smile was small and bashful.

There was a moment or two of silence and we continued eating.

-

“You must’ve used a week of replicator rations on this.” he sat on the couch, taking the mug of tea I handed him.

“Only two days, actually. The beans and spinach were from the airponics bay. I used some of a weird bulbous vegetable Neelix had in storage to stretch the butternut I replicated and he had some Talaxian spices close enough to imitate cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. I replicated the flour for the bread but yeast was a bit more difficult to get my hands on. The halloumi I had to replicate.”

“What about the lemon juice?” I chuckled.

“Six months into Neelix’s cooking I decided we needed some citrus so I grafted cuttings of about five different plants. We’ve ended up with limes, lemons, grapefruit, blood orange and an oddly bitter variety of Bolian tangerine. Neelix seems to get quite excited whenever I tell him the franken-tree has yielded another fruit. Which is rare because of how small it still is. Fortunately, citrus keeps well. The lemon I used tonight was in storage for about a month and a half.” Chakotay smiled.

“I think that citrus franken-tree is  one of your greatest achievements yet in terms of crew morale.” I chuckled,

“It’s definitely been one of the more challenging undertakings I’ve had while on Voyager.”

“You put a lot of effort into this meal.” I shrugged,

“I couldn’t have done it without Neelix’s help.” I frowned, “And it’s something I’d been needing to do for myself, a little bit of self-care. I’m glad I could share it with someone.” I looked up at him. I was glad that I had him to share the experience with.

“I’m honoured to have been allowed to share this meal with you.” His sincere smile put me at ease. I placed my mug of tea on the coffee table in front of me and leaned back into the couch.

“I’ve been missing home a lot recently. I guess the anniversary of my grandmother’s death hit me harder than I expected.” he took my hand in his, 

“You could have said something.” I responded to his concerned expression with a sad smile and looked down at our joined hands.

“I wanted to try working through it myself. I thought it would last a couple of days and I’d be back to normal.” my gaze became distant as I thought back

“Her leg of lamb stew was legendary. Not even my aunt could recreate it. She’d been cooking it on the day she died.” a small forlorn crease grazed my brow, “Two months after she died, I think it was on her birthday, it was taken out of cold storage and we all sat down to eat the last meal she ever made. It was… almost like a last goodbye. There was such a finality to that meal. I was only nine years old.” a single tear ran down my cheek, Chakotay gave my hand a comforting squeeze, “Her death changed my whole world view.”

“In what way?” His gentle question refocused my gaze. I shook my head slightly.

“I don’t remember.” It was true, but I knew for certain that I wouldn’t have grown into the person I had become if it wasn’t for her influence on my life, as well as the influence of her death.

“She meant a lot to you. I’m not surprised things didn’t just go back to normal for you after two days.” I smiled fondly and sighed, looking up and seeing his caring expression,

“Thank you for having this dinner with me.” he smiled softly,

“Of course. I’m glad I did.”

We sat for a while, my thoughts starting to gather again.

“A while back I programmed a traditional malva pudding recipe into the replicator data banks, well, our family recipe. Would you care for a piece?”

“I have no idea what it is, but I’m willing to try it.” I chuckled, getting up and heading to the replicator.

“It’s a traditional South African dish. My version is a bit different from what you’d find described in an historical database,” I sat back down with two plates of the syrup laced pound cake type dessert.

“Usually it’s served with custard or ice cream, but I think that just dulls the flavour.” one bite and a smile spread onto my face.

“I haven’t ever had anything like this. You’ll have to give me the recipe.” I shook  my head.

“Sorry, commander, that’s a family secret.” he chuckled.

“I might just have to order you to, ensign.” I laughed at him.

“Good luck with that, Chakotay.” it was a little startling to both of us to hear me call him by name, before that, I never had. That sounds bizarre, but it’s true.

“Chakotay,” it still sounded odd, my plate made a thud against the coffee table “I think we need to talk about some things.” he nodded, placing his plate down beside mine.

I took a deep breath. My chest tightened in anxiety. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I knew we needed to address some things about our relationship but I feel like I couldn’t quite describe them.

“I… “ I looked down trying to find the words, “we need to discuss… ‘us’, the nature of our relationship. What we… want out of this relationship, where we see it progressing. How we respond to the crew and commanding officers about… this.” he held my fidgeting hands in his and flashed me a soft, concerned smile.

“Well, I believe we’ve come to be close friends.” the smile that responded tried to hide my slight disappointment, “But, as for what I see in the future of our relationship… “ he looked down at our hands, “That’s a little more… sensitive.”

I gave an empathetic smile and chuckled, “I know the feeling.”

He sighed. “I care about you, a lot.”

“And I you.” I gave a small smile.

“I’d absolutely be happy to continue as friends,” he locked eye contact, searching for my thoughts, “but I’d hoped we could work towards a romantic relationship.” I grinned. I couldn’t describe the relief that I felt.

“Me too.” he beamed back at me and almost seemed to blush.

One of his hands released mine and came to the side of my face, my now free hand lay on his chest, beside his neck, against the undershirt exposed by his unfastened jacket. The warmth of his body against my skin brought a slight flush to my face. His thumb padded over my cheek. My fingers fiddled with the pips on his collar.

I looked up at his handsome face, his gentle, calming eyes focused on mine.  My fingers itched to trace along the lines gracing the skin around his left brow bone, cheek bone and temple. He was frustratingly close to me. I so badly wanted to reach out and touch those dimples that smiled at me. His eyes enthralled me. 

I took another risk, letting my other hand rise to meet his face, the tips of my fingers lightly dragged along his tattoo. He seemed to sigh into my touch, which made a contented smile cross my face. My heart fluttered, I felt so peaceful.

“I don’t think you’ve told me, why the tattoo?” he smiled.

“My father. He wore it to honour our culture, I wear it to honour him.” my heart swelled.

“That’s so pure.” he chuckled bashfully. I gave him a thoughtful smile.

“You’re a good guy, Chakotay.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before today. I like the way it sounds when you do.” it was my turn to blush.

“Chakotay, what are we gonna do about this?” I chuckled. My palm settled against his cheek.

“Well, what I would like to do about it, is to kiss you.” how suave, I’d been smiling every few seconds that evening, now was no exception.

“I’m not quite there yet, Chakotay.” I liked the way it sounded too, “I hope this can tide you over for now.” I leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll hold out for you.” he took my face in his hands and gave an equally gentle kiss to my forehead. My hands rested on his shoulders. A gleeful smile spread across my lips.

[cautious-creation]

Masterlist

MASTERLIST

[cautious-creation]

After many years of traveling through the Delta Quadrant Janeway finally gives up reinforcing Starfleet Uniform standard. Now everyone on the ship goes about their usual business but in different outfits. Janeway gives orders in her sparkly white tuxedo while Tom Paris applies coordinates in an old fashion aviator jacket and goggles. B'Elanna figures out complex space-time equations while lounging in her pajamas all day in engineering. Seven of Nine discovers the fashionable comfort of a simple tank top with jeans. Chakotay decides to get in touch with nature and goes around the ship completely naked. The doctor now free of appearance standards gives up representing the typical humanoid form in favor of abstraction and edits his program so he’s nothing but a floating disembodied talking head. Only Tuvok and Neelix remain the same as the ship plummets further into unrestrained madness.