#this was meant to be a quick sketch..... it ended up with colors and shading oops

[karoviesart]

I know nothing about this character other than his looks... He looks like he's insufferable. I love him. Fanart of @tinycowboyart 's Tiefling villain character. Find the original post here. Surprise Tinycowboy! Honestly you can't expect me to see a flamboyant, freckled, space goth without me falling over my drawing tablet for him.

[lemon-sugarcoats-nothing]

How do you decide what to draw, and when it's done?

Text: "This is a great question! I usually "wing it" when it comes to deciding when my drawing is done. (More below)" "Finding ideas...? It kind of depends! Sometimes I'll get a strong picture form in my head while I'm doing something else. Other times I just sit and draw whatever."

Now to elaborate on my process for deciding when to stop, how far to go with shading, etc. Most of it has to do with how I feel about drawing something, but also to do with keeping things visually appealing. Here I've laid out each general step of my drawing process from start to finish:

1. Sketch, Meant to be quick and generally convey the subject. I will sometimes draw and post things just as cleaned up sketches if just adding visuals to a text post, for shit-posting, or just if I'm not too interested in what I'm drawing.

2. Line art, I almost never post *just* line art, but i will occasionally post line art with one color to fill in the silhouette to help with contrast and character recognizability.

3. Flat color, I often post ask responses at this stage (maybe with simple hard-edged shadows here or there), but outside of ask responses I only leave character reference art at this stage just because the colors are purest for the character. I don't usually leave it without simple shading because it can be hard to read the subject's form, and its not my cup of tea. I lightly airbrush a warm color over the line art so that the harsh black doesn't contrast too much with the bright colors.

4. Shaded, a step up from simple hard edge shading I'll layer more than one shading color (layer set to multiply and lowered opacity) and blend out the edges in some places to soften the form. Then I add lighting and highlights - first using a textured soft airbrush over a large area, then use a round airbrush with hard edges for the highlights, blending out the edges in some areas to soften the form. This is usually where i stop for simpler character pieces, either for ask responses or for personal art. (Highlight layers are set to "add-glow")

5. Atmosphere, or adding additional shading elements to engage the subject with an environment or specific lighting condition. Here I've done a sunset lighting condition - I put a purple color over the whole subject set to multiply and opacity lowered, then airbrushed a reddish orange tone (on a separate layer, set to add-glow and opacity lowered) over the highlighted areas to bring warmth back to the lit spots. Then deepened the shadows using the hard edge airbrush again, a dark blue color (multiply layer, lower opacity), and then blending some of the edges out to show the form better. This is where I'll merge the line-art layer with what i now have of the coloring and shading, if i didn't already do so prior. Last I went back over the highlights with the orangey color (add glow, lower opacity). Once I get to rendering like this, I don't often stop here because by this point I'm likely hyper fixated and will keep pushing the values and adding details until I get to 6.

6. Details and bounce light. I texture-airbrushed a blue bounce light color, erased some hard edges in using that hard edged airbrush and then blending some of the edges out. This then gave me a guide to add in bounce-highlights with a hard pen, that i blended out in some places. I then further pushed the main highlights using a hard pen and again, blended out the edges. All layers set to add glow and opacity lowered. This is where I'll usually stop for finished rendered pieces, because I struggle to find other things to add or change, and the hyperfixation is thinning out and caving into my hunger/sleepiness. Might add hard white highlight details, but those are the finishing touches.

7. Wtf details. Added in hair strand details and fly-aways, blades of grass, I'm up way too late and struggling to end the drawing process - Or im just enjoying rendering the hair. I almost never add in stray hairs like this, but it's something i enjoy visually.

Again, a lot of where I stop comes down to my energy, time, and the vibes I'm going for. Hope this answers your question!

[stormystarlight]

Have you ever wanted to draw something but you fought due to your skill level at the time you decide not to do it

OH yeah ABSOLUTELY. all the time. my wips folder is full of stuff like this!! let me dust off some old examples

here's a sketch i did for a rain world piece that i was initially feeling pretty good about!! i wanted to experiment with more scenic pixel art, but i guess i didn't know where to start or how to approach it and ended up feeling really roadblocked really early on.

i blocked in some basic colors and did a little detailing on pebbles, but i was just struggling too hard with learning the tools and techniques i needed to pull off what i was envisioning that i got frustrated and stopped. I never picked this one up again, but I have made some other, better pixel art since :] i think the reason the one i linked worked out better is because i was trying to learn fewer things at a time while working on it. that one was a mostly 2-dimensional scene and was more heavily based on a reference, so i didn't have to think as hard about those things. this one was not only a new-ish medium to me, but also had some more challenging perspective and was less reference-heavy. if that makes sense?

more rain world! this was one of my earlier attempts at mimicking the cutscene art style. i got so frustrated with my inability to make the colors & shading look right that it went right into wip jail never to be seen again.

but then i scaled my ambitions back from Immediately Making A Polished Piece to just doing a quick study, and that helped immensely. original on the left, my study on the right. working on this was still difficult, cause i was learning something new, but since it was much simpler it was a much more manageable task. i could take more time to get it right without feeling like i was going nowhere

i never did finish that first one, but i did make some other finished pieces in that style that i think are pretty bangin if i do say so myself. one such example above

here's a video wip (whoa)! god it's really rushed & was never meant to see the light of day in this state so please don't look too hard at it. but this one i got frustrated with mostly because i wasn't feeling good about my ability to draw the cast of characters. so into the pits it went. i don't really have any interest in finishing it anymore since my ideas for the rest of it were speculative and, y'know, the rest of the show has since been released lol.

anyway, to close off my response. the first two are more or less success stories? despite the fact i never finished the original pieces i abandoned. because i wanted to talk about what's worked for me to alleviate this feeling—which is: scale back, try something less ambitious first, work your way up to the big project you're struggling with. but i also have dozens of other examples i could put in here of things that didn't work out at all and went nowhere. like, that just is how it is sometimes. i feel you 🤝 i think most if not all artists (of any medium) go through this haha

[livewireprojects]

Decided I'd post this ref I made of Jupitor & Plum, it's meant to be a quick color ref but took longer than I expected. It's a flat color but I like to shade in the eyes & also ended up adding some texture. This was kinda made by using some past sketches I worked on of these two, wanted this ref to turn out right.

I don't really talk about them much but Plum is technically my oldest OC or at least an evolution of them were the OC changed a lot over time until becoming Plum. There's a lot of interesting history with Plum from the fact he started off as a Ralts with some odd backstory cause I was a kid or the fact at one point he was a Steve/Bucky fankid which might be why his name is Plum.

Jupitor is the leader of a pack of werecreatures that seem to be made of shadows that are living in an abandoned campsite/town, he is a tall friendly guy that while cheerful can often get worried. Jupitor is actually his nickname(that he spells like that for some reason), I don't have a name for him yet. He met Plum due to being stuck in a loop Plum had been trapped in for a long time, they ended up becoming close after Jupitor helped Plum end the loop & went on to become Plum's boyfriend as he helped Plum recover from being isolated. While he does his best to be a good leader & is those in his pack think fondly of him he often worries if he's doing a good job. He luckily has support & doesn't have to deal with this alone thanks to Plum doing his best to support the werecoyote out when he can.

Plum is Jupitor's partner/boyfriend, he's quiet/reserved made worse due to isolating himself after suffering inside a bizarre loop that has left him unable to remember his own name & led to his powers, Jupitor is the one that ended up giving Plum his nickname. Plum has a scar on his neck due to an incident in the loop, he use to wear bandages around his neck but now wears a choker after becoming less self-conscious, he can talk but due to being reserved doesn't like to talk very often. While he can seem a bit distant he's still struggling with being around people(due to incidents/trauma from the loop) & is lucky to be close with people that care about him like Jupitor.(Especially Jupitor) Plum has the ability to see into other worlds/alternate universes via the POV of the person meant to be him in that world, this can sometimes lead to it looking like Plum can see the future since some alternate worlds times are different. He has a little star shaped mole next to the right eye that gets covered by his hair sometimes, just kind of appeared there after the loop ended.

This is a pic of them I uploaded June 20, 2021 on DA for Pride Month

I ended up changing Jupitor's hair a little & I didn't exactly have an outfit for him

[scatterpatter]

doodle dump! Featuring some color tests and mostly doodles around the character who i wont play for a good couple of years most likely XD

I Just Think Theyre Neat

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Alone Together

Summary: After an awful breakup you were expecting to spend Christmas alone. You and Steve end up spending it together.

Pairings: tattoo artist!Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson sister!reader. Abusive ex boyfriend!Brock Rumlow x reader

Warning: mentions of abusive relationship, smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex

Tagging: @titty-teetee @blackmissfrizzle @olyvoyl @liquorlaughslove @harrysthiccthighss @mariahthelioness29 @whiskey-cokenfanfic @olyvoyl @hqneyyincc @queenoftheworldisdead @iam-laiya @donutloverxo @slytherinandoutasgard @zaddychris @brattycherubwrites @love-more122

(A/N: yay I made it! Merry Christmas guys! Reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

——————————————————————————

Okay yeah so it was stupid. You should have known better when you’d done it. Well, you did you just... well you don’t really know what you were thinking.

Red flags just look like flags when you’re wearing rose colored glasses, yeah fuck off you stole that from Bojack. So when you were with your ex and doing all this dumb just you thought would make him happy it ended up being kind of awful in the end.

When they finally came off you noticed the things you dealt with. Scared to piss him off so you started treating okay times like they were really good. All the stupid things he had you do to prove yourself.

You were paying for this one right now. Right in another parlor. Covering up that mistake with something you actually liked. Not that most people could see it because it was on your underboob. Said he wanted it to be this hidden thing all for him that no one else was allowed to see.

The first time he asked you’d laughed and said no thinking it was a joke. The second time you it happened you tried to be a little more firm. Except that just meant you couldn’t prove your love for him. That you were devoted. That he’d get a tattoo for you on his arm that he never had time to get for some reason.

It was so fucking dumb you know. The cursive Brock tattooed right under your boob. You could see it every time you took your shirt off and it really bothered you. It always had, but you were trying to convince yourself that you loved him before. Now you looked at it and saw the new of a person you wished you’d never even met.

Steve was your older brother’s best friend. He ran this super popular tattoo shop. They’d met in the military and the friendship just stuck. It’s kind of why you ended up moving to New York. You were kind of the outcast of the family, but Sam never treated you any different. You were his baby sister.

So after a few weeks you asked him if he could cover it up. Except his only available day was Christmas Eve. You didn’t go home anyway and Sam was going to meet his girlfriend’s parents this year. Not that you weren’t invited, but you just wanted this thing covered up. Maybe that would make you forget.

You winced as the needle dug into your skin. Not like it wasn’t worth the pain. “Hey, relax, okay,” he said, softly rubbing your arm. He’d been so much help since the breakup. It was funny. Brock hated him. Was always ranting about what an asshole he is. You could tell he didn’t like your brother either. You really didn’t know what but you knew it was something over their friend Bucky or whatever.

Yeah it was a whole thing. Not that you really knew the details.

Normally you’d spend the holidays with his family. Though a little uncomfortable it was nice being with him. So this was your first year in three that you were alone. Hanging with Steve was nice.

“I’m fine,” you were trying to keep a brave face.

He was almost done. Just had to finish up the shading. Honestly you’d been expecting him being that close to you to feel weird, but it was actually nice. It’d just be nice if you didn’t date another tattoo artist.

Yeah Brock also tattooed. He’d met Steve because they’d worked at the same shop once. You remember how Brock was seething when he found out that Steve had opened his own.

You wish you could go back in time and tell Leila to never go into that damn shop. To never ask you to go with her because she was nervous for her first tattoo. Somehow it ended up with Brock promising you a discount if you let him tattoo you if you gave him your number. Being a cliche you got a butterfly on your shoulder.

Somehow it didn’t bother you as much. Maybe because it didn’t look like anything resembling him.

“You sure? We can take a break,” he offered.

You shook your head. “No. I’m okay.” You chuckled with a smile.

He chuckled before clicking his tongue. “Alright. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“How’s your mom’s trip?” You asked. His mother had decided to vacation to Hawaii with his step-dad. Which is also why he was here. Not that he couldn’t have went with Nat and Bucky to his parent’s house. Except last time he’d done that, he ended up having to sleep next to Bucky’s incredibly touchy aunt. He was better off spending it alone.

“She’s great. Talked to her this morning.” He chuckled, “apparently she’s bringing me back a Hawaiian shirt.”

“You could pull it off.” You replied trying not to laugh too much.

“You think so?” He asked.

“Yeah just keep it unbuttoned and don’t wear a shirt under.”

He stopped to laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I dunno. Just doing a service for the girls,” you said. “Don’t act like you don’t know that you’re cute.”

He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Why Miss. Wilson, you’re not flirting with me are you?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No. Just... stop. You know you’re hot.”

His jaw dropped as he grin. “Now you think I’m hot?”

You sighed dramatically. “Look, Steve. I’m just joking.”

He went back to work with this kind of goofy look on his face. You couldn’t deny it. Steve is hot. Anyone with eyes could see that. Your eyes traced along his tattooed forearms. The sleeves of his flannel pushed up to elbows. Until you were distracted by his broad shoulders.

Your mind finally started to relax. Kind of enjoying the buzzing of the gun. You kind of missed that sound you loved going to the shop with a Brock while he worked.

Your only days off were weekends and since he usually had shit to do on those days, you’d be there while he worked. Sometimes even helping out when their secretary was out.

“And, done,” he said taking a deep breath and smiling down at his work before turning off the machine. “How you feelin?’” He grabbed your hand to help you to your feet.

“Well, a little sore, but good.”

You turned to look at it. Smiling at the flowers that were there now. “It’s beautiful,” you said, looking at Steve before throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”

“Hey,” he pulled away to rub your arms, “I got you.”

He was so close, eyes trained on your lips. So you started wondering maybe this was why Brock hated Steve. Saw how magnetic he was that he could definitely pull you in.

That couldn’t have been it, though. Brock never saw you with him alone. His dislike went much deeper than you. Today had kind of added insult to injury. Not only did you cover up that thing, but he was the one to do it. It’d be a slap in the face.

Maybe that’s why you did it. Except you’d always liked Steve’s work. You’d seen so many pieces he did or sketches he made and had wanted him to work on you for the longest. Maybe next time it would be something you didn’t need to cover up.

Your phone went off and you groaned softly pulling away. “Hey, Sam,” you greeted your brother. Of course it had to be him of all people.

Looking back over at his best friend who was cleaning up the station now. It was probably a good thing because your heart had started to thump in your chest. You didn’t need that.

You raised your shirt up so you could see it finally. “Just calling to check up on you. Steve’s lazy ass taking a break? I don’t hear buzzing in the back.”

“We just finished actually.” You laughed.

“How’d it come out?”

“Good,” you answered. “Tell Maya I said hi.”

You finished talking to Sam before finally hanging up. When you finally looked at your new tattoo, a smile grew on your face. It looked so much better than before. “Like it?” Steve asked.

“I love it,” you replied. You grabbed your bag so you could pay him.

“Um, excuse me, Miss,” he said. “Your money is no good here.”

“What? I’m not going to have you do all this work and not pay you, Stevie.”

He sighed. “Think of it as a Christmas present.”

You rolled your eyes still taking your money out. “I can’t-“

“I’m not taking it,” he pressed.

“Fine at least let me give you a tip.”

“I’m not taking that either.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes. For such a nice boy he was always so stubborn. “Fine. Then... dinner. I’ll make dinner. If we’re spending Christmas alone then it might be fun to spend it together.”

He smiled softly. “Yeah... that sounds nice.”

“Great.” You looked into his eyes again. They were like the prettiest blue ever. Especially with those little specks of green.

After a trip to the store, he escorted you back to the apartment you shared with your brother. You could have moved out, but you were kind of afraid to live alone. That’s why Sam had been a little surprised that you’d declined the invitation to go with him. It was nice to have Steve there.

You’d decorated the apartment even though you hadn’t planned to do anything. You still wanted to be a little festive. Maybe it would pull you into a better mood. It worked a little.

You quickly started on dinner. Steve helped by cutting up vegetables. He’d taken off his sweater letting his incredibly muscular tattooed arms taunt you. Okay so yeah you had a little bit of a crush on him. Like a lot of other women, you just liked to look.

“Thanks for dinner,” Steve said, taking a sip of his wine. “I don’t get home cooked meals a lot.”

“Can’t cook?” You asked with a smirk.

“Yeah I’m pretty hopeless at it.” He shrugged.

“So do you want to watch Christmas movies after this?” You asked.

He laughed. “Yeah that’d be nice.”

The night was going by kind of quick as you settled down to watch A Christmas Story. You were a little tipsy honestly, but you and Steve were sharing a fluffy blanket. Which meant he was close.

You’d carefully showered so you didn’t get your tattoo wet and changed into a sweater shirt and s pair of matching shorts. Getting all bundled up so you could curl up beside him. “You look so warm.” He chuckled as he got a little closer.

“Do you need an extra blanket?” You asked.

“No I’m okay,” he replied.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked because the thought had crossed your mind again. This time you’d finally worked up the nerve to ask.

“Why don’t you and Brock like each other?” You asked.

He sighed. “You’re not the first person I’ve had to save from him. He and Bucky used to be close and I noticed him kind of spiraling. Rumlow was pumping him full of all of these drugs and I dunno I didn’t want to lose my friend.”

Your stomach started to turn. This was the first time you’d ever heard of any of this. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

“I wanted to, but Sam said we needed to let you make your own mistakes. To not push you away. There were so many times that I thought about... look I just know that I’m never letting him hurt you again. Okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. This glazed over look in your eyes. Steve noticed and pulled you closer pretty much placing you in his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay, Honey.” He rubbed your back. Trying to at least comfort you a little.

“No I’m fine,” you replied leaning into him. The soft fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare legs. It was nice to have him comfort you like this. “You know I think the worst thing to me is that and I’m sorry if this is too much information, but he’d use Sam against me. Say that if I didn’t do what he wanted he’d tell Sam about the things we did in bed.”

Steve sighed. “You know he wouldn’t have cared.”

“I know, but it still felt embarrassing. He knew how secretive I was about it. None of my friends even know the kind of things I’m into.” You took a deep breath, trying to relax because you felt way more tense than you wanted to.

He chuckled. Trying to lighten the mood. “I get it. I used to be the same way until my last girlfriend put it all out there when we broke up.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah I remember that.”

“Yeah. She was something else.” He tossed his head back as he laughed. “One night she came to the shop, talking about how she’d let me tie her up one more time.”

“Brock used to say stuff like ‘come on, Babygirl, do what Daddy says or else I’ll tell your brother what you’re up to.’ It used to grate on my nerves.”

“God. What a fucking asshole,” he said, hoping you didn’t notice when he felt himself get suddenly hard at hearing you say that.

“Yeah, but I’m so glad this thing is covered.”

“Yeah. Glad I could help,” he said with smile. “Shit do you mind actually if I take a picture of it? For Instagram.”

You nodded. “Yeah that’s fine.”

He took his phone out of his pocket while you laid down across his lap, rolling your sweatshirt up so that it was exposed. “Perfect,” he said as he snapped the picture the flash making you close your eyes all tight, making you move your hand so you could rub your eye.

Making your entire breast become exposed. “Shit,” you said, pushing it back down as you sat back up. Your eyes connected to his again and that’s when he kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to do it back. Your mouth moving against his ever so softly. Like the two of you were afraid to really do what you want, but also didn’t want to pull away. Until he finally started to deepen it.

You stroked his beard as he held onto you tightly. You came to straddle his lap as he cupped your ass. He started to lay you back.

Your phone interrupted you, making you jump away. You scrambled to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hey. Just checking on you,” Sam’s voice came through.

“Oh. I’m fine, Sam.” You took looked over at Steve who closed his eyes and stood up.

“Is Steve with you?”

“Yeah he walked me home,” you said. “Actually I have to go I’m going to shower.”

“Okay. Text me before bed.”

“Okay.”

Steve was gathering up his things to leave by the time you got off your phone. You watched him move around. He shrugged his coat on. “I’m just gonna head out.”

“Yeah...” you pursed your lips.

He licked his lips. “I, um, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me... I-“

“No. It’s okay,” you replied taking a deep breath. “I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You watched as he walked away heading towards the elevator. You still couldn’t believe that happened. Lips tingling from the way he kissed you. Apart of you was cursing Sam from ruining your moment.

Another part of you was kind of happy that he did because as much as you hated it, Brock still had this hold over you. It wasn’t that you felt guilty. It was more like you were afraid of what would happen if he found out.

God, you wish he didn’t have this hold on you. You were starting to close the door when Steve came back. This time he didn’t stop himself as he kissed you. Or picked you up, kicking the door shut behind him. Didn’t stop himself as he carried you to your room.

He laid you down on your bed, getting on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Trying to be as close to him as possible. Fuck he felt so good on top of you.

Scratching at his muscular shoulders. He pulled your top off first. Exposing your tits. His mouth went to them as he tried to avoid your tattoo. He swirled his tongue around your nipple.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He’d switched to the other one to give it the same treatment. “So fucking beautiful.” He started kissing down your body so he could take off your shorts and panties. He kissed along your thighs, still looking into your eyes as he parted them.

Before he could put his mouth on your pussy, he went back up. Kissing you again. “Is this okay?” He asked resting his forehead to yours.

You nodded, reaching out so you could start undoing the buttons of his flannel. He helped you, pressing his lips to yours again. This time he put his tongue in your mouth.

Kissing him was different than Brock. Steve’s lips seemed to mold with yours better. There was this feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt like it was about to burst, but like you wanted it to. You really shouldn’t be comparing them, but Steve was making you feel so good and you were kicking yourself from having missed out on this as you wasted your time.

He pushed his shirt off his body then undid his pants. Sliding them down his legs along with his underwear. He got back on top for you, kissing your neck. Leaving little nibbles and sucking on your skin like he knew your body already. “Daddy,” you cried out, then sat up when you realized what you said opening your mouth to apologize.

“Oh yeah, Baby. You want me to be your daddy?” He asked, going back between your legs. “Want to be a dirty girl for me only?”

You nodded suddenly feeling drunk off of his words. Never did you think in a million years that Steve would be talking to you like this. He was getting you so wet just from that. He started licking your clit first.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he feasted on you. Pussy juices making a mess on his beard. “Yes,” you gasped out as he started to finger you at the same time.

That same bursting feeling in your stomach was getting intense. You cried out for him as you felt yourself reach your peek. You grabbed his hair, grinding your pussy against his face.

You took a deep breath as you tried to sit up, but he put a hand on your stomach to hold you still. “I’m not done.” He growled. “Hold still while Daddy makes you cum, Honey.”

You nodded bracing yourself as he went back to eating you out. It didn’t take long for him to bring you to another orgasm or another one after that. When he was done he kissed you, making you taste your juices on him.

As you made out again he went back to rubbing your cunt. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said. “Gonna make you cum over and over again. Gonna take care of you.”

“Oh god yes,” you whimpered.

“Fuck I don’t have any condom,” he said, as he’d started to line himself up with your entrance.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m on birth control.”

He licked his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you so bad, Daddy.”

He grinned as he kissed you softly. “I want to know your safe word first, Honey. Just in case.”

“Strawberry.”

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. He pushed into you as your tongues came into contact. Your tongues carassing against each other.

You stretched around him and you started to understand why he’d spent so much time eating you out. Fuck he was thick. You stretched around him looking into his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered into your lips. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much!” You cried.

“You can take it, Honey,” he kissed you again. “Be a good girl and take Daddy’s dick.”

He started fucking into you a little harder. You could feel yourself leaking around his dick. He’d really worked you up first even if he was still too damn thick for your pussy.

You scratched his back, biting his shoulder. He was thrusting so deep. You don’t think you’d ever been fucked this deep before. You’d definetly never been stretched open like this.

“Right there! Don’t stop!” You begged as he started fucking into your spot. “I’m fucking cumming!”

“That’s it, Honey. Cum for me.” He groaned because your pussy was so tight. Especially as you came. You were tightening around him and if he wasn’t so determined to give you a few more he would have let go inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy!” You cried. He didn’t let up. Fucking you through it.

“Nasty girl, squirting for me,” he said getting on his knees so he could watch you.

“Oh god!” You didn’t stop. Your pussy gushing around him. He bent your legs back with his hands on the back of your thighs. Watching his cock all slick anytime he’d pull out only to push back into you.

He chuckled as it happened again. Your eyes all clouded over as you came again just like that last time. More juices squirting out of you.

“Please,” you said, but didn’t know why.

“What do you want me to do, Baby?” He asked.

You couldn’t say anything back because you were to far gone. Thoughts had officially left your head. All you knew was him and the he was fucking you so damn good. Still pressing into your spot.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” he hissed, getting back on top of you with his bicep wrapped around your thigh so he could keep you spread open. He kissed you again this time deeper. Fucking your mouth with his tongue.

You moaned into him and thrusts became to falter as he started to pump you full of his cum. He thrusted into you deep as he gave you every bit of it. Wanting to completely fill you up with him.

He laid on top of you trying to catch his breath. You were panting underneath him. Not even wanting him to move because he was so warm. You buried your head into his neck.

It took you a minute to come down from your highs. He smiled down at you, kissing you softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You shook your head, already closing your eyes because you were so comfortable like this. “I’m great.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smiled lazily as he finally rolled off of you. He brought you close to him, kissing your nose again. “Stay with me.”

“There’s literally no other place I’d rather be,” he said.

You’d spent all night messing around. Taking little cat naps in between. Right now he had you on your stomach as he fucked you from behind. You never expected to spend your holiday with him, but now you couldn’t picture spending it with anyone else.

You hadn’t even thought about your ex and the meltdown he’d have if he knew about this. It was nice feeling so free. Especially as Steve’s tattooed arms wrapped around you from behind.

Hints of daylight had started to break through the slits of your curtain. He chuckled. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered into your ear as he didn’t even let up the way he was fucking into you.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He kissed the back of your shoulder. “Gonna spend Christmas letting me make you my girl?”

You nodded trying to peek up at him over your shoulder with a smile. “Your girl?”

“After this I’m not letting you go,” he said, kissing your cheek from behind. “We might need to make this a tradition.”

“I like the sound of that.”

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Three

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 3 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction. 

Warnings in this chapter: sexual harassment (slight); talk of sexism/misogyny/canon violence; mentions of drug use; mentions of depression

Word Count: 8,900+

~

The Compound, 2023, 3:16pm

     It probably would have been better to grieve as a group, to help each other in understanding what just happened, to lean on each other. But the second you saw Clint fall to his knees without Natasha beside him, soul stone in hand and face miserable, like he saw a wandering ghost in need of help, you started to walk backwards off the platform. 

You stumbled and teetered before finding balance against the railing. No one seemed to notice you, all wrapped in their own suffocating grief, and you abandoned the group to run across the grounds of the compound. It wasn’t until you ended up by the lake that you realized you were crying, tears flowing but face tough and angry, chest heaving as you came to a stop. You just stared at the ground, shaking hands still gloved and teammates still back at the compound and - oh, god Clint, oh god, oh god, oh god. 

Chest still tight and finding it harder to breathe, you shut your eyes and leaned against the nearest tree. Several minutes flew by, the only sounds that of your suit’s fabric stretching and retracting as your breathing grew slower. And the grief that enveloped you almost instantly turned into fury, and it hurt, it hurt, but you were just so damn angry that you found yourself wishing it was you. Natasha didn’t deserve this, and neither you, but you would give anything to just believe for a second that this couldn’t be real.

But you all knew the risks. This was inevitable. And you were so angry. 

Voices startled you from your thoughts and you watched your teammates pace toward the dock, ideas bouncing from one head to another as they strategized ways to reverse this. But Clint quickly shut them up, telling them that no matter what they did, a sacrifice was a sacrifice and that was the end of it. 

“It was supposed to be me.”

And finally someone said it, because it should have been anyone but Natasha, and that thought caused bile to burn your throat and why in the world could you not control your breathing?

You ran from your spot, legs carrying you to the gardens and burning as you increased speed. You collapsed near the lake, shredding your suit until you were left in the comfortable t-shirt and leggings underneath, sounds of the garden ringing in your ears. 

The time of day could be told by the purple and orange streaks painting the sky, evening dew on the plants near your feet and the sound of a cricket’s chirp cutting through the silence. You counted the hours this way, focusing on the colors and sounds of the outside world that for some reason, didn’t feel like your own anymore. Guilt latched onto your core as you found yourself falling into the therapeutic senses of it all, eyes closing and a silent plea of ‘I’m so sorry, Nat’ escaping your lips. The tears you had shed hours ago were now dry, creating a minor strain of your skin, noticeable as you moved your face. 

Legs dangling from the dock and eyes simply watching the sky change shades, you barely heard the soft footsteps behind you. And you smiled, surprised that it took your teammates this long to recognize your absence.

Thor grumbled below his breath as he sat beside you, his feet barely touching the water. You swung your legs together, impossibly empty yet consumed minds working behind such sad eyes. 

“You want to jump in and freeze? It’s autumn, it’s cold, we’ll probably die from hypothermia.”

Your body lunged forward lightly as a tiny laugh left your throat, a small smile twitching on the corner of your lips. “Yeah, I’m down.”

Thor grinned at your equally dark response, reaching over and gripping your hand in his. He rubbed small circles into your knuckles and resumed watching the clouds shift. 

You looked down at your conjoined hands, wondering why he came after you in the first place. Still, you squeezed his hand back and relaxed in the feeling. 

“Doesn’t seem worth it anymore.”

Thor turned his head, “She traded her soul for trillions of others who had no choice.”

You mumbled, “Still isn’t fair.”

Thor scooted closer to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, grinning when you accepted the invitation to lean into him. 

“None of this fair. We have one more fight, Y/N.”

You sighed, ready to complain and run back to the compound to lay under a mountain of blankets, wallowing in self-pity and increasing depression. 

“Look at me,” Thor instructed, gently pulling away from you. “I know what you’re feeling. I too want to sleep and never wake up.”

Your face dropped, sympathy flooding your eyes. You raised a hand to lay your palm on his cheek, wiping away the stray tear he had let slip. “You don’t have to be so strong.”

Thor leaned into the feeling of your warm hand and he gave you a sad smirk. “I know. But it’s all we know how to be.”

Thor could sense your depleting energy, and as much as he wanted to carry you to your bed and wrap a blanket around you, cup of tea ready and some comedy movie on repeat, he had to persuade you. There was one more fight that needed to be fought.  

“Breathe, and think of the first thing that brings you comfort. Lean into that, let it give you strength, and use it.”

You turned to him, prepared to protest, but Thor simply gripped your face in his hands, allowing you to do the same. He rested his forehead against yours. “Think and use it.”

You nodded, still apprehensive to the idea, but you shut your eyes and thought. New and old friends. It could have been anything - Natasha’s final and unknown farewell, Wanda’s loud laugh as she fought Sam (who was on Steve’s shoulders and her on Bucky’s) and tried pushing him into the water, or even Tony’s face as he realized he forgot to put the lid over the blender before turning it on - anything, but you held onto the first flash of joy your mind recalled. 

The sudden image of Steve’s face frightened you. Not because Steve himself was scary, but because the more you thought of him, the more prepared you were for the final battle. You had something to fight for. Someone. You simply saw Steve - Steve who tucked his knees up to his chest when he sketched the trees outside his bedroom window - and how he would put his pencil down and march toward you because ‘don’t you ever knock?’, and push you out of his room as you laughed and apologized at the same time.

“Use it,” Thor repeated. You opened your eyes. 

So you wiped your tears and changed back into your suit, hair now held in a ponytail and new gun on your hip. Your breath hitched as Bruce lifted the gauntlet to put it on, his eyes swimming with fear but also determination, and you found yourself glancing at Steve. He felt eyes on him, and he found yours, and something alerted you of the shift. Perhaps this was his last straw, it was yours too, but this was different. You wanted to go back to Thor and ask him to help you find that memory again, ‘tell me to imagine Steve again, Steve with his soft face and gentle hands, Steve who doesn’t look like he’s just seen a ghost!’. A perfect stranger, and before you could ponder such a drastic change, Bruce began screaming in agony. You stood behind Tony, allowing Bruce’s screams to fuel your energy, because you had one more fight. 

Just one more. 

A Forest in Iowa, 2025, 6:47am

     You awoke with a strangled groan, a crick in the neck that needed to be remedied by a quick snap to the opposite side and a very numb ass. You dreaded having to remove your arms from the warmth the blanket provided, but the quicker you turned the car on you could relax. You leaned over and did so, the tingles along your lower back and bottom begging you to get out of the car. Steve was startled awake from the sudden rumble of the engine, alert within seconds and examining his surroundings. 

You practically crawled out the car and stretched every muscle, even muscles you didn’t know could become inflamed, and started walking around the campsite while rubbing your palms on your sore ass. Steve joined you outside after a few minutes, laughing at the random stretches you were performing. 

“Laugh all you want, Rogers but if I don’t get this knot out my ass then any danger we encounter you’re taking out alone.”

“Do you need help?”

You snapped your body back up, an involuntary loud cackle rising from your throat. “That would be a treat.”

Steve rolled his eyes and began stretching himself, arms bent and raised behind his head as he tugged on his elbows. “I just meant in general. Not specifically your ass.”

You giggled at his innocence, walking back to the car and grabbing the blanket you had regretfully crawled from. You wrapped it around your shoulders and made your way back to Steve, extending your right leg out and dipping your upper body down to continue the stretch. You heard the sudden ‘pop!’ of your hip, surprising both you and Steve. You screamed in slight but joyful surprise, pulling yourself back up to look at Steve. He just stared back, amazement and a little concern in his face. He scrunched his nose and smiled wide. 

“That hurt?”

You shook your head ‘no’ and extended your left leg now, bending down and stretching the same way. Again, ‘pop!’

And Steve had to walk away in complete astonishment, hands covering his ears and a comical expression on his face, because it just sounded so weird. 

You stopped at the first secluded diner you stumbled upon, barely open for the morning and understaffed. There was a lonely waitress behind the counter folding napkins and cleaning the leftover coffee grounds someone forgot to clean before her. She looked about thirty, slightly dark circles under her eyes, but presented a cheerful smile as you and Steve walked through the door. If she was surprised with two Avengers walking into her place of work, she did an excellent job at hiding it. 

“What can I get you two?”

You took a seat on the light blue swivel chair at the counter and flashed the waitress a kind smile as you spoke. Her name tag read ‘Martha’. “Coffee and tea to start with, please.”

She clicked the coffee maker on and went to retrieve a kettle from the back, leaving you and Steve alone. 

“You hungry?” you asked. 

Steve plopped down in the chair beside you, already grabbing the two sugar packets he would put into his tea. “Starved.”

You rolled your eyes, “You were the one who refused the last granola bar.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“Aw, you starved yourself for me?”

Steve huffed in annoyance, playing with his sugar packets and head hung low to avoid recognition from incoming customers. You stared at him longer than usual, studying the way his jaw ticked every so often and how he would sniff at nothing only to pass the time and countless thoughts. You reached over and grabbed a handful of sugar packets, piling them in between you and the super soldier, and began constructing the base of a tower. It seemed to snap Steve out of whatever thought he had, and he quickly became interested. He helped steady the base, careful fingers adding to the height. You two worked in silent cooperation, little giggles filling the empty and quiet diner. 

Martha returned with two mugs and went to grab both the freshly made coffee and tea. She watched as you and Steve constructed your sugar packet tower, a smirk on her face as she poured your drinks. “Anything to eat?”

And it was one of the best meals you had. The sheer amount of grease on those sausages and hash browns warmed your once empty stomach and meshed with the coffee in the most delightful way. You almost wanted to ask for seconds, those scrambled eggs not nearly enough, but the longer you stalled the longer the ride on the freeway was going to be. 

You paid and left a generous tip, finishing the remaining amount of coffee in your mug. Steve had gone to the restroom, your sugar packet tower still standing tall and proud. It didn’t seem like Martha was going to knock it down any time soon. The bell over the front door dinged with a new arrival, the cold air from outside making you clutch your hot mug tighter. 

You glanced over your shoulder out of instinct. The man looked to be in his mid-forties, a trucker no doubt, and had only the slightest hint of an unwashed smell. He took a place at the counter a few seats away from you, throwing his hat down and begging Martha to bring him a coffee of his own. You took a sip from your mug.

“Woah, you’re an Avenger, aren’t you?”

Busted. 

“Nope.”

The man scooted a few seats closer, eyes now wide awake. He pointed at you in an almost accusatory manner, but voice still cheery. “No, seriously - I’ve seen your face in the news and everything!”

You set your coffee down and saw the look of pity Martha was throwing you from across the counter. “You want a picture or something?”

The man laughed now, a nasty smirk on his face. “Or something would be nice.”

Your face scrunched and your shoulders immediately tensed. “You better not be implying-?”

“Woah, hey, no harm here! I just mean, you’re here alone and I’m here alone…”

You looked away from him, taking a big swig from your mug. The burn down your throat was somewhat therapeutic. “I’ll do the picture or else I start screaming.”

“I’d love to hear that.”

Steve rounded the corner when he heard a full-on conversation he was sure just started during his absence. He almost cursed himself for leaving you alone during such an important mission, even if it was to urinate. He could have had you standing outside the men’s restroom just to feel more secure of your well-being. Still, he remained behind the wall and listened to the conversation. If Steve was to interrupt before you could get your own kicks in, then he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

‘I had him on the ropes!’

‘Excuse me for assisting a teammate!’

‘Get bent!’

Yeah, Steve would let you kick this person’s ass and brag about it instead of yapping at him.  

You groaned, hoping the loud sound would make the man retreat back to his breakfast. “Bet you would.”

But it seemed to encourage him more, and he stepped closer to lean on the counter and bump your shoulder with his. You kept your eyes trained on your abandoned coffee. 

“C’mon, I’m just a lonely trucker trying to make ends meet. I think I deserve some kind of reward.”

You put on your best fake smile, tilting your head towards him. You flashed your teeth, a great distraction for him as you reached into your pocket for your throwing knife. “That picture offer seems to be wearing very, very thin, dude.”

He placed his dirty hand on your shoulder, squeezing as he spoke in a low whisper. “Guess that’s for the best.”

His hand was immediately twisted from your shoulder, the sound of his instant wail frightening poor Martha. You knew what had happened, and as chill as ever, you swiveled the chair around casually. 

The man groaned in discomfort, “Woah, hey! - oh my god.”

Steve’s single hand was crushing his, digits begging for mercy as each second Steve squeezed even harder. He could feel the man’s knuckles start to crack painfully. “Yeah, ‘oh my god’. Touch her again and I’ll total your truck.”

The man shook his head violently, “We were just talking!”

“Nuh-uh,” you chuckled, elbows resting on the counter behind you. 

“C’mon Cap, you gotta believe me!” The man tried to sprinkle some humor on the situation, which only caused Steve to shove him into a booth, hand still gripping his. 

Steve towered over him now as the man had no choice but to fall back into the booth. “That’s just it - I don’t.”

The man looked from Steve’s face, to yours, to his own purpling and bruising hand. “What are you two doing out in the middle of nowhere anyway? Danger nearby?”

You stood from your seat and stood beside Steve, arms crossed and a smirk on your face. “Look, bud - tell anyone you saw us and you’ll regret it.”

And like the idiot he was, even with Steve’s hand cramping down on him, he still countered. “Are you threatening me?”

Steve couldn’t believe this guy. Of course, he could squeeze harder and just yank this guy’s fingers clean off, but he wasn’t that evil. The guy was just a creep and a pervert, which in Steve’s moral compass, called for a few cuts and scrapes and not a permanent disability. 

“Yup, and I tend to have some creative ways of framing people.”

     “C’mon, I know you can hit harder than that!” 

Steve threw a few more punches at the cushion Bucky was holding up, boxing gloves nearly sliding from his fists because of their large size. 

“One more, there we go!”

Bucky lowered the cushion as Steve threw his last punch, racing toward the bench to fetch Steve’s inhaler and hand it to the younger boy. 

“I could have gone longer.”

Bucky smiled at his best friend, “I’m sure you could have but you were about to pop a lung and I love you too much to see you go out that way, pal.”

Steve took a drag of his inhaler at the same time he tried to wrap his arm around Bucky’s neck. But the older boy was quicker and lunged out of the way, taking a celebratory light jog around the ring for such minimal effort on his part. Steve just glared at him, a small smirk forming as Bucky started chanting. 

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, defenders of America, the world, we avenge the fallen!”

Steve let Bucky exaggerate, inhaler finally working enough for him to take a big swig of water. “You really think we’ll save the world?”

Bucky held his chest and laughed loudly, “America isn’t going to war anytime soon, pal. Let’s focus on rescuing dames from bullies and perverts first!”

     “Captain, you gonna let her-?”

You snapped your fingers in his face to get his wandering eyes back on you, “I’m speaking to you.” 

Steve couldn’t hide his grin, a slight blush growing on his cheeks due to your authoritative tone. He had heard you speak this way countless times, roughing up some guy on the opposite side whenever they proved difficult. Although you weren’t currently throwing punches, Steve was proud nonetheless. 

You continued, “Tell anyone and I’ll tell the cops you tried selling us drugs.”

The man’s eyes widened comically, “What? I don’t even have-”

You reached into your back pocket and revealed a tiny baggy half-full of white powder. Martha’s tiny giggle reminded the man that he had an audience, a possible witness, but her overall lack of involvement was enough to know he was alone in this. “Come again? You were saying something?”

The man gritted his yellowing teeth, “No fucking way.”

You jiggled the baggy closer to his face, watching in amusement as he whipped his head to the side as if it was poison. “Way. I’ll stash it in your beloved truck where only the dogs can smell it.”

Steve, hands still gripping the man out of instinct, was completely shocked. He watched the baggy in the most peculiar way - analyzing its size, crumpled appearance, even the way the tiny specks of white dust latched onto the moisture inside, resembling salt or sugar. Obviously he knew what product you handled, but he had never seen it up close and personal unless he was in the evidence locker room. Maybe ‘shock’ wasn’t used with negative connotation, because Steve wanted to both laugh at your threat and snatch the baggy from you to ensure no other soul saw you handling it. 

The man looked from both you and Steve, determined expression falling as he ran out of viable options. He sighed in defeat, “Okay.”

You snatched the baggy away from his face and pocketed it. You smiled at him with such brightness, as if you hadn’t just threatened to ruin his life. “Cool, nice meeting you!”

Steve let him go and walked back to his original seat to pick up his coat. He ignored the annoying babbling from across the diner, choosing to grab your belongings too and smiling at Martha as he took his leave. You rushed after him, turning back to wave at Martha. 

“Best coffee ever, Martha!”

You settled into the car and continued your drive fairly easily, a comfortable silence between you two. Steve didn’t know if it was the jitters from the coffee - not like he was really affected by caffeine anyway - or the effects from the uncomfortable situation he should have pulled you from sooner, because next thing he knew his voice was an octave higher and cracking. “So, you just had that shit in your back pocket this whole time?”

You choked on your laugh and covered your mouth, looking up from your phone and at him. You shared the same playful look in your eyes. 

You shrugged, “You never know when you might need it.”

Steve shook his head but kept the same tiny grin, “Do you…?”

The playfulness somewhat subsided, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The seatbelt was digging into your right breast and side of your neck. Steve waited for your response, the question an entirely personal one. He was about to retract it, apologize and focus on the freeway for the remainder of your trip, but you cleared your throat. 

“Once. But I was young, curious, and it burned like hell so I didn’t do it again.”

You were fourteen, still unsure of yourself and the world around you, clinging onto the inner child your environment was beginning to kill. You remember running through the mansion, the ranches, random hotels and random weddings - a dozen other children and teenagers running alongside you, each avoiding interaction with those their guardians had told them to avoid. And you remembered the day you wanted to enter your bedroom to retrieve your little iPod shuffle, the door resisting as you pushed. Your strength ultimately won, revealing a bedroom floor full of all types of guns, grenades, and automatic rifles. You didn’t scare easily, you never had, but that angered and annoyed you greatly. That was your room, your own sacred space to avoid confrontation, and it had been tainted. You had stepped over the guns carefully and reached your bedside table. Attaching your headphones to the device and clicking shuffle, you had almost missed the packages of drugs laying on your white bedsheet. Where you slept.

More out of anger than curiosity, you had carefully poked a hole in one of those taped packages and rubbed it over your teeth and gums like you saw some of your father’s men do. The sensation was weird, more numb than anything, and although you wanted it to taste like the flour you used for baking, it didn’t. So you picked a small portion under your pinky nail and sniffed. It burned, similar to when you burped and the carbonation came back up through your nose, and you wanted to scream. An instant headache, an unknown high, and a very angry Seda appeared around the same moment. 

“Why do you carry it now?” Steve asked. 

You snapped yourself out of the flashback, “My father knows we’re traveling by car. We’ll be arriving in the next day or so. He could call at any time and tell me he needs someone taken out in whatever state we’re currently passing through.”

Steve hummed, face showing discomfort. “Taken out? Do you often plant drugs on innocent people?”

You huffed, “Hardly innocent. Just drug dealers or other smugglers that got on his bad side.” 

You played with the button to roll down the window, watching the moisture from water droplets begin to dry and leave their smudge. You continued, “Quick drop into a glove compartment or someone’s pocket while they’re distracted usually does the trick.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed, “Guess I can understand that.”

You left the window slightly open, the cold air nipping at your cheeks. The smell of rain was prominent. “I do my research before, you know. I don’t just frame random people.”

Your soft voice suddenly hurt Steve, almost like you were accusing him of thinking of you as evil. Whether you discussed your undercover work with him or not, he would never assume you escaped morals. You were an Avenger after all, and even though no one knew, Tony used to have a huge part in the decision-making process with Fury. And if Tony had seen something in you, then he trusted him. “I know.”

“Thank you, by the way. I may not look it, but he did scare me for a sec.”

Steve sighed, “We’re partners, Y/N. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes at his sincerity, smiling toward him but avoiding his gaze. “Still… thanks.”

“No problem. Your playlist this time?”

You passed the next several hours listening to mostly instrumental music, the foggy and dense atmosphere of each state you drove through providing the same calm feeling. It was winter after all, and although California didn’t have quite as much snow as the midwest, it certainly had rain. The drive consisted of small talk about your surroundings, about your friends, about the most random things you could fill into a twelve hour time stamp. You played with the seat warmers, laughing when Steve jumped a foot in the air when his got a little too hot for his liking. And his cursing. When you first met Steve, he didn’t curse all that much unless it was in the middle of a fight or when he was truly angry. But now, especially after these last couple of years, his vocabulary expanded to new inappropriate lengths. You didn’t mind, no, it made the conversations all that more interesting. 

So when Steve grumbled under his breath as he spilled crumbs from his granola bar onto the passenger seat (you had volunteered driving the sixth hour in), and mumbled “jesus fucking christ”, you gave him such a bright smile with equally bright eyes that had Steve scrunching his eyebrows together and he leaned away from you, a blush crawling up his neck. 

‘What?’

‘You took the lord’s name in vain.’

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘Over a granola bar.’

‘... I see your point.’

You stopped about an hour away from the hotel, legs cramping and backs strained but overall happy that no one else on the journey recognized you two. There had been that kid who paused in the aisle of a small gas station, wide eyes staring up at both you and Steve as you reached for a bag of chips. Steve had crouched down to his height, chatting for a few seconds before giving him a small fist bump. You smiled at the kid, bringing your finger up to your mouth to mime a tiny ‘shh’, and followed Steve out the store after paying. 

You spent the next few minutes stretching, the sudden pops of your hips causing Steve to create as much of a fuss he had done before. 

‘Is that normal?’

‘It’s a ball and socket joint, they crack.’

‘So violently?’

‘It actually feels awesome.’

The California air was musty this season, humid and wet. The smell of various weeds and tree bark overpowered anything else, and although there was moisture in the air, the coldness dried your eyes. You found yourself blinking multiple times to accumulate some tears, and you reached into your backpack to reapply some lip gloss. You donned a simple, forest green tracksuit with a knitted sweater over it all, layers and layers to combat the cold breeze. Steve wore a similar knitted sweater, but he seemed less fazed by the cold than you were. 

“So, how much do you trust this person?”

You snapped your head up from your lazy resting and asked Steve to repeat his question. Once heard, you shrugged and answered. “About ninety-five percent.”

Steve chuckled and wrapped his arms over his chest, “Will it ever be a hundred? C’mon.”

You grinned back and took a deep breath, chilly air slightly burning your sinuses. “They took a bullet for me once. And they didn’t have to.”

You were meeting your main contact of the mission. Maribel, a childhood friend, a friend who ultimately took a bullet for you to keep your undercover identity a secret. You could have been compromised, forced to stand trial in front of your father and his men, but she took the fall. After going off the grid and living in Madripoor for about six years, she had contacted you after the snap. Her relief, and her eagerness for revenge, all were to your benefit. So you fed her any information you could, both vowing to fuck with your father in any means. And since you were the only person on the inside with ties to the Avengers, having Maribel be an insider with no ties ultimately helped prepare your case. Two sides, two people with shared experiences, all truth. And you were going to do everything in your power to clear her name and get her a good deal. 

“So, why isn’t it a hundred?”

“I haven’t trusted anyone a full one-hundred percent since SHIELD was compromised.”

Steve’s voice dropped a little, but you could still make out his teasing tone. “Do you trust me?”

“It wavers.”

“Wait-”

You interrupted and pointed toward the trail hidden by the trees, “There she is.”   

Maribel had changed immensely since you last saw her. Her natural ginger hair was now dyed a dark brown, her freckles seeming to have multiplied and draped themselves from her cheeks and down her neck, over her shoulders, etc. She wore all black, leather jacket and leather boots, loose strands of hair blocking the view of shoulder buttons and shoulder pockets. She looked younger, more refreshed in her natural glow, healthy even. You found yourself breathing a sigh of relief, chest tightening with genuine love as she flashed you a wide smile. You gave her a tight hug, patting her back and welcoming her back to the states. She smelled of the bushes she had to track through to get here. 

She released you from her tight grip and looked over at Steve, giving him an almost teasing look. “Heard you were invited. Nice to meet you Captain.”

Steve shook her hand, “Pleasure’s all mine.”

She chuckled and winked at him, “Y/N inform you about me? How do I sound? Look?”

Steve seemed to be affected the same way you had, an involuntarily reddening of his cheeks giving him away. “Like a possible ally.”

Maribel scoffed playfully, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Status?” you asked.

Maribel handed you the file she carried, “Hotel is secure. Neighboring cities have no alerts about your arrival or of the upcoming celebration. Everything’s pretty quiet.”

You smirked, looking over to Steve in recognition of what that meant. “Of course it is. He wouldn’t dare kill any U.S citizens on American soil.”

“Heard he got sloppy,” Maribel sang, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“Let’s hope it’s to our benefit. You meet up with the agent in charge I told you about?”

Maribel nodded, “Torres is set up a few miles from the venue. He’s been running surveillance for about three days already.”

“If you can’t get into contact with me, Torres is your second. Got it? He reports back to Sam.”

Maribel agreed, “Got it. So, what’s the plan for the rest of the week?”

“Steve and I will draft a report tomorrow morning and send you the encrypted file.”

“Can’t wait. It’s nice to see you again, Y/N,” she smiled, bringing you back into a tight hug. Steve simply stood to the side, listening around for any disturbances. 

“Likewise,” you spoke, sad to watch her walk away and back toward the hidden path. Her feet crunched on some fallen leaves purposefully. You suddenly remembered the bit of information that could be useful if Maribel were to encounter an old foe.

You called out to her, “Oh, and if anybody asks - Steve is my boyfriend and you’ve known about it for three years now!”

Steve hid his face behind his hand, looking down to his feet to avoid Maribel’s teasing and humorous expression. “Lucky you!”

     The hotel was nicer than you expected, the pictures on google doing little to showcase just how grand it really was. With some of your savings and a little money under the table from Fury, you were able to book a single bedroom with two beds for five nights. Obviously, the wedding night wasn’t counted as the two of you were going to have to haul ass immediately, but five nights in this grand arena seemed vacation enough.

From the outside, it seemed like any chain hotel, but the inside provided a more Gothic feel. It compared to a Vegas type, but also your typical breakfast inn. It was an odd combination, but you figured they had that liberty since it was a really quiet part of the city and didn’t see many regular customers.

You lugged your suitcases through the elevator doors and pressed the button for the seventh floor, looking around for the security cameras in the corner. You spotted the red light blinking and immediately smiled and waved. 

“Steve, say hi to Bucky.”

Steve looked at the camera and raised an eyebrow, giving a small wave. “You know regular security can see us, too?”

“Can’t hear us, though. Neither can Bucky.”

“So, if I were to call him a thousand bad words right now, he wouldn’t know?”

You squinted at Steve as the elevator dinged, “He can still read our lips.”

“That adds to the fun!”

The room was big enough to set up an extra pull-out table and computer in the corner, the only separate part being the bathroom to the side of the entrance door. The beds were both queen sized, multiple throw pillows scattered on top and two bedside tables in the middle. 

You rushed inside and threw your suitcase carelessly at the foot of the bed closest to the door, and ran to leap in the air and land face first on the cushy mattress. “Heaven!”

Steve picked up your suitcase and set it against the wall, “Glad to see you’re already making yourself at home.”

You rolled over and pressed some pillows to your chest, “You ever plopped yourself down onto a hotel bed? Do it!”

Steve tilted his head slightly, reluctant to the idea. “What if I break it?”

You burst out laughing, “Oh my god, I didn’t even think of that.”

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging as he gave in. “Promise you won’t laugh if I break it?”

“Do you know me?”

Steve rolled his eyes and braced himself against the wall, pushing himself off and leaping into the air only lightly, crashing onto the bed the same way you did. The bed creaked and made a horrible sound. But it held, the wood proving stronger than you thought. 

“Okay, I see the pleasure in that,” Steve laughed, face still smushed inside the mountain of pillows. You lay in your own beds for about an hour, naps wholeheartedly enforced. 

A quick knock on your hotel door snapped you from your short slumber. You rolled over with a groan, looking over your shoulder at a still snoring Steve. His age was catching up to him alright, because he totally should have woken up from that. You opened the door and greeted Torres, allowing him to step inside. He lugged in a hotel cart with a heavy drape over it, careful in not hitting the doorway. 

“Agent Y/L/N, it’s so great to see you again!”

Now Steve was awake.

“You too! I thought our last rendezvous was cut too short,” you teased, sticking your bottom lip out and giving him puppy-dog eyes. Torres blushed under your gaze but shook his head at your flirting. 

“Well, here we go again! Got everything you need right here.”

He revealed the desktop computer and multiple other monitors, radios, a printer, and earpieces. 

“Looks like Christmas morning,” you joked, helping Torres set up. 

“Sorry for waking you, Captain. Sam said I had to deliver all this before nighttime.”

Steve waved his apology off, “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for doing this.”

“Anything.”

You went over the itinerary for the rest of the week and once Torres announced his leave, you handed him the extra key card you had asked for. 

“If you need anything, or we don’t radio in at the times we set up, you use it. Okay?”

Torres gave you a sincere smile, tucking the key card into his coat pocket. “You can count on me.”

Once Torres left the room, Steve spoke. “Watch him barge in when one of us is showering.”

“Let’s hope we don’t scar the poor kid.”

It took about two hours to set up all the tech and connect it all back to the compound. You video chatted with Bucky and Scott and discussed the itinerary tomorrow. You double-checked mic connections, triple-checked police reports filed within the last few hours, and reviewed spy cam footage Torres had taken of the ranch. It was basically homework. 

“We have to set up our backstories, our so-called relationship, you have to know everything.”

Steve hummed, tapping his pen on the table. “Where do we start?”

“They might ask why you help me in the first place.”

“Fuck America, that’s why.”

You stuttered, voice timid and eyebrows high. “O-oh?”

Steve laughed at your reaction. He leaned in with confidence, “I mean, your father grew up close to a similar time I did. He’s old fashioned, no?”

“Kind of. He’s old so he hates the new clothing styles, women’s rights, the works,” you shrugged. 

“Wow, he sounds worse the more you speak about him.” You rolled your eyes at Steve and his sarcastic tone. “So I can say America just changed way too much since I came out of the ice.”

You nodded and rapidly wrote the basics of the backstory into your notepad. “Okay. But I hope you know you’re gonna have to play into that conservative part, especially with him and Seda.”

“What do you mean?”

You smirked at him and cocked an eyebrow, “You gotta be drowning in toxic masculinity.”

“Fuck, really?”

You almost wanted to lean over and slap his shoulder. It was then that you realized how disconnected Steve really was to this whole situation, never once meeting your father or his minions. He didn’t know the shit that went down when he was in hiding, only the basics, and scaring him now didn’t seem like a great idea. 

“Really. You’re playing the role of my boyfriend in a male-dominated drug war. They think you’re in charge, which is technically correct to assume. Your rank is higher, your status is higher, so your personality needs to match that or else you won’t gain their trust.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, “I don’t know the first thing about disrespecting women.”

You snorted, “I’m gonna be honest and say that was the most adorable shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Stop it.”

You spoke with your hands, fingers dancing as a way to sprinkle some sensitivity on the issue. “Order me around. Tell me when it’s time to leave, be possessive if anyone wants to get my attention, interrupt me.”

“Y/N, I don’t think I can do that.”

“You technically already do it.”

Steve blinked, “Excuse me?”

You lowered your voice to explain, “You’re my Captain. You give me orders on the field. You shut me up when I’m too loud or turning something serious into a joke.”

He shifted again, “But I don’t do it to dominate you.”

“I know you don’t. Trust me.”

“So, I gotta become an asshole?” 

You nodded, “Yes. But you need to know your limits.” You handed Steve multiple files for him to examine. 

“Ramirez is one of the rare ones that loves his family, especially his wife and daughters. You can’t be an ass in front of him.”

Steve grinned as he read, surprised with the restraint Ramirez and his men were able to achieve. “Guess that’s a little relief for me.”

“And White is too much into his own product all day to give a shit.”

Steve paused before he spoke, licking his lips in hesitation. “What happens if your father goes overboard?”

    “Shit,” you mumbled, tumbling into the compound and practically crawling to the first floor. You didn’t know who was home or who was visiting. Wanda, Steve, Natasha, Vision, and Sam were on the run for more than a year now - Scott and Clint were on house arrest (which you were also, technically) - so you truly did not know if your cries for help would be heard. You had practically begged to accompany Wanda or be with Bucky back in Wakanda, but because of your undercover status (and the fact that your father still did not know you aided Captain America in hiding an assumed fugitive), you weren’t allowed to leave the compound without permission. The memory of the separation was almost as painful as the gunshot wound in your abdomen. 

You clutched the side of your stomach and crawled through the doors. 

“Arrrgh - is someone home?”

And with a stroke of luck, Rhodey rounded the corner just in time to hear your plea. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, dashing across the room to help you sit up. “What happened?”

“They were getting too suspicious,” you said, wincing when Rhodey pressed a nearby blanket on your wound. “I couldn’t give them Steve’s location.”

“Are you talking about your father and his partner?”

You nodded quickly, helping Rhodey apply pressure. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, alert the medics. First floor,” Rhodey stammered, the sight of your blood making him a little queasy in the morning. 

“I’m gonna kill him if he got one of my kidneys - I was saving that, you know?”

Rhodey involuntarily laughed, quickly covering his mouth. You brushed it off and let him know that if you were still able to joke, he was able to laugh.

“Take your mind off the pain, what happened?”

You sighed, shutting your eyes in distress. “You know that the main players in this game are me and Steve. My father decided that it was time to meet the star-spangled man, time to meet who is distributing his product behind the back of the U.S government.”

Rhodey rotated the blanket to dab with a clean side. You continued speaking. 

“I told him Steve wasn’t active at the moment - not a lie, by the way. But the more I told him that I had no way of being in touch with the dude, the angrier he got. Seda fired a warning shot into my gut, I guess.”

“Shit… I can’t authorize any more solo trips without back-up, Y/N. This has gone too far,” Rhodey sighed, adrenaline lowering once he saw a few medics burst through the door. 

Hours seemed to pass before you awoke. The doctors found no serious damage, your stitches were already healing with the help of Tony’s new tech, and you were up and walking within hours. A slight pinch in your gut bothered you, but other than that you pulled yourself out of bed to go search for Rhodey. You heard voices talking over one another, all angry and authoritative. You tip-toed into the room just in time to see Rhodey end a call and turn back to the group of people he was talking to in person. Your breath hitched when you saw him, face still rugged and more tired than you remembered, but still gorgeous. 

“Steve?” you quietly muttered, all eyes darting toward you. “Wanda?”

You tried to run over to them but were caught limping. Still, Wanda rushed over and enveloped you in a tight hug, noticing the way you twisted your hip outward to avoid full contact.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” Rhodey said as he came over to hold you steady. 

“What happened to you?” Steve asked, his hand now resting on your blushing cheek. You studied his blue eyes carefully, scared that this reunion was going to last for only a few more seconds, his warm hand making your stomach knot. He had a full beard now, hair longer than you remember, and he filled in his suit more. You were so unbelievably happy to see him after everything that went down. 

You patted his chest with a soft chuckle, “Finally ripped that star off, huh?”

Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but you could see a glint of tenderness. 

He placed his hand over yours, “Who’s ass do I have to kick?”

You waved your hand in the air. “Family drama.”

Rhodey didn’t let that explanation fly, though. He informed the rest of the team of what happened to you, Steve’s anger building. 

But you quickly silenced them, “I’m alright. I’ll deal with it later. What threat do we currently face?”

After their brief update, you were ready to go back to bed. 

“So, you’re telling me that we gotta fight this big purple dude because he wants Vision’s stone? Sure, why not?”

     “I really hope he doesn’t go overboard.”

Steve repeated the question, however. “What do we do?”

You sighed, picking at the potato chips to your side. “If you’re feeling uncomfortable, or I am, we’ll just squeeze each other’s hands.”

“Like a safe word?”

Your smile grew slowly as you registered his innocent words. “Yes, Steve, like a safe word.”

You popped a chip into your mouth and leaned back into your chair,  “Wow, you’re on a roll with that adorableness.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stole a chip from your bag, “Shut up.”

You pointed at him and smiled wider, “See? Toxic bitch.”

It took a moment for Steve to register his previous words, “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.” 

You dusted off your fingers and handed him even more files, “Alright, so we know that to make it in this drug game, you gotta have connections everywhere.”

“Understandable. What are we looking for tomorrow?”

“Drug lords love to conduct business in the middle of huge events. Big distractions mean more leeway.”

“But tomorrow?”

“We’re going to cut them off. Swipe their ID’s.” 

You elaborated, “To survive in this business, you have to have ID’s to get anywhere and everywhere. We’re looking for fake press ID’s, fake police ID’s, even fucking farming and landowning ID’s or… licenses, really. Those two give us the proof of ownership for certain lands.”

“Just swipe them?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“My father keeps them all in a little safe inside the wall. It’s located in the study. Just his and Seda’s.”

“And they won’t notice they’re missing?”

“Word is that they’re not planning a move until the day of the wedding. Meaning, they’ll be cut off when they open that safe. We have to keep the product from moving or else our agents won’t find the tangible evidence when we give them the green light.”

Steve wrote in his notepad. “So, we’ll focus on the hacking-?”

“During the rehearsal dinner.”

“Gotcha.”

You grabbed the bag of chips and ate a few, the silence still comfortable. You spoke, stealing Steve's attention from the files. “This is gonna work, Steve.”

Steve thinly smiled and reached over to steal the bag from your hands. “As long as we don’t get caught.”

      The steam from the bathroom practically whipped Steve across the face, the smell of lotions and perfume overpowering the natural odor of the hotel air conditioner. He groaned as he searched his suitcase for his pajamas. 

“You couldn’t have left me some hot water?”

You scoffed, towel rinsing your wet hair. “It’s a hotel charging two hundred a night. If you don’t have hot water, then we’ll go down there and ‘Karen’ it up.”

“Funny,” Steve mumbled, pushing past you and locking the bathroom door. You stood, arms slightly raised in confusion, expression mimicking those in comedy shows. If there was any hidden camera, your eyes scanned for it. 

“Uh, what’d I do?” you mumbled to no one in particular. But you brushed off Steve’s sudden change in attitude and sat for the next thirty minutes hand drying your hair in sections and watching television. You were invested in an episode of Kitchen Nightmares that you barely heard your phone ding. You unlocked your phone, laughing under your breath at the group chat messages. 

Bucky: Kill him yet?

Peter: bet she will by wednesday.

Wanda: Ridiculous, all of you

Y/N: Twenty bucks says he kills me.

Bucky: hey are you even allowed to bet on this?

Wanda: Seems fair since you’re so sure she’ll crack

Peter: She’s more sneaky

Y/N: He mad right now

Bucky: He’s always grumpy before his bedtime

Y/N: dude it’s eight

Peter: lmfao

     The same fog of heat exited the bathroom as Steve opened the door and you murmured a quick ‘I told you so’ for him to hear. He ignored you, rubbing his eyes as he plugged his phone to his charger and crawled under his blankets. He sat up, though and reached over to grab his sketchbook, knees coming up to substitute as a flat surface. You snuggled into your blankets after turning the television volume lower and placing the remote closer to Steve’s bedside table. You brought the blanket up to your chin and hummed peacefully.      

The sounds of Steve’s pencil prompted you to open one eye. His tongue was between his incisors and his eyes were squinted slightly, hair only a little wet from his shower and the tip of his nose pink.             

“Drawing always seems to ease your mind, huh?”     

Steve didn’t look up from his drawing, “It’s relaxing. I have control over it, so…”     

You thought his explanation was weird, but you understood what he meant. “I wish I could draw. It seems fun.”     

Steve paused his movements and glanced over at you, “Do you want to learn?”    

You stretched your legs and moaned loudly, “What? You want to teach me how to draw an eye tonight? I’m warning you.”   

Steve shook his head, “Right, I don’t think I have that much patience.”   

You snorted, cracking your knuckles absentmindedly as you searched for a more comfortable spot. “Mm, maybe some other time?”     

“I know you sing, though.”     

You flopped back over to face Steve, elbow now propped up to hold your weight. “How in the world do you know that?”    

“You sing sometimes, in your room. It was quiet, but you would sing along to some song on your earphones.”     

You scrunched your nose and chuckled, “And you were just outside listening?”    

Steve paused his movements again, “What? It was pretty.”    

You sank back down into your pillows and drew the blankets higher. “I feel like you saw me naked.”     

Steve scoffed, “Totally not the same thing.”     

You teased Steve further, “I’m exposed.”     

A throw pillow hit your side out of nowhere. “Stop it, I was being serious!”    

You grabbed the pillow and threw it back at him, “I haven’t sang in a long time. I hum mostly.”     

Steve caught the pillow, and resumed his sketching. “Well, you should definitely sing more.”   

“Thank you, my number one fan. I’ll take that into consideration.” You sighed and closed your eyes again. 

“Why did you stop?”

You winced but quickly covered it by taking in a deep breath, eyes still closed. 

      “You’re still fuming about it. You’re still fuming about your image being ruined. Good ol’ Captain America as a secret, undercover drug dealer!”

Steve finally showed proof of cracking, hands gripping his hair harshly. “Y/N, I said don’t start! I’m finished!”

But you persisted, now screaming and countless, frustrated tears tainting your red cheeks. “You can’t fucking stand me because I tarnished that fucking star on your chest! I made you look bad to a bunch of fucking criminals!”

     “Guess I just didn’t feel like it anymore.”

Steve didn’t want to ignore that, he wanted to dig deeper, but even with much persistence pinching the tip of his tongue, he remained silent and accepted your answer. He glanced your way a few times throughout the next couple minutes, finding your chest fall into a steady rhythm as you drifted off. He turned a page in his sketchbook, quickly brushing the surface clean of any dust before starting the outline of your sleeping form. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise​

[shadow-assassin-blix]

Parent Trap

PART 2

Marcus Moreno x Reader

It’s hereeee! Children’s shenanigans. Yearning. A kiss.

The Artist

The rest of the week went smoothly. Artemis was very excited to have a new friend and talked about Missy often.

Friday came around, and Shade had to inform the school that she was running late in picking Artemis up. A seller was taking his sweet time, in trying to decide which of the 2 pieces he wanted, before deciding he didn’t want either.

She was annoyed; it wasn’t uncommon for a seller to act like they wanted her work before making up some excuse as to why they were no longer interested. Nor was it uncommon for a person to try and haggle for lower prices, claiming ‘you should be grateful someone even wants your business.’

She was tired to say the least.

She finally, after 45 minutes, pulled up to the school, and made her way to Artemis’s class to pick her up. She was surprised when she saw Missy sitting with her.

“Missy? What are you still doing here honey?” Shade asked concerned.

“My dad’s running late, but I have no way of contacting him to find out what’s going on,” She admitted quietly.

Shade nodded in understanding, before pulling out her phone. Marcus had made sure to give her his number the other day when they saw each other dropping their kids off.

She called him. It took about 4 rings, before he answered, out of breath “Hey Shade.”

“Hey. So. I’m here with Artemis and Missy, are you uhh.. on your way hon?” She asked politely.

She hears him swear in the background before stating, “I promise I didn’t forget about her. It appears that someone has changed every clock I know. I haven’t been able to tell time for 90% of the day.”

“Haven’t been able to tell time eh? Funny. Had something similar happen the other morning when my alarm went off an hour early. Weird how these clocks… have just magically changed for both of us,” She noted staring at the two girls suspiciously.

Both of them shrugged acting like they have no idea what she was talking about, before looking away.

“Listen, can you tell Missy I am on my way, I swear,” He requested with a sigh.

“How about this… How about I take Missy home with me, and she can stay the night? In the morning, you can bring her a change of clothes, and pick us all up for our date,” She offered with a smile.

“Are... are you sure? It’s no problem for me to come and get her, it would just be a few minutes?” He questioned hesitantly.

“It’s not a problem. We will see you in the morning, yeah?” She assured.

“Sounds good, can I talk to Missy real quick?” He politely asked.

She handed her phone over to her, and they talked for a moment before she hung.

“Alright. Let’s get outta here,” She nodded her head toward the door.

The girls grabbed their things and the three of them were off.  

She gets them home and told them to get to work on their homework. She checked on dinner that was cooking in the crockpot. It was crockpot chicken and noodles.

The girls finished up their homework and were currently helping her set the table an hour later. They were both giggling and whispering to one another.

“Alright you two, enough with the whisper party. Go wash your hands, while I serve up dinner,” She tells them, shaking her head.

She grabbed their bowls and ladled them a healthy portion for all of them. She had made some fruit salad to go with it and gave them a small plate of it.

By the time their plates were ready, the girls were bouncing back into the dining room. They took their seats, and she joined them.

Missy began asking questions about Shade’s work.

“So, what kind of art do you do?” Missy politely asked.

“I do mostly pencil sketches and paint occasionally even though I don’t think I’m very good at it. Been working on some new stuff, but... Mh. not sure how I feel about it so far,” Shade explained to her.

“Ooh. What kind of new stuff?” Missy asked excitedly.

Shade went to wave it off as nothing when Artemis piped up, “She’s been drawing the Heroics and their most famous battles! Kinda like a comicbook! It’s so cool!”

“What!? That’s awesome! Can I see it sometime? I mean. If you’re okay with it?” Missy asked amazed.

“Hmm. Possibly. If…” Shade began.

“If what?” Missy questioned.

“If… you promise to fix your dad’s clocks, and not mess with them again. I understand that both of you are excited to be friends and want us to get along too, but messing with clocks and alarms is not okay,” She bargained looking at both of them.

They both looked down, wincing as they mumbled apologies and swearing that they would fix things.

“Apology accepted. Finish eating and I’ll show you my workshop,” She stated with a smile.

Both of them perked back up and began eating again happily.

Once they all had eaten and cleaned up, Shade led them to her workshop. She slid opened the double doors and presented it to Missy.

There were several desks, covered in pencils, graphite and colored, pens, paints, and brushes. There was an easel and some blank canvases resting in a corner. She walked over to one of her sketch books and opened it about midway.

“Just, uh, don’t touch the ink too much. It takes a long time to dry,” She informed them setting it down on the small table where Artemis held her art supplies.

Missy was amazed. She stared at all of the drawings of Miracle Guy, Sharkboy & Lavagirl, Tech-No, and many other Heroics.  She noticed one thing though.

“You haven’t drawn my dad yet?” She mentioned looking up at her.

“No. I haven’t. I for whatever reason… cannot seem to draw him. Every time I do, I worry I’ll mess it up. Your dad meant a great deal to me at one point,” Shade tells her, thinking fondly of Marcus.

Missy and Artemis looked at each other, a plan forming.

They spoke a little more about art and what Shade does before the girls ran upstairs to go play.

Or so Shade thought…

The Hero

Marcus was finishing up some paperwork that had piled up over the week when Miracle Guy stepped into his office.

“What are you still doing here, man? Shouldn’t you be at home? With your kid?” Miracle asked him.

“Can ask you the same thing, MG?” Marcus countered, referring to his nickname.

“Had a job I just came from. Mission report. Saw your light was still on, figured I should check on our fearless leader,” Miracle lightly teased.

Marcus simply hummed in response.

“So. What’s been going on with you? You’ve been jittery all week. I had thought it had something to do with the incident at Missy’s school, but now… not so sure,” Miracle brought up, sitting across from Marcus.

“Remember… when we first started out? I was with that artist?” Marcus began, biting his lip.

“Yeah. The really pretty one, that you wound up breaking up with, right?” Miracle recalled.

“Mh. Her daughter is now best friends with my daughter… and we have a date tomorrow… and I honestly… don’t know how I feel,” Marcus confessed, setting his pen down, the report no longer distracting him.

“Wh-… What? Seriously? Wow. What a small world? I mean… this is the first time you’ve gone out since Isabelle died right? I think it’s only natural that you’re nervous. But… it’s also with someone you’ve been with. I doubt she’s changed that much in 15 years,” Miracle noted with a shrug.

“Yeah. I just… hmm. I don’t know. I am nervous… but I’m also…excited? Happy? I mean… I wanted to marry this girl back in college, but life… got in the way. I guess… I’m just worried I’ll mess it up,” Marcus admitted with a sigh.

“Oh? You never told me that part? Listen. It’s one date. If you don’t feel sparks fly or whatever then, it’s not meant to be. But if you do, explore it. You deserve to be happy Marcus,” Miracle stated.

Marcus opened his mouth to reply when his phone rang.

He answers noticing it was Shade’s number.

“Hey, what’s-” He began.

“Dad! You should get over here! Like quickly! As fast as possible!” Missy voice came, rushed.

Marcus goes to question her, but the line ends.

Marcus quickly gets up, grabs his things and runs out to his car. The drive under normal circumstances was 20 minutes, but he was there in half that time.

He ran up to the door, banging on it, panicked.

When the door opened, Shade stood there, looking extremely confused.

“Marcus?” She greeted staring at him concerned.

“Are the girls okay? Missy called and told me I should get here,” Marcus explained quickly.

“Yes. They’re fine. They went upstairs to play?” She answered still confused.

“But they had your phone? And she sounded worried?” Marcus recalled the phone call.

She suddenly patted her pockets, looking around trying to find her phone.

The Artist

It slowly dawned on her what happened.

“GIRLS! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW” She yelled up the stairs.

A moment passed, and neither of them heard movement.

“I am so sorry Marcus. Artemis… must have grabbed my phone while I wasn’t looking,” She apologized, moving to go upstairs.

Marcus stopped her.

“Hey, so long as everyone is okay. Even though a CERTAIN YOUNG LADY IS GROUNDED. I’m sorry for almost busting your door down with my knocking,” He tells her, shouting part of his sentence up the stairs.

A loud groan could be heard in response.

“AS IS ANOTHER CERTAIN YOUNG LADY,” Shade mentioned loudly.

Cue another loud groan.

“Would… would you like some water?” Shade offered, twirling a lock of her hair.

“Yes. I would actually,” Marcus accepted gratefully.

The two of them stepped into her kitchen. Shade grabbed him a glass and filled it with water, before handing it to him. He downed about half of it, before setting it back down, wiping his mouth.

“So. What… what happened?” Marcus asked trying to understand.

She thought about it, trying to retrace the evening.

“Oh…. I showed them…some of my artwork… and Missy asked me why I hadn’t drawn you yet,” She realized.

“Oh? Ahem. So… Why…Why haven’t you drawn me yet?” He asked hesitantly and trying to hide his curiosity.

“I told her it was because… I was worried I would mess it up and that you meant a great deal to me… which is somewhat true… I have drawn you…but I always feel like… they didn’t do you justice,” She quietly admitted to him, not making eye contact. “Kind of hard to draw someone you were in love with for years. Especially when those feelings never quite went away.”

The Hero

He was surprised to hear that. He didn’t quite know how to respond. He did… know one thing though.

He moved around the island over to her.

“Forgive me… if this is too forward,” He whispered to her.

He gently cupped her face into his hands, and pressed a small, hesitant kiss to her lips. When she didn’t pull away or slap him, he kissed her again, but just a smidge longer.

He felt her arms move, sliding around his neck. He was extremely relieved when he felt her kiss him back. He lightly pinned her against her the island, his hands moving to her waist. They wrapped around her, pulling her close.

Their kiss lasted for a minute and would’ve gone longer if it weren’t for the fact that they heard giggles coming from the stairway.

They pulled away slowly.

“I told you that my daughter’s favorite movie was the Parent Trap, right? We’ve been Parent Trapped,” She whispered against his lips.

“You also said her number one favorite was The Mummy, which I guess it’s a good thing they didn’t unleash an unspeakable evil to get us together,” Marcus joked.

“This is true. You 2 are still grounded by the way, and Mrs. Moreno will be informed of that fact tomorrow when we leave you with her to go on our date,” She threw over shoulder.

There was a sound of 2 pairs of feet scurrying back upstairs.

“You… you still want to go out tomorrow?” Marcus inquired, hopeful.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. If you still want to,” She mentioned, biting her lip.

“Yeah. I do. Though… I think I should go grab my little delinquent, and take her home, so you can sleep without anymore “emergencies.” Plus, I apparently need to talk to her about boundaries,” Marcus noted as he slowly stepped away from her.

“Yeah. I apparently have to have a similar conversation. We’ll see you tomorrow?” She said with a smile.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. Umm. Just one last thing,” Marcus hurriedly said.

He pulled her into another kiss, that she returned with a sigh.

When he finally pulled away again, he simply said, “One wasn’t enough.”

He called for Missy to come downstairs and get her things. He told her that a slumber party will have to wait for another time. As he took Missy home, he couldn’t help the smile on his face, as he thought about Shade.

He knew his evening was far from over, but he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 10: The Perfect Gift”

Part 10 is here! Not gonna lie, this chapter is short and not my best work but a necessary bridge to get to the climax of our story! Fair warning, it ends on a cliffhanger. Enjoy! ❤️ 

It was the Tuesday after the dramatic Carisi lunch. You typically had Mondays off from the gallery and after fucking Rafael senseless in front of the fireplace, it didn’t take much convincing on your part to get him to play hooky. The majority of your day was spent in bed— making love, browsing through Netflix, and eating Chinese takeout. It was a much needed escape from your chaotic lives and you still had a few more hours before reality set in. 

The brilliant warm rays of the early morning sun peeked through your curtains. You languorously stretched your limbs, reveling in the sensation of your bare legs against the soft cotton sheets. With a long, drawn out yawn, you reached over to the nightstand for your cup of coffee and aimlessly flipped through a copy of the New Yorker. However your attention was otherwise preoccupied with a freshly showered Rafael walking around your bedroom with a towel hanging low around his hips. You nearly spilled your hot drink into your lap while counting the water droplets on Rafael’s bare chest, watching one droplet slide down his stomach towards his happy trail.

He let the towel drop to the floor and began to get dressed for work, arching his brow when he caught you perched on the edge of the bed staring at him with your jaw hanging wide open. 

You blushed and cleared your throat. “Are you sure I can’t make you breakfast?”

“Thanks for the offer but I should try to get to the office early,” he said, holding up two ties for you to choose from.

You picked the silk violet tie. The purple hue brought out your boyfriend’s brilliant green eyes. “Ok, but promise me that you’ll eat something other than the stale pretzels at the precinct.”

“I promise.” Rafael gave you a quick peck on the lips and wrapped his tie around his neck when he realized that he was missing a key element to his wardrobe. “Where’s my shirt? I swore it was right here a min—” His search for the missing shirt came to a screeching halt when he noticed you were wearing it.

“Sorry babe.” A nervous giggle escaped your lips. “Who knew Armani made such comfortable clothes and besides I love how it smells.”

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “How it smells?”

“Uh huh.” Your cheeks turned bright pink and you nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “It smells like you.”

An warm, fuzzy feeling coursed through Rafael’s veins at your confession. He cupped your face and tenderly kissed you before pulling away. “If you love the shirt so much, then it’s yours.”

“Really?” You glanced down at his undershirt and the tie draped around his neck. “But what are you gonna wear?”

“I have a spare shirt in my office that I keep in case of emergency coffee stains.”

You beamed brightly and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Best boyfriend ever,” you murmured against his lips before kissing him.

He deepened the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue as his hands inched further down your back towards your ass. You moaned in response, feeling him squeeze your cheeks.

“Mi amor,” he said between kisses. “I have to go.”

 “No. Five more minutes. Please,” you whined, pressing your body against his.

Rafael groaned, all the blood from his brain rushing towards his cock. You were playing a dangerous game. “If we keep this up in five more minutes I’m going to be between your legs, fucking you so hard that you’ll forget your own name.”

You nuzzled against his neck as your hand began to palm his growing erection. “Well they do say that testosterone is higher in the morning. Care to put that theory to the test?” 

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

With a sigh of defeat, you stopped. “Alright, can’t blame a girl for trying.” You planted one last chaste kiss on the tip of his nose and gently pushed him towards the door. “Go on. Get outta here.”

 “I’ll see you later tonight.” He grabbed his jacket and left the bedroom only to return 30 seconds later. “I forgot something.”

“What did you—” Rafael cut you off with a passionate kiss causing you both to fall back on the bed.  Your heart fluttered. You were so lost in the moment that you forgot how to breathe. You could taste him on your tongue. All too soon the kiss ended and you were left dazed with thoroughly soaked panties.

“I love you,” he purred and playfully nipped on your lower lip before leaving with a smug smile firmly planted on his face.

“Love you too,” you mumbled and held up the shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply. 

*****

A few hours later you were sitting in the small studio at the back of the gallery, dotting leaves onto a canvas. You skipped to the next song on your playlist and stepped back to analyze your work. The painting was of a large, vibrant tree in the center of a grey, bleak city. The tree was designed to look like Rafael. Its leaves matched the color of his eyes. Of course it wasn’t typical for trees to have seafoam green leaves but that was the beauty of art. You even tried to sketch his face in the trunk, its bark resembling his crooked smile and strong aquiline nose. 

Underneath the tree stood the shadowy figure of a woman meant to be you. The tree’s branches were outstretched, gently caressing you, comforting you. In the palms of your hands, you cradled your heart, offering it to the tree as the only possession you had to give. In your opinion, it was the perfect depiction of your relationship. Rafael was your protector. With him, you felt loved, safe, hopeful for the future. He symbolized a new chapter in your life.

Your “Rafael-inspired” piece was meant to be a surprise, since the elusive search for the perfect art for his home was still ongoing. Lucky for him, inspiration struck one rainy Saturday several weeks ago. Well, lazy for you. Rafael was busy typing away on his laptop. Snuggling against him with the rain pattering against the window, a flood of emotions washed over you. The next day you woke up before dawn, grabbed your brushes and paint and snuck over to the studio.

From above the sound of your music playing through your headphones, you heard the door open and turned your head to see your coworker, Phoebe, walk in.

“Bonjour, ma petite aubergine!” she said in a tone that was way too chipper for 8:30 in the morning. 

You snorted a laugh and turned off your music. “Good morning, my little eggplant?” you repeated the phrase.

“I love eggplant,” she replied with a shrug and went to stand behind you, surveying your work. “Hmmm… I like it.”

You made a face. “You sure? It’s not too cheesy?”

She hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering. “A little, but that’s ok. It's the good kind of cheesy.”

A sigh below past your lips. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she tried to reassure you. “And anyways, love makes people cheesy.” You blushed and went back to your painting while she milled around the room looking at your other pieces. “Ya’ know, there’s a new artist night at this gallery my friend works for. You should reach out to them. See if they’ll let you show your art. There are enough pieces here to choose from.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off. “And before you say anything, I don’t wanna hear any excuses.” She gently took you by the shoulders and made you stand to face her. “You are incredibly talented and you should share that talent with the world while making a few bucks in the process.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you conceded, glancing back at your unfinished canvas.

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I am? I mean, of course I am! Damn, this is the first time I’ve ever heard you consider doing a show. That Rafael guy must be a good influence on you.”

“Yeah, he’s the best.” You smiled, thinking back to earlier that morning. 

“Speaking of which,”—she grabbed a spare chair and sat down, getting comfortable—“how did the whole ‘meet the parents’ scenario play out?”

You threw your head back and groaned. “Ugh, why did you have to remind me?”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like we’re gonna need coffee.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m gonna get a cappuccino from the cafe around the corner. Can I get you something?”

“An Americano and a cinnamon roll.”

“Be back in a flash. I wanna hear all about it. Family drama sustains me, especially when it’s not mine,” she teased before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and began to tidy up. While you stood at the sink, cleaning your brushes, watching the colors swirl and dissolve down the drain, you wondered if Rafael would like his surprise. You hoped he would. It took you hours to get just the right shade of green. 

This gift was a big deal. Apart from your parents, you had never created a piece for anyone else. Your art was private. It was personal. Giving it away was like giving away a part of you. But you and Rafael were beyond that. This past weekend only confirmed what you had known from the moment he stepped into the gallery— that you were his, completely.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of reverie. “That was fast, Phoebe,” you said over the running water. “I guess the cute barista wasn’t working today cause normally you spend a solid twenty minutes flirting before actually ordering your drink. I’m almost finished here. Give me a sec and then I can tell you about the worst Sunday lunch in the history of the Carisi family and that includes the time my Aunt Anita stabbed my Uncle Tony with a fork. ”

“Awww c’mon, babe. It wasn’t that bad,” said a voice that you recognized all too well. 

Stunned, your hands froze, the brushes clanging against the sink. “This can’t be happening. Please, God don’t let it be him,” you thought, slowly turning around only to find your ex-fiancé standing right in the middle of your studio. 

“Theo,” you stammered. “What are you doing here?”

He ignored your question and took a step towards you with a sinister smile that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

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[c-is-for-circinate]

a hypothetical d&d party

The bard is mute.

It’s not the first thing people notice about her, usually.  The first thing is generally that she’s young, and female, and lovely--the first thing people notice about their entire party is that they’re all young, and female, and lovely, and that’s gotten more than one would-be thief or mugger in far over their head when they haven’t noticed the the paladin’s hammer or the ranger’s axe.  It comes up rather quickly though, often enough.  Whoever heard of a bard who can’t sing?

She plays a lute, mostly, or a lap-harp made of shell and sinew, string instruments she can pluck while she smiles in secret and watches everyone around her.  She dances quick, except when she’s tired, when she’s scared, when she forgets to remember the feet at the ends of her legs.

She doesn’t tell her story to strangers, but enough of the other girls have learned to sign by now, and it’s easy enough to sketch out the outlines of the old bargain: the voice, the prince, the witch, the thousand shards of glass she walked upon on her way up the beach, the look in her sea-green eyes when they travel too near water.  The thousand shards of glass she walked upon when she left the palace, and turned back towards the sea to throw herself upon the rocks, and then made her way up the road inland, and kept walking.

.

The warlock is beautiful and mild and self-effacing and shy, is tidy and generous and charming.  She’s small with herself in exactly the right way to shout abuse to the half of her party who knows how to recognize that same look in the mirror in the morning.  The bird on her shoulder is too small, too bright, too sweet for a real warlock’s familiar.  The knife at her belt is sharp enough for anything that needs doing, though, cooking or otherwise.

Her fae patron visits sometimes, in the quiet hours between dusk and midnight, a sweetly old godmother made of moonlight and shadow.  She’s kind to the whole lot of them in her own chaotic way, free-handed with transmutations and illusions that break halfway through the evening, for better or worse.  She once spent three hours around their campfire drinking brandy and gossipping outrageously about the Feywild and teasing the wizard into fits of laughter.

She’s never told the story of how she met the warlock’s mother, or what debt was owed there, and the warlock doesn’t know herself.  It was never meant to be a debt paid in power and violence and the deft will-sapping enchantments the warlock weaves now, but, well.  The prince wasn’t meant to be cruel, the warlock says.  The palace was meant to be warmer than the fireplace cinders in her stepmother’s house.  The faerie was meant to be saving her from her lot, not throwing her into something worse.  The power’s an apology of sorts.

.

The wizard is awkward and joyful and nervous.  She has no fear of heights or small places, which just stands to be expected, she says, after all those years in that little tower, and she’s got no skill at lying or even edging around the truth at all, which is why she isn’t in the tower any more in the first place.  She says too much or too little or the wrong thing entirely, always, but the most well-socialized member of the whole party is the ranger who walks around with a dire wolf at her hip, or maybe their mute bard, so who are any of them to judge.

There was nothing to do in that tower but read, and brush her hair, and sort through the witch’s endless stockpile of dried herbs and potions ingredients, and watch out the window as woodcutters and hunters and princes rode by, and dream.  The reading was more interesting than the dreaming, most of the time, and the witch didn’t mind it as much when she talked about it.  She never bothered to actually use any of the magic in the witch’s books until the thing with the prince and the haircut and the desert, which she’s told them all about in all the detail they could ever ask for, but most of the girls get uncomfortable when she starts talking about princes.  It’s a little easier if she just starts rambling about conjuration and abjuration and illusion theory, about the 400-year-old history of a city that doesn’t exist any more, about the proper grammatical structure of Celestial, until maybe one of the quiet ones finally answers back.

Her hair is too short.  She keeps an illusion up over it whenever she can, while it grows back slowly, tickling the side of her face and the back of her neck and leaving her head too light and unbalanced.  

.

The ranger doesn’t care about princes, which makes one of them at least.  Then again, the ranger doesn’t trust anyone, really, prince or no, not wolves or monsters or the men who kill them.  She more or less trusts the rest of them by now, mostly, when the wind blows in the right direction.

She wears bright red in the middle of the woods and it shouldn’t help her slip into the shadows half as easily as it does, but most beasts can’t see color and red’s just another shade of gray if the light’s low enough.  She never uses her axe against trees.  She doesn’t need to.  She can find a path through any brush without it.  She picks flowers when she finds them, and tucks them into the other girls’ hair.

Her wolf’s mother killed the man who taught her to use the axe, and the man who taught her to use the axe killed that wolf’s mate before that, and the mate had an old woman’s blood on his teeth when it happened.  The ranger’s blade found the wolf’s mother’s throat.  The ranger’s mother sent her out into the woods in the first place.  It’s not as though anywhere is really safe, cottage or forest, axe or teeth.  One of these days maybe her wolf will turn and go for her in return, and maybe one of these days her axe will be faster and maybe it won’t.  In the mean time, there’s flowers and berries and pastries and enough game to keep everyone sated, for a little while.

.

The paladin’s hair is raven black and her skin is chalky as a corpse.  She’s not undead, mostly.  The undead are her job.  She knows that much.

She was sweet, once (they were all sweet, once) but apples are bitter now and so is she, and there’s judgment to lay out in the world.  Her grip on her warhammer’s all wrong--she holds it like a mining hammer, but it hits as hard as it needs to.  Her armor’s all dwarven make, and her shield’s black and red and white like snow.

She was sweet once, and frightened, and when she says it quietly around the campfire in the night when none of them can quite make out the glimmer of understanding on each others’ faces, everyone still nods.  She took a bite of poison and somebody left her a full year in a glass coffin of Gentle Repose, dangling on the edge of the Raven Queen’s domain while all the other newly-arrived dead passed by and faded away.  She woke up to somebody’s lips and hands and skin on her lips and her hands and her skin.  She doesn’t like princes.  She doesn’t like necromancers.

She likes sunlight, and summer, and colors that aren’t black and white and red.  She likes the way the bard grins when she whirls into a dance, and the look in the warlock’s eye when she sets her feet to say no, and the wizard’s laughter on high with a Fly spell, and the ranger’s gentle fingers braiding flowers into everything she can touch.  

[3pirouette]

Title: An Experimental Design

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3  Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Sequel to “What Number?”, also prompted from Steggy Bingo Bash Prompts.  Takes place about a week after that fic. 

Chapter A/N: This chapter is for everyone who has been posting their theories about what will happen. It's always been planned this way since I first started writing, so I hope you enjoy. 

Chapter 8: Fallout

~*~

She held his hand out the door, and in the backseat as they drove back to the base. He didn’t acknowledge the tremor in her hand out loud, or that fact that while they both knew that Howard wouldn’t purposely hurt them, everything about the situation was dangerous and unknown.

She only let go when they arrived at the base, slipping the mask of propriety and duty back on, her worried eyes hiding behind a false confidence he could see right through.

~*~

The very first thing she did when they got back to apartment was run for the bathroom, retching sounds filtering all the way back to Steve at the front door. He moved slowly, taking his time to get to her and allow her some privacy. The procedure itself had been quick and nearly painless: two shots each, right in the upper arm, though Steve’s needles were decidedly larger than the ones they used on Peggy. It had taken them longer to get there and back in the car.

Steve grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cool water as he slipped next to her in the bathroom, handing it to Peggy as he crouched down. “Guess he wasn’t lying about the side effects, huh?”

She nodded, wiping at her mouth and then pillowing her head on her arm, still kneeling at the toilet. “The headache’s started, too.”

He gently ran a hand over her back. “What can I do?”

“I think I’ll stay here for the moment… stomach’s not all that settled yet.”

He rubbed her back gently. “Tea?”

“That would be lovely,” she murmured, her face pinching as she started to feel the waves of nausea again.

Steve let her be, knowing there was little he could do, and set about making her tea. Howard had listed a dozen likely side effects and a few rare ones they were supposed to be aware of that could last hours or days. Howard wasn’t sure how long the doses would last, but he’d given Steve four times more than Peggy and said to keep their fingers crossed and try to avoid excessive touching.

Steve wasn’t going to avoid comforting Peggy while she was crouched over the toilet, but a tiny peck and some gentle touches were hardly the same level of skin to skin contact they’d indulged in recently. He poured the hot water over the tealeaves and waited, watching the water darken. The list of side effects we daunting, but so far, Steve felt fine.

Fine, he thought, was putting it lightly. He felt the clearest he had in days, maybe even months. He opened the kitchen window, taking in the late morning sun and took a deep breath, the light air mixing with the soft scent of Peggy’s tea. He felt awake. Free.

This was working.

The desire he felt for her was just that: desire. It wasn’t the overwhelming lust or the desperate need for her any longer, just the low simmering love he’d felt before all of this started, ready to ignite with a touch or a kiss.

He turned, meeting her eyes as she joined him, staying by the doorway. Her color looked better already, though she had a glassy look still in her eyes. “Better?” he asked.

“Seems, for the mo’ at least.” She took a slow, deep breath in and out. “Headache isn’t too bad,” she grabbed the mug from the counter and took a slow sip, “It’s bearable. You?”

He didn’t want to flaunt his newfound revelations, not when she seemed to be still struggling. “Feeling ok so far.” He shrugged, wanting to reach out. Their directive to not touch made things awkward and stilted.

“I think I’ll take a lie in, just for a bit.” Peggy clutched her mug.

“Yeah,” he waved his hand, nodding over and over again, feeling silly and stupid and suddenly like he was 98 pounds all over again. “Yeah, just… just call if you need me.”

Her lips stayed pressed together when she smiled. Her nod was just as awkward as his, eyes retreating to her tea as she turned.

~*~

He sat on the couch, sketching her through the door to the bedroom. She’d left it open a crack, and he’d quietly widened it when he went to check on her. From his spot curled into the side of the sofa he had a perfect view of her face, overtaken by sleep, her curls falling and lips parted just slightly.

He hoped the vomiting and the headache and the fatigue meant it was working. It was hard not to feel trapped and used, he thought, as he added shading to her cheek. Despite the positive, the time and the touches, and the very clear understanding that they were in love, it felt wrong and broken to be forced together like this.

He wanted them to be living happily in a little apartment or small house in the suburbs because the war was over and they wanted to be there, not because they had to be together even if they did love one another.

The difference was small, but it mattered.

He wished he had a set of pastels to flush out the pink in her cheeks and the red of her nails, some blues and yellows to try to capture the way the sunlight tried to peek through the drawn curtains.

Steve had gotten used to the magnetic pull of her, the need to be around her, to touch her. Yesterday, he wouldn’t have thought twice about shedding his clothes and slipping into bed with her, pressing up against her and holding her close. Now, though the idea appealed to him, he was content to rest on the couch, eyes keeping watch. He hadn’t realized how strong the pull to touch her was from his end until it left him today.

He started to feel his eyelids droop as he smudged the pencil line of the blanket around her shoulder. He wasn’t normally one to nap, but it would help pass the time. Going for the entire day without touching her seemed like a monumental task. He slipped his pencil into his notebook and let it fall on his chest as he stretched out.

A quick catnap would help the day pass faster.

~*~

Peggy rolled, the blankets tangling around her. She took a deep breath, wiggling her fingers and toes and taking stock on how she felt. The nausea was gone, and though she’d slept for what she thought must have been a few hours she didn’t feel refreshed.

She turned, blinking her eyes open. Through the crack in the door she could see Steve, sprawled on the couch that was far too small, head thrown back and mouth wide open, his sketchbook perilously close to falling from his slack fingers on his chest.

She couldn’t help but smile. He seemed so soft, so innocent, so much like that small man she’d first met, even if the sheer size of him made the couch seem more like a piece of child’s furniture. Peggy slipped from the bed, wrapping her robe around herself as she made her way out into the living room. She snuck quietly across the floor, feeling the need to run her fingers through his hair, to be near him.

She wanted to believe it was working, but so far she’d only felt the ill effects that Howard had talked about. They’d have to stay away from one another for hours to see if it truly worked, and based on the pull she felt she wondered if they were even capable of that if they were this close to one another.

She did some quick math, glancing at the clock across the room and decided that it must be doing something. She should have felt something by now. The only thing she felt was the need to be around him, no tingling or discomfort at all.

Peggy stopped at the edge of the couch, one hand holding her robe together, the other gently playing over his hair, touching only enough to feel the softness against her fingertips, not enough to graze his scalp and tempt fate.

She felt a need to wrap herself in him. Not the all-consuming need that had been based in need and pain and sex, but a different kind of feeling that felt like it was spreading from deep in her, to wrap him up and be wrapped in him and stay in this small little apartment until they couldn’t avoid the outside world any longer.

He shifted under her, taking a deep breath and reaching out. She scooted her hips away, avoiding his reach but kept her hand on his head. He groaned unhappily, and she made soothing, shushing noise ass he raked her finger nails through his hair. “We’re already doing a horrible job of not touching, my darling. Let’s not tempt fate.”

He didn’t open his eyes, but he turned, pressing his head into her touch. She reached out, saving the notebook from crashing to the floor. She set it on the coffee table in front of him and smiled, the pencil rolling out and flipping the book open to the picture of her. She kissed his hair, eyes closed softly, warmth radiating through her.

The little apartment felt warm, home, and enough for now. She wasn’t in pain, wasn’t hurting, and she had Steve. It was enough, could be enough, for now at least. She slipped into the kitchen, trying to keep things as quiet as she could while she made herself another cup of tea. Would he still sketch when there were chores to be done? Would they still be so gentle with one another when the stresses of daily life were different? Would he stay with the SSR? Would they let her keep being a spy or cast her off, saying women weren’t necessary when there wasn’t a war on? There were so many unknowns, but she still somehow felt warm, solid, and happy.

Whatever Howard’s hormones were doing to her, she didn’t much mind; it was the calmest she’d felt in weeks.  

~*~

She was still sitting in the kitchen, the dregs of her tea cold in her hands, when Steve lumbered in, eyes glazed over. She watched as he pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it from the tap, chugging the contents down before refilling it over and over again. He drank with a singlemindedness that put her on edge. It was only after he’d drank what she thought was nearly a gallon that he stopped, hands on the edge of the counter, panting to catch his breath.

“Thirsty?” Peggy asked quietly, unsure if he’d even registered she was in the room.

He took a slow, deep breath and hung his head. “Yeah I—” He took another and turned, wiping the drips of water from his lips. “I woke up and I just felt like I hadn’t had anything to drink in days.” His eyes caught the afternoon sun out the window. “How long was I asleep?”

She smiled, standing and walking her mug to the sink. “We both lost a few hours there, I think. It’s almost 4.” She turned, brushing his hair from his eyes, looking him over. “Are you alright otherwise?”

He nodded quickly, almost too quickly for her liking. “Yeah, I’m… I’m just… didn’t think I’d sleep that long. I’m a little out of it.”

She let her lips kiss his shoulder, careful to keep her skin away from his. “We can continue to blame stress and Hydra. I’ll have it no other way.”

He set his hands on her hips, as careful as she was. “How about you? Still feeling alright?”

She nodded, a smile on her lips. “Stomach’s still a touch unhappy, but I think that’s more from not eating since early this morning. Otherwise, I’m…” she shrugged her shoulders, still cautious about expressing her happiness, “zero.” She couldn’t help the way the smile bloomed on her face. “We haven’t touched enough for me to not feel something by now. I don’t want to go too far, but I’m…optimistic.”

“Good, good.” He smiled tightly, his eyes struggling with something he didn’t want to share. His hands were awkward at her hips, like he had to remind himself to be gentle with her, and his shoulders were stiff. She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting. They knew each other well enough that she didn’t have to say anything for him to know he’d been caught. He shook his head, resigned and stepping away. “I think whatever side effects I’m going to get are hitting me now. I just feel… weird. A little… I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“What can I do?” She asked, stepping back and giving him some more space as he leaned back against the counter.

He looked out the window, crossing his arms and shaking his head. After a long, quiet moment he licked his lips and turned back to her. “Let me make dinner… well, early dinner. Maybe it’ll help me focus.”

Peggy didn’t like the way he looked: a little sallow, eyes a little hollow, the way he looked after he’d been hurt in a firefight and he was trying to be brave for everyone else. She backed away, giving him the room. “I’ll be reading, just call if you need help.”

His smile was genuine, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think I can handle some chicken and dehydrated mashed potatoes.”

Peggy licked her lips, eyes still dead set on him. She thought about joking, about trying to break the tension, but she couldn’t shake the feeling something hadn’t gone quite right with his dose. “I can call Howard, he could be here in fifteen minutes he said if anything went wrong.”

This time, the smile did make it to his eyes. “I’m fine, Peg. I promise.” He crossed to her, taking her head in his hand and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “And I’ll tell you if I’m not, ok?”

It was the sincerity in his eyes that finally gave her some sense of footing. “Alright.” She stepped back, removing the temptation to give in to more touching. “Don’t burn my potatoes.”

~*~

Peggy’s stomach was growling loud enough for Steve to hear by the time he announced dinner was ready. She tried to make a joke of it, but it fell flat as he set a full plate in front of her.

They ate silently, Steve quietly watching Peggy as she filled her mouth, struggling to keep her lips closed and be ladylike as she chewed. “I’m starved,” she tried to justify with a little laugh between bites, feeling his eyes on her. He ate sparingly, his eyes darting to her each time she took a bite. “Must be the…” she stopped, putting another spoonful in her mouth, watching as Steve only nodded, agreeing to say it was ‘just another side effect.’ She scraped the end of the mashed potatoes from her plate, wrapping her tongue around the spoon, eyes widening in confusion when Steve switched out his mostly full plate for her empty one. “Darling?”

He kept his face carefully blank. “Aren’t you hungry?”

She tipped her head, looking at him cautiously. She was very aware of how much Steve’s increased metabolism needed food, and knew very well how much he could eat. “Aren’t you? You’ve barely eaten.”

“You need it more.”

She smiled, trying to break the tense look in his eyes. “I was just hungry. I’m fine now. And there’s plenty more if—”

He dropped his fork on the empty plate in front of him, standing and pacing away. The air in the room was suddenly thick and it reminded her off too many debriefs where they’d lost and he felt responsible. The deja-vu nearly choked her it hit her so hard, but it helped her re-center and take charge of the situation.

She squared her shoulders, staring at his back. “Tell me.”

“I have to take care of you,” he bit out, grabbing the top of the kitchen doorframe and leaning into it.

With his arms up his shirt tightened around him and she could see just how tense he was, his muscles corded and ready for a fight. She stood slowly, cautiously closing this distance between them. “You are, Steve.” Her voice was soft but sure, and she left no room for arguments. “I’ve never been safer than I am at this very moment.”

He turned so fast she barely registered he’d moved before she was in his arms, his forehead pressed against her tight. It wasn’t concern, but pain on his face: his eyes shut tight, jaw working to try to find the words. “You’re not,” he finally whispered. “Everything in me is screaming that I’m not keeping you safe and…” he dropped his head, gathering her closer and burying his face in her neck. He took a deep breath in like he was breathing her into himself, trying to take her in and surround her. “I need to do better,” he muttered, “I have to do better.”

Peggy was stunned, and could do nothing but wrap her arms around him and hold him tight as he held her.

This was not a side effect Howard had prepared them for.

She cradled his face in her hands, gently pushing him back so she could see his eyes. “I am safe, Steve. I am here, with you, and I am perfectly safe.” She let her hand wipe at the sweat that started to show at his brow, over his jaw and down to his neck where she could feel his racing pulse finally starting to slow. She kissed him gently, pulling away before he could react to her lips. “I am fine. What do I need to do to help you see that?”

His eye squinted shut again as he shook his head. “Don’t know,” he mumbled, making her want to hold him close until whatever this was passed. She’d never seen him like this and it scared her.

She kissed him again, and this time, she could feel his pulse start to slow more the longer they touched.

Even if this was working for her, it seemed to be only hurting him.

Peggy pulled her lips away, pressing her cheek to his and running her hand up and down his back until his pulse quieted under her fingers. When he was significantly calmer, she finally broke the silence. “We need to call Howard.”

It was like he’d never been calm, the way his pulse jumped under her fingers and how his hands grasped tightly at her waist, holding her possessively to him. “No.”

She leaned back, eyes stern. “Steve…”

He shook his head, turning away from her to try to hide whatever it was he was feeling. “We have to go back tomorrow, anyway. Just…” He sighed, turning back to her, his eyes sad and begging. “Not yet, ok?”

If he’d said anything else, she would have fought him, but the words echoed her own past pleading to avoid doctors so closely that she found she couldn’t deny him. He’d always followed her lead, and she found she could do no less. She swallowed hard, and nodded. “But you have to eat something,” she heard herself say, unsure of where it came from or why it was suddenly so important to her.

At his nod she pulled him to the table, sitting him back down in his chair and then scooting his full plate back in front of him. He looked at it, then looked back up at her, and she could only shake her head at him.

She should have been angry, but instead she felt like she was soothing some large, wounded animal laying at her feet, unsure of how to take care of himself now that his fight was over. She perched herself on his lap, reaching over and taking the fork to feed him.

Steve’s hand stopped her own, eyes bewildered at his own actions. “Are you… are you sure you ate enough? You’re not hungry?”

She let her free hand fall over his cheek, resting at his shoulder. “That’s how you’re taking care of me?” He opened his mouth to answer, but he huffed air from his nose as he shrugged and shook his head. He didn’t know, and she didn’t, either. “Alright, then.”

Peggy, nowhere near hungry but understanding baser instincts when she saw them, took a small bite off the end of the piece of chicken on the fork. She held the rest out to him as she chewed, their eyes locked as he pulled the piece from the fork with his teeth and ate it.

It almost made her feel better that Steve seemed as baffled by his behavior as she was, that his eyes were lost and frustrated as he seemed to need to wait until she ate before he could, though as they neared the end of the plate, he took the fork from her and fed himself, his grasp somewhat looser as he held her in his lap.

“First thing tomorrow, no delaying,” she demanded softly as he pushed the plate away. He nodded and she moved from his lap, busying herself and her mind with the dishes. She tried to avoid the racing questions, the wild what-ifs that started to run through her mind as she cleaned the pans and plates, Steve still sitting quietly behind her.

She couldn’t help but smile when she felt him behind her as she stood at the sink, rinsing the last plate. It felt more like the way things had been for him to step up behind her with her hands filled with soap suds. He pressed tight against her, chest to back, and let his hands wrap around her, holding her low on her belly. His nose nuzzled against her nape as she set the last plate to dry, leaning back into him. She heard him take a deep breath in, the air tickled over her skin and made her shiver.

Peggy reached one arm up behind her, letting her fingers tangle in his hair, holding his lips against her flesh as he began to kiss and nip. It was different from how he’d held her at the sink the other day: it was more insistent, more possessive. She tried to avoid the dark thoughts that wanted to seep into her mind as he touched her. He needed her touch right now, and that’s all she cared about.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was how he felt every time she’d come to him, worked up and needing something only he could give.

Steve growled, low in his throat. It was deep and dark and domineering and something about it excited her. They were supposed to be avoiding touching, but she had barely touched him all day and she felt starved for him.

He felt wound up behind her, the power in his body held back and ready to burst. She wondered if it was the hormones or just the feeling of finally deciding to allow herself to touch him after all the hours of trying to stay apart. Either way, it had been hours since they’d touched before dinner and she felt no pain, no tingling, no discomfort but she yearned for him like she couldn’t explain.

He spun her in his arms, lifting her on to the counter and taking her lips. She kissed him back, happy to let him take the lead, his eyes dark with lust.

~*~

He held her possessively as he slept, in a way Peggy couldn’t ever remember Steve holding her before. On one hand, she felt safe and protected, but on the other, this new, darker side to him was concerning. It was the only reason she’d relented, the only reason she’d allowed him to touch her.

She’d only seen it when she couldn’t process it: when she’d been in so much pain and his skin was the only thing that would bring her relief. She could almost remember the look on his face in the hospital, and again when he crashed through the wall, but tonight she could see his eyes, feel the energy burning through him and she knew, she knew deep down, something about what Howard had done had caused this switch in him.

Touching him helped, just like it had helped her, but he said he didn’t feel pain. He couldn’t describe it to her beyond the idea of keeping her safe. She didn’t know what that meant to him, didn’t know why it tapped into his need to see her eat, then to see her safely to the bedroom, to hold her until he needed to touch and kiss her again, then to hold her until he fell asleep.

She wasn’t sure if the touching was helping all that much, but at least he was asleep.

The knot of anxiety in her stomach started to rise, acid burning and that sickly wave feeling ran through her as she broke out in a sweat. She tried to push away from him but his arms twined around her tighter.

“Mine,” he mumbled in his sleep.

“Steve, let go,” she pushed against him while attempting to slow the rising nausea within her, but trying to move his arms was like trying to dislodge metal clamps. “Please, I have to—”

She knew he wasn’t fully awake, she’d encountered this sleepy, half cognizant Steve before. Usually, he was soft and gentle and smiled at her. This one grumbled and repeated his possession of her, holding tight.

Finally, Peggy could take it no more. She kicked him between the legs, hard, and scrambled to the edge of the bed when he loosened his grip. She didn’t make it to the bathroom, but managed to vomit on the floor, avoiding ruining the bed.

By the time she turned back he was wide awake, pressed up on his elbow, eyes clearer than she’d seen them in hours. She wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, kicking her way out of the blankets and climbing out of the bed from the bottom, avoiding looking at him.

“Peggy…” He sat, still confused, “what…”

She nearly ran from the room, making it to the bathroom just in the nick of time. When there was nothing left to come back up, she flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth before heading back to the bedroom.

The lights were on and Steve was drying the floor where he’d cleaned up her mess. He stopped and stood when she leaned on the doorjamb, spent. “Peggy, I’m so sorry.” He looked down at the towel in his hand and then tossed it over by the laundry bag before looking up to her, his blue eyes full of confusion and sadness. “I’ll call Howard right now.”

She nodded, hands still shaking a bit from vomiting. “I’m going to make a cup—”

“I’ve got it,” he said quickly, moving to her and pressing a kiss to her hair before lifting her from her feet and setting her on the bed. “Lay down, I’ll bring it in after I’ve called Howard.”

She watched him go, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. She wanted to argue, but he seemed clearer, more like himself, and she was afraid to open up whatever Pandora’s Box was behind his need to take care of her, at least until Howard got there.

Peggy slipped back into bed, building the pillows up behind her. She might be better, but that meant nothing if Steve was worse.

[thoughtsofanexcitedspacechild]

The question is inevitable. I stop wiping down the ice cream equipment and look up. For the past two years, that’s all anyone’s ever asked me. Now as I sit here, I realize that by this time next year, I’ll be preparing to move. By this time next year, the question “what do you want to study?” will be answered. The thought of growing up and going to college has always been in the back of my mind, but it always seemed far off. Now as my boss asks me the same question I’ve been asked a million times, the answer doesn’t just feel real; it feels tangible.

“I want to hopefully study something in the arts,” I reply. “I’m hoping to study to then get a job as a concept artist for movies and TV shows.”

"Well, you know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m three years old. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with white printer paper spread out all over the place. Half of the sheets are filled and the other half to go. My tongue sticks out in determined concentration as I finish what feels like my fiftieth self portrait today. I’m still not happy with how the hair looks, but I’m getting better with every one I make.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m eight years old. I wait nervously outside the classroom in the aquatic and community center for my first ever real drawing class. I wait until the door opens and file in behind the rest of my peers into the classroom. I find a spot a little further away from everyone else. Once the teacher begins instructing us on how to draw the basic construction of a horse, I immerse myself into the lecture. Soon enough my anxiety melts away as I immerse myself in the drawing. By the end, I’m not quite satisfied with how my horse looks, but I look forward to the next day. There’s still three more days of camp, and I’m ready to get even better tomorrow.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m twelve years old. I’m sitting with what feels like my entire body sunken into an overly plush floral print couch. I watch as Mrs. Scalabrino, a family friend, teaches me how to make a magic loop with the yarn and crochet hook. “I’ve been doing it all wrong! Now I finally understand!” Deb hands me the yarn and hook and urges me to try myself.

This time, instead of having the hook slip through and make a tiny slip stitch, I loop the yarn though and then pull through a final time to create a stitch.

“I did it! I was doing it wrong!”

“It looks very good! Keep going and you’ll be making full projects in no time!” I smile at her compliment and keep practicing.

By the end of the afternoon, I have a long rectangle of clumsily made single and double crochet stitches, but I don’t mind. I’m proud of my lumpy, uneven, handmade rectangle.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m thirteen years old. It’s my first time at Blue Lake Fine Arts camp, and I’m taking my first pottery class. I’m carefully carrying my freshly reglazed pot to the back room of the pottery studio after fixing it for a second time. The first time it got damaged I had dropped it after molding the structure and the second time someone else bumped into me, messing up the glaze and sgraffito pattern and glazing in multiple places. I stayed after class during my recreation time and painstakingly remolded and fixed the intricate glazing pattern.

At the end of the session art show, I’m called to the front of the crowd of visiting parents and my fellow campers. I’ve just won the Outstanding camper scholarship. My cheeks flush furiously with embarrassment, but inside I’m also elated. Even though the pot wasn’t perfect. I was still proud of it. I worked hard to save and fix the pot twice broken, and for once, that work pays off. I look out and see the faces of everyone who was with me on the journey to complete the piece, and I know that that pot will always be more than a keepsake planter.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m fifteen years old. I lay in bed before my first day of high school. I should be worried about my academic classes, and I am. I can’t stop thinking about the homework for my double paced math class and honors biology, and the more advanced reading we’ll do in honors english this year.

I console myself by thinking about the art class that I’m going to take. By chance there was a scheduling conflict with my social studies credit, and there wasn’t a spot to fit it in. I’d have to test out of the class over the summer, but that meant that I could take Art 1 instead. I stay up and wonder what it will be like. Will it be like my art classes in middle school? Will I finally be able to try oil painting? What about ceramics?

I drift off to sleep anxious, but ready to try all new mediums and make more; to be able to create amongst all the chaos that comes with advanced academic studies.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

I’m sixteen years old. I’m almost finished with what was supposed to be my sophomore year, but because of the pandemic, quarantine has made the past month of march even more grey and dreary than normal. The trees outside droop with the heaviness of the recent freezing rain and the sky is a somber grey. I stare absentmindedly at my computer screen waiting for my last zoom meeting of the day to end.

I return to my painting once I log off of our AP Art zoom. I glare at the canvas in front of me. I hate this piece. Even the dull grey color palette outside seems more appetizing than the same oranges and blues that I’ve stared at for the past three months. It’s the feeling in the pit of the stomach when you don’t feel particularly welcome and you know something is off. The dynamic is all wrong and you infuriatingly search the faces of the people there for an answer but to no avail.

I sigh and start to reach for my paints to force myself to push through to a solution, but set them down. “There has to be another way to get through this,” I say to myself as I open my sketchbook against my better judgement. After a quick image reference search, My pencil migrates from the jar to the page. I don’t worry about making it perfect. This piece is just for me.

I sketch out the figures of the boy and girl and boy in the photo, their arms intertwined in an embrace and their lips in a gentle kiss. I make sure her thumb just skims the length of his forearm and that his hand is placed just so on her waist. I step back. We’re getting somewhere.

Long since abandoned for my previous acrylic piece, my colored pencils feel slippery and foreign in my hand. I reach for the tan and brown colored pencils to start, but the bright fuschia red catches my eye. I cautiously begin to apply it to the girl’s face and neck area. Perfect. I don’t stop until the shadows crossing the girl’s face are all shades of pink and red and the boys silhouette is coated in deep blues. What next?

My watercolor palette sits just inches from my paints. I open it and observe my options. I water down a bright pink, an ocean blue, and my untouched cake of deep purple watercolor. I haphazardly splash the pink on one side and the blue on the other, applying purple to blend the area where the two seas of paint mix. I remember an old painters trick of using salt to make cool backgrounds, and apply a generous amount. The scissors come out next, and I delicately cut the form of the girl and boy out. I paste it right on the background and let it sit under a book overnight to press.

In the morning, I observe my work. It’s not perfect. The proportions on the girl’s arm are off and I never quite managed to capture the folds on the boy’s shirt, but I smile. I love it. This is my piece. No one told me to make this. I just did. It’s for me.

My abandoned assignment sits waiting on the other side of the table. I look at it again. This time I do see what’s missing. Like I did while I was working with the pencil, I need to add more depth. That’s why I hate it. That’s why it felt flat and boring. I set my new opus aside and reach for the beaten up acrylic brushes and paint tubes.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

The computer screen finally loads. I'm exhausted and have just returned from a missions trip to the Dominican Republic, but in my blissful sleep back in my own bed, I'd remembered that AP scores had come out while I was away. The three numbers I've waited for loom in front of me:

AP Spanish Language: 5

AP Language and Composition: 4

AP Studio Art: 4

A four.

I stare in disbelief at the screen. I'd expected a three at best. I rush to tell my parents.

“You know art can be just a hobby, right?”

***

"Yeah, I know," I respond. "But it's so much more than that to me."

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Richard x Reader Oneshot

Darklings have plagued Richard’s day- and nightmares for too long. Your companionship helps him overcome those fears and leads him home.

Warnings: Supernatural beings, supernatural violence, non-human characters, maybe a bit of angst, some fluff, not everything is what you might think (let me know if I need to add anything!)

Word Count: 2194

Here is Richard’s Halloween short! I hope you enjoy the little twist in here!

--------

The old behavioral health center was one of your favorite places to visit. Most people were friendly to you, especially around this time of year when the temperature dropped and the days stretched longer in darkness. It drew out the darkness in the patients, and you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to the building each autumn as the trees grew bare. The crisp kaleidoscope of leaves crunching under your feet and the wind in your silky hair added a bounce to your steps. It was all very refreshing outdoors.

You waited patiently for the door of the facility to open and then slipped inside. The woman at the front desk greeted you warmly, offering you a treat from the bag in her desk which you happily accepted. She recognized you from the previous years you had visited. There weren't many volunteers for this place, and they accepted you as an unofficial "support staff". Usually you made rounds between the rooms for the night to spend some time with each patient that didn’t chase you away. The receptionist opened the interior doors for you to reach the patient rooms and lounges, and you called back a quiet "thank you" over your shoulder before departing the foyer.

The halls still hadn’t been repainted since you noticed the crackling paint last Halloween. The distinct smell of sterile cleaners permeated every corridor and nearly overwhelmed your olfactory sense. Nurses and orderlies that spotted you greeted you with a soft smile, and the especially affectionate ones pulled you into their arms and stroked the hair down your back. You didn’t mind. Sometimes a little bit of closeness was all someone needed to hold themselves together.

Very few of the patients were ones that you remembered from earlier visits. Oftentimes, the turnaround was fairly quick for the poor souls that found themselves being treated here. This year, things felt different. An insurmountable feeling of danger had pulled you back to this place. The halls seemed a bit more empty and quiet now. They felt dark. It was a darkness that kept shadows safe from the light, safe from your eyes, even when you watched them carefully. Someone was not safe here… It agitated you and made you grumble softly as you turned the corner into the eerily quiet sunroom. The sun had set a while ago, and the white noise of the busted tv threw about garish light and static.

Why was it so much darker in front of the television? Your feet pattered quietly on the floor as you made your approach. The malicious, airy whispers and swirling clouds of shadow surrounding the oversized armchair made you stop in your tracks. A young man sat frozen in the chair, his eyes unfocused yet screaming for help at the same time, and the chocolate hair dangling in his eyes shook slightly from the tension in his body. Strangled whimpers and sickeningly shallow breath struggled to escape his closed lips. This was it--the reason you had been drawn here.

You ran forward prepared to pounce, shrieking for the darklings to leave him alone. They snarled and shrieked right back with their hideous faces shrouding you in their cold, decaying breath. Your nails scratched down one of their faces and made them draw back. There was no blood, just gray skin crumbling away like collapsing cinders of an old fire. The black eyes sparked wickedly, but you had distracted them enough to place yourself between them and their original prey.

“Leave him alone,” you hissed. “I won’t let you hurt him anymore.” Raspy laughter circled you.

“No.” Several voices echoed the word so quietly you almost thought it was in your head. “He’s been ours for far too long, little one. We’ll never let him go.” The word “go” lingered like a serpent’s kiss. 

“Then I will make you.” The cackles that resounded chilled your blood, but you refused to back down. You reached out again to claw at the creature’s face. You found your mark and relished the cry of pain as your nail raked through a desiccated eyeball. You would keep your new charge safe at all costs, and that was a fact the darklings would quickly come to realize. Scuttling movements signaled their departure, and you happily perched yourself on the arm of the chair to be nearer to the young man.

His arctic eyes remained hypnotized by the snow on the tv. You were pleased to notice the now steady rising and falling of his broad chest as normal breath returned to his lungs. He didn’t seem to notice you hovering at his side quite yet. The darklings hadn’t left--they were just sulking high up in the far corner of the room--and you weren’t about to leave him either.

You were still reclining on the arm of the chair when an orderly with a cat ear headband came to return your patient to his room. They smiled at you when they reached an arm out to help the young man stand, and you reflexively stood as well.

“Come on, Richard. It’s time for lights out,” they said politely. So his name was Richard. The flash of fear that crossed his beautiful, helpless eyes nearly broke your heart. Sleep was a necessity of life, and one you couldn’t help but enjoy. To be afraid of your own wondrous dreams would truly be a curse. The orderly turned their attention back to you with another bright smile. “I see you have a new friend, Richard. If you’d like to stay with him a bit longer, it shouldn’t be a problem. What do you think, Richard?” Richard’s eyes remained fixed on the television and he gave no indication that he wanted you to follow, nor that he wanted you to remain behind. The orderly nodded their head for you to accompany them to his double room. You did so happily, relieved that you wouldn’t be left behind. Your eyes cast a glare to the corner of peeling paint that concealed the darklings. They didn’t dare come for him that night.

They didn’t come for him the next night, or the night after that, or the night after that. The first night you kept vigil from a chair in the corner of his room. Darkness loomed above the doorway, but it never descended. The second night, you took up the empty bed across from his. The creatures tugged at your limbs and at your hair to torment you in the night. You would fight them constantly if it meant that Richard would be able to rest throughout the night without these nightmares smothering him. 

The purple bruising beneath Richard’s eyes began to fade by the fourth day of fitless sleep. He even welcomed you onto his bed that day and allowed you to sit beside him while he drew in his sketchbook. His artwork was very impressive. You could tell his moods from the weight of the lines and the steadiness of his shading. You reached over and shuffled the pages to see his other drawings. He tilted his head to look at you through the hair hanging in his eyes. 

“What? You want to see more?” A small quizzical smile barely creased the corners of his lips.

“Yes,” you replied softly, thinking the answer to be quite obvious. His brow furrowed for a moment, and then his fingers were deftly flipping through pages. He faltered at the gruesome sketch of the night-creatures that plagued his slumber, and you quickly made an attempt to cover the image from his eyes. You would have torn it completely from the book if you’d been able.

“You’re not a fan of that one either?” You turned your back to him to emphasize quite how much you hated it, and you swore you heard him chuckle behind you. Your head turned sharply to look up at him, and you caught the remnants of a genuine smile on his ample lips. If there was any indication that you were doing your job well, that was it.

Richard flicked towards the end of the occupied pages, and he paused on the latest artwork he’d completed. It was a picture of you. Your eyes locked on the page and took in each delicate line and precise smudge. He had taken his time with this one. It wasn’t harsh scribbled lines and nearly ripped paper. The details were stunning. The way the light glistened off your hair, the shifts of color in your eyes shaded in grayscale, the perfectly proportioned curves of your body. You looked up at him with nothing but love in your eyes.

The doctor in charge of his case entered the room and stopped at the foot of his bed. The both of you looked up at the man expectantly as he glanced between the two of you.

“Richard...when did you get a cat?” The young man looked down at you and shrugged up at the doctor.

“They showed up a few days ago. Apparently they come around every year. Nurse Debbie said this is the first time she’s seen them here for more than one day.” His hand stroked down along your back, and you hummed at the affection. Richard was too afraid to say that he felt better with you around for fear that the doctor would refer to it as stupid or childish. Instead, the doctor offered a contrary point.

“Animals are often used quite successfully for therapeutic means. There is also supposition that animals, cats in particular, have a sixth sense for those in need of help fighting their demons. Perhaps we will see how this affects your treatment for the time being.” Richard’s mouth dropped open, but no words came out in his stunned silence. He settled for a nod. The ghastly chuckling under the bed made your hair stand on end all the way down your spine.

That night, the darklings staged an attack that you had not been prepared for.

Richard left you curled up against his side as he fell asleep more easily than he had in many months. His fears had begun to leave him in the darklings’ absence. They were determined to fix that and win him back. They divided their forces, one of the three closing a hand around your neck and another leaning over to begin stealing Richard’s breath. As soon as you heard the choked sobs in his throat, you began to flail. The darkling holding you extended you to a full arm’s length away.

“Richard!” you cried. It didn’t matter how far away you were from your tormentors. There was nothing that would stop you from protecting him. You curled around on yourself and sunk your teeth and nails into the wrist of your darkling captor. They dropped you with a shout, and you pounced on the back of the one hovering over Richard. Your loud cries and wails managed to stir Richard from the comatose state. Good, they hadn’t been able to pollute his mind in excess yet. 

“I told you to leave. Him. Alone!” Your claws sank into the darkling’s back as you tried to force them farther away from your Richard. Their spindly arm cracked and twisted at an unnatural angle to grab you by your neck, and they flung you against the wall.

“No!” Richard’s eyes shot open and he turned his head to watch you crumple against the floor. All three darklings turned their attention to him. His movements were still sluggish from sleep. A darkling cried in anguish when you sprang back onto the bed, positioning yourself protectively on Richard’s chest, and ruthlessly batted at their face.

With surprise, Richard realized that he wasn’t afraid of these creatures. He was furious. His entire body shook with the rage tensing his muscles. One arm wrapped around you and held him close to his chest. The other shot out and grasped the closest darkling by the neck.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he sneered. The three night-creatures stilled. “I am not afraid of you.” He repeated. His eyes burned with pure hatred for every second of his life that he had lost to them. And now they had tried to take you, too. “I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU!” He shouted the words into the face of the darkling desperately trying to remove his hands from their throat.

As suddenly as they appeared, they vanished. There was nowhere for them to go, no fear to feed on from a soul made of bravery. Their bodies exploded into a thick black fog that dissipated before it hit the floor. The perpetual tension that had plagued the room gave way to relief. Richard had never breathed so easily. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to you. He tucked you both back into bed, pressing a kiss to your head, and you nudged your forehead up against his chin in thanks. The contented purring in your throat lulled you both to sleep that night.

A couple weeks later, Richard was once again adding your drawing to his sketchbook, this time from the comfort of his own pillow-top mattress in his own bedroom.

[danganronpa-ps]

[PS] CHAPTER 5 | Execution

CHAPTER 5 EXECUTION - Fuminori Odane. 7/20 students remaining.

Upon feeling Yoshirou embrace him, he tenses, and never relaxes. It's hard for him to do so, after all, knowing who he was and what he's done; he was a murderer through and through, no matter his intention, or his circumstance. A life was ended by his own two hands, and he was getting his due because of it. However, he does, with hesitant motions, return the hug. He feels as if it's more for the sake of doing so rather than to provide comfort or reassurance, because he knows that he can only give so little. Eventually he lets go, and releases himself from this final embrace. It's agonizing, but his inevitable fate was drawing near. He might as well let go on his own accord. Before he's sent off, he looks at everyone. It requires all his strength, but with a final push, he smiles warmly.

"Keep fighting, okay?"

Sketch + Flats: Apple Painting + Shading: Anya

[HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS]

Before long, Fuminori finds himself enveloped in a cold, suffocating darkness that seemed to press on him from all directions, and fill every part of his body with a sensation of immense heaviness. By all means, he was met face to face with nothing but his own sense of self, but even that was beginning to ebb away with the numbing of his limbs and the fading of his consciousness, leaving behind only the sound of his heart beating wildly against his ears, and the fear that poisoned the blood that coursed through his veins. Perhaps this was what awaited him. Perhaps this was justice. Perhaps this was death. He could do nothing but wait and wonder with what little lucidity he had left, but just as his thoughts began to dissipate into a mere fog,

they suddenly converge, and he wakes up.

The first thing he sees is a blinding light, and the blurry shape of his own hand as he instinctively moves to block it from reaching his eyes. As his senses return to him, he feels his body pressing down against a soft bedding of weeds, and the gentle rays of the sun that shone through the sparsely covered sky, beating down against his being, wrapping him in a comforting blanket of warmth. For a moment, he feels as if he were in a dream, but clarity was next to return, and with it the strength to sit up, skin meeting a gentle breeze thereafter, and eyes, a vast sea of tall grass that swayed in waves with the push of the wind. He looks around, yet strangely, not with fear. The land was unfamiliar to him in every shape and form, but it instilled into him a comfort. A desire. A need to stand.

The horizon expands as he pushes himself to his feet. Now, he sees the subtle rolling of the land, and while abundant with greenery, the distance was another story, barren of anything but the plains the stretched out below him. By all means, there was nowhere to go, but not to Fuminori, for something beyond his sights seemed to pull at him, as if reaching out for an embrace, only to fall short. He’s hesitant; he did not know where to start, after all, and to set off of a journey without direction was something only a fool would do, but the wind then joins in its ushering, blowing past him, behind him, and towards a distant wish.

There’s a moment of doubt, but he eventually turns, and he walks. 

Soon, the sun sets, and the stars begin to shine brilliantly through the thin canopy of clouds while the moon, from the endless void above him, swathes him in its blue glow. Time passes, and his eyelids eventually grow heavy when he comes face to face with inevitable drowsiness, but he doesn’t cease his walking to rest, only pressing forward and onward, up until the sun peeks out from the horizon once again. 

Day. Night. Day. Night.

The scene around Fuminori begins to change, shifting and morphing as if subject to fantasy. The lush green fades into a dusty orange, and from the ground came trees that grew in his wake, sprouting leaves that just as quickly turned red and began to fall off of their branches, trailing behind him like a crimson storm. It’s only a matter of time before every last one falls, and the moment the final leaf leaves its abode, a biting cold quickly fills the air as if on cue.

The vibrant colors vanish under the dust that falls from the sky, which covers the once decorated scenery with a monotonous white. Nothing is spared from the cleansing storm that thickly coats the ground and bare the trees, turning everything into nothing more than dry, hollow shells of what they once were. It’s empty now, more than it ever was, but the farmer continues onward without pause nevertheless, in his persistent search for something in the distance.

Summer. Fall. Winter. Spring.

…

…Huh? How long has it been?

It was only when thousands upon thousands of all sorts of colors bloom from the dirt in the form of equally numerous flowers when reason returns to Fuminori. He pauses all of a sudden for the first time in hours, days, maybe even months, but as soon as he stops letting his legs carry him, it’s as if the blind force possessing him had suddenly left his body. With its departure, all sensation returns, and so does the weight of his journey on his body all at once. 

Suddenly, utter exhaustion and the intense ache of his legs sends him to his knees, while hunger and thirst grip at his being with an iron fist, afflicting him with an indescribable pain. He coughs and heaves as he curls up on the ground; it’s all overwhelming, crippling even. Everything strikes at him all at once and with an engulfing intensity, but it is before he finds himself drowning in this discordant sea that he pulls himself to shore.

He takes a deep breath, slow and steady. 

It sure feels like it, but he knows deep down that it’s not the end of the world. With this thought in tow, he lays there for a moment, maybe two, and then the worst of it subsides, allowing him to stumble back to his feet. He’s barely recovered before he sets his eyes forward, ready to trudge onwards all over again, but this time, something else shows itself to him, appearing in light of his tenacity.

Not so far away, there was a small house, old-seeming but well taken care of, and in front of it six blurry figures, all of which were wholly familiar. 

He runs forward before his thoughts could even begin to catch up to him. In that moment, all becomes clear-- he was chasing his desires, his purpose, his safety, his home. They were what his journey was for, and he was on his final stretch. Of course, how could he not see it? There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to be surrounded by what he loved the most, whether or not life was perfect. Perhaps he had lost sight of this simple philosophy along the way in his pursuit of stability, but now, through unyielding endurance, he is met with it once again. That was all that mattered to Fuminori, who’d suffered in its absence.

The faces of those he cherishes grow clearer when he draws closer. From a few feet away, he could see Naruki and Kayoko wave at him widely, while Kimito, Yoshika and his grandmother stand aside, far more subdued with their actions. In front of them all stands his mother, who remains still, but as soon as Fuminori stumbles over to their doorstep, she opens her arms, and with a big smile, exclaims,

“Welcome home, Fuminori! We all missed you, you know?”

He slows, and stares for a moment in disbelief, before he falls into the arms of his mother without a second thought, closing his eyes as he relaxes into her welcoming embrace. It’s something he missed so, so, dearly. The warmth of family, and the sound of their voices as they greet and tease him all the once; it might’ve been childish for him to call this moment as such, but he was finally home, where he belonged.

He made it.

Bliss graces him for the first time in a long while, and willingly he indulges, starved of anything even close to joy for so long, but before he’s able to fully come to terms with it,

the illusion quickly crumbles as a cold blade pierces his back.

It all happens too fast for him to even cry out, though reality is quick to fall on him as pain contaminates the short-lived joy. He begins to panic, just as anyone would. The arms that were once wrapped around his mother now flail as he grabs at the cloth on her back, and he pulls and pushes, but struggles to escape her grasp. Agony wracks him. Blood begins to fill his lungs and rob him of breath, and it hurts, but nothing stops his desperate attempts to wrench himself away. 

He claws, he twists, he pushes, and he tries his hardest, and yet he’s still weak and unable, even against his mother’s thin arms. Adrenaline does nothing. Resistance does nothing. He can do nothing. His silent gaze then begs the figures standing behind his mother for help, but they only watch, once happy expressions falling into that of resignation.

Indignant, he only continues to fight, but it’s too much. The sting of betrayal, the fear of death, the pounding of his wound, all add to the emotions that begin to mount and burst at the seams, and as tightly wound feelings unfurl into an ugly mess, he chokes out with a feeble breath,

“Why?”

A sudden stillness fills the air. It’s as if his words alone caused time to stop, but the pause does not last, as his mother begins to speak in a way that does not intend to mock, but to comfort.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you rest, Fuminori?”

Rest?

To rest was not what he wanted, he longed to say. He so desperately wished to say that she was wrong, that he could still persist, that he could keep going for all eternity if it meant that they could return to simpler times, but the only sounds that escape his mouth are weak coughs and gurgles. Frustrated, he grits his teeth, trying with all his remaining strength to prove her wrong, but the anger is quick to turn into tears once he realizes that he can’t. It’s stupid. It’s unfair. It’s pathetic, and he curses at himself, but from behind him, his mother’s expression only shifts. 

“…The world is cruel,” she says, “and efforts are not always met with success.” 

Her words are harsh, but her tone is gentle, loving even. She holds Fuminori close, cradling him as if he were still the small child he used to be, but this steady facade is quick to fall apart as her features begin to shake. She lays her head against his shoulder, and with great effort she murmurs, 

“I’m sorry.”

…Ah.

Fuminori was stubborn, but not dumb. He never thought that he would ever have to come face to face with it, and while he had refused to acknowledge it as an end for as long as he’s lived, he knew what this was, in all of its dreadfulness.

This was failure.

Regardless of whether or not Fuminori choses to continue fighting, his body soon refuses to listen to him; his arms fall to his side as the final traces of defiance drain away, and his legs then fail to support his weight despite his protests, causing him to sink to the floor in the arms of his mother, who keeps her hold, slowly lowering herself to the ground with her eldest son slumped over her shoulder. There’s silence, before he hears her begin to weep for him, and eventually, everyone he’s ever loved follow with their own sorrowful wails as they fall to their knees by his side, unable to do anything but watch the boy who’s succumbed to fate’s cruel hand wither away.

In his final moments, Fuminori thinks. He thinks about how he wanted to wipe his loved ones’ tears. He thinks about how he wanted give them a reason to be happy. He thinks about how he wanted to give them everything. He thinks about his many unfulfilled wishes, and his equally plentiful regrets. If he could, he’d chase all of these desires for as long as he had to if it meant that he’d someday come close to a happy ending, but the choice seemed to be his no longer. In the end, it was that of death, in all its finality. 

In his utter powerlessness, Fuminori could do no more but listen to his family’s cries, and lament about how terribile they sounded.

As his vision swims, so do the images in front of him, before they eventually fade along with the flame that one burned brightly within. He dies, but not of his own accord.

Perhaps it’s better this way.

[bbbarneswrites]

Small Places

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Don’t they say that after a storm, there’s always calm?  Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings, mental health issues 3,809 words

Notes: Here we are with a new piece after all these months! The songs we got for this one are The Moon by The Swell Season and Cellar Door by Angus & Julia Stone. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback always welcomed! <3

The small studio stays right in the heart of Brooklyn, surrounded by themed bars, bright restaurants and a crowd of millennials that makes him cringe every once in a while.

It’s a shoebox.

A bed that fights for space with a small couch, a kitchen that can be sized by two of his steps alone and a cramped bathroom with a bathtub that he honestly can’t fit in. But be as it may, Bucky has never been in a more comfortable, warm and welcoming atmosphere.

A bed with polka-dotted, fluffy blankets, a couch with bright colored and quirky pillows, a kitchen with a line of gifted succulents by the counter and a bathroom with filled shelves of sweet smelling products.

Pictures on the walls, sketches and love notes hung to the fridge, shared clothes thrown over in little corners.

Everything is so lively and familiar—it feels like home outside of his home.

The four walls of your little studio have been witnesses to so much. Whispered love confessions, frantic murmurs of comfort, quiet pleads in between moans, anger filled little lies, and the list can only go on.

There’s a Friday night.

Discarded containers of take-out on the coffee table, and maybe a carton of Ben & Jerry’s forgotten around after a fight over the last spoon. Netflix midway through a random episode of Stranger Things because yeah, Bucky has a growing crush on Winona Ryder. Peace fills up every fiber of his being, and looking down to the sight before him, things can’t feel more right.

“Your heart is beating so fast.” You mumble quietly, chin leaning up to rest upon his chest. A flesh arm tightens around your frame, and a lazy grin grows on your lips. “Are you nervous being around me, Bucky?”

The lightness laced to your voice is familiar, a tone he’s heard many, many times within the warmth of a shared trustfulness.

A smile curls up his lips. Even then, the sound never fails to make Bucky content and happy.

“I’m always nervous around you, baby.” He jokes, a gentle kiss pressing to your temple that earns a happy hum from your chest. “You’re way out of my league.”

Bucky’s smile widens with a muffled whine of protest, and his vibranium hand reaches out to push a strand of hair away from your eyes when you shift on the way-too-small couch. With your face still buried to his chest, there’s no space left between both of you. The fluffy hem of your socks tickles his legs and the skin of his tummy rise up in shivers under your fingers.

Meanwhile, Erica Sinclair goes off about capitalism on TV.

Despite the length of your relationship, a small part of him still gets surprised over moments like this.

Soft fingertips reaching out to his marred left shoulder, a light touch to trace the harsh and old outlines of his scars, by now the only ugly looking, physical reminder of a time of his life that’s best left behind to be buried and forgotten.

With a little giggle escaping from your mouth, Bucky halts his thoughts to focus.

“You’re cute.” You wink playfully, biting your lower lip to hold back another laugh. His cheeks instantly flush a little under the fairy lights of your walls. “This little scar here looks like a stick figure.”

The touch feels nice as your index finger brush over a particular spot near his collarbone. Though he’s observed every single detail of the marks in several occasions, more than enough to make him very familiar with its designs, he immediately takes your hand with his own. Wrapped fingers together, you guide him through his little stick figure.

It’s a little joke, he knows, but Bucky still grins as you make him trace the funny lines of a quirky drawing to his own skin.

And when you tip his chin with your thumb a moment later? Warmth radiating from your body pressed up to his? And lips sweetly meeting his own?

That’s his peace.

There’s a Wednesday morning.

After arriving from a mission, sore muscles and half-healed scabs, Bucky just couldn’t see himself going back to the apartment he shares with Sam—especially after a two week long mission, taking in everything that his partner had to say. And trust, Sam Wilson has a lot of things to say.

To top of it all, he’s missed you.

Missed your laugh and your kisses and your touch. The way you tuck his hair behind his ears, the plush of your lips to the base of his neck. Your cuddles and your warmth and your care. Two long, painstaking slow weeks.

The place is warm as he steps in, slits of moonlight escaping through your blinds. Coming home to you feels right, takes off an edge from his heart, as if everything is right in the world again.

Only silence as Bucky slips under the blankets.

Bleary eyes barely taking him in.

And a happy but tired hum before a familiar frame cuddles to his side.

Sleep welcomes him right in.

Any person that lives in New York can easily list a series of upsides and downsides to coexisting in a studio apartment this small. An upsidde is that you can see and hear everything and the downside is that you can see and hear everything.

White numbers cover up your face on the screen of his phone as it marks 3:36AM. The shuffling and clashing in the kitchen isn’t unusual except for the late hour. Barely four hours of sleep later, and Bucky’s watching a pajama-clad you pour chocolate into a bowl through squinted, heavy eyes.

“Think I need to put you on a sleep schedule.” He murmurs. The sound is low but enough to make you jump on the spot, turn around with a scowl that makes him chuckle. “Come back to bed.”

The tense features of your face melt into a mix of worry and dejection.

“I can’t!” You cry, hands coming up to cover your face in frustration, words all muffled. “I promised I’d bake brownies for the book fair but I was so tired and I meant to take a nap while waiting for you but I just slept and now I woke you up!”

It takes two steps until Bucky has your frame into his arms, a perfect fit that rises butterflies in your stomach after the two, very long weeks. With vibranium fingertips brushing along your cheeks in a gentle caress, every negative feeling slips away.

“You were waiting for me?” Bucky pulls back a little, enough to see you pout through a nod. A loving smile grows easily to his mouth right before a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

Brownies are made in record time with two sets of wandering hands.

And are successfully sold out by two excellent sellers.

There’s a Monday afternoon.

Clouds are looming over the city. Cold, bitter winds singing loud enough outside. The first few signs of fall can be spotted by a quick walk in the neighborhood by now, trees turning into different shades of brown as pumpkin orange starts to pop everywhere.

Back to a few hours earlier, Bucky begrudgingly kisses you goodbye at the cramped doorstep, fixing your heart-shaped earmuffs with a wish of a good day at school. No paperwork or assignments under his name for a change, the place shelters him from any unexpected Avenger responsability, and he’s more than glad to wait home for you.

Separated dirty clothes, clean dishes back to the cupboards, made-up bed with fresh sheets, organized books and trinkets and papers for the small study table.

Homecoming isn’t as comforting.

Between quiet sniffles, red-rimmed teary eyes and angry huffs of frustration with the addition of a warm tea cup, Bucky cuddles you up to his lap until peace has settled again.

“You gonna tell me who I’m killing tonight?” He jokes half-heartedly, chest a little bit lighter as you giggle quietly, offering a slap to his arm. “Just say the word and I’ll do it.”

A single look from you and his heart swells with affection, the feelings hidden behind the simple act never failing to leave him speechless, wondering if there’s another shoe to drop.

There’s always another shoe to drop in his life.

“You don’t do that anymore, remember?” You say softly, a smart smile playing on your lips that’s followed by a tired, but now content sigh. “I’m okay, promise. Just a bad morning in school that wasn’t expected.”

Hands brought closer together and a kiss pressed to your knuckles by his lips.

Bad days take no excuse.

“Okay, doll.” Bucky frowns, eyes squinted in pretend suspicion as he smirks. “You really sure though? I can call Sam.”

“I’m sure, goober.” You roll your eyes through a laugh, instantly leaning closer until his lips are brushing to your own. “It’s all better now with you.”

Seventy years of a missed life, most of which he’s spent nearly under seven feet underground, locked up like an animal and abused for selfish power. Ruthless damage to every inch of his being, every sliver of hope taken from him without permission for decades. Now, eight years after a seeming never ending storm, Bucky finds reason in all of this.

It feels good to know that she’s with him too.

And if the day ends up to both of you curled up in the back booth of the diner down the street, ordering a late night breakfast with pancakes and eggs and bacon, then it’s a good day after all.

There’s a Thursday night.

The day has been slow in the apartment given your day-off from school. Silence and a few movies on Netflix are your companions, except for the visit of your friendly neighborhood stray cat, Alpine, who climbs up to your windowsill every day without fail. Bucky is usually the one who feeds him, and mostly the one who’s unofficially adopted the kitten.

A pause here for a quick, improvised meal between homework, another pause there for a bath under glittery bath bombs.

Being away from him is normal.

His missions can last to mere hours to unexpected months. Living within the job is basically the norm, all with recruits training, team meetings and securing duties. Your classes are demanding, both physically and mentally. It never ends and never leaves you, always something to be started or done back home.

Either way, anxiousness never leaves you in a week like this.

Nearing a certain date on the calendar, Bucky’s plagued by restless nights.

It feels like a sore spot in his body, one he knows all about it but still can’t help but be upset at, poking and prodding around as a way to remember it. Despite knowing his best-friend way too well, Steve’s choice wasn’t one taken lightly back then.

The reasoning is fair and understandable but it doesn’t lessen the bitterness of a brief meeting after a six year long disappearance.

Not much can be done by now, but two years after Steve’s official death, Bucky still plays what ifs in his head. 

After gentle coaxing in between kisses in the night before and encouraging hugs and squeezes in the morning after, Bucky spends the whole day back at the compound, a scheduled therapy session set to the calendar of his phone.

When sunlight falls to a sheet of night stars, familiar but heavy steps sound like music to your  ears.

A random song playing through your laptop and slow beats welcome Bucky home.

It takes a single look at you until he’s sighing relieved, hauling your frame up to his arms in the middle of the small kitchen, where you both barely fit in during busy mornings with shoulder bumps and mumbled but playful complaints.

Sure it has been a pretty nostalgic day but nothing beats being right there.

“You smell good.” Bucky says, an almost shy mumble against your hair, his arms gently tightening around you. “Peach?”

The easy but definitely familiar guess makes you smile instantly. Heat rises on your cheeks, your chin rests on his chest as your eyes look for his own, very blue, very alive compared to a few hours back. Golden detailed fingertips brush your cheeks and a content hum escapes from your lips instantly.

“That bathbomb you gave me, remember?” You smile, voice sounding small and equally as shy until Bucky tips down, his lips meeting your own in a featherlike kiss that makes you sigh. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky smiles, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes and then, the smooth sway starts. Finding rhythm with the slow beats still playing background, you can’t help but feel your chest lighter. In that moment, neither of you need to share words to know, he doesn’t need to tell you about his session for the feelings to sink.

Despite any doubt and above any insecurity, being right there feels just right.

It’s not his day and age. For a long time, he was nothing but a misplaced piece of the universe. Then without his best-friend, just an unknown face for the team to swallow.

Not anymore.

There was a time of misplacement and sure, he no longer has Steve on a back-up call but life has given him good things. Good people. Sam and Wanda. Love. You. And in that moment, after a long day of reflection, Bucky just feels thankful above any odd feeling.

“Feelin’ great.” He muses. It’s genuine and it makes your smile widen upon his accent slip, only cut short by Bucky’s lips briefly meeting yours again. “Thank you.”

Background music switching to an upbeat song and the shared slow, careful sway doesn’t change.

“What for?” You frown, wide eyes flicking between confusion and amusement through a quiet, huffed laugh. A beat until you look up through your eyelashes, and a sheepish shrug. “I haven’t done anything.”

Bucky bites back the reply—you’ve done everything and more, you’re everything—words for another time, other plans, a day with a better start. After all, he’s not going anywhere.

This is his place now.

And in the end of the day, that’s all it matters.

There’s a Saturday afternoon.

An array of long dresses and skirts mix-up with button-ups and printed ties on the bed, make-up and skin products all over the cabinet. The sun slowly lies down to a soft hue of orange that paints the bedroom space, and the off-beat singing coming from the bathroom makes you smile every now and then.

A coat of lipstick to the lips, mascara to the eyelashes. A well-placed hair pin to the side of your hair. Out of the bathroom Bucky gets, black suit and tie in place, not a wrinkle on sight to the white button-up shirt. The singing turns to a faint humming.

Short hair, trimmed beard. His blue eyes are alight. Positively beaming.

It’s just a few hours to go until the big event starts—Mr. and Mrs. Wilson anniversary, which they’re celebrating with one big ceremony to renew their vows with their children present. Bucky, much to Sam’s feigned dismay and Darlene Wilson’s stubborness, is now considered one of them.

In the very few opportunities you got to meet Darlene, she was nothing short of sweet to you and incredibly motherly to your boyfriend. Not much is needed to see how happy Bucky is to be participating in their day, and you can’t help but beam right back at him.

“Looking so handsome!” You grin, watching through the mirror as Bucky sits on the bed, shiny black shoes set on the floor. His lips are holding back a smirk. “I mean it, Bucky! This hair? I’m marrying you.”

At the words, Bucky looks up.

Between the Blip, his missions, your classes and whatnot, neither of you ever discussed the possibilities of a long-term future.

Have you both thought about it, though? Absolutely.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Bucky sighs. Quickly settling into his shoes, a crooked smile curves up his mouth as he stands up, gentle fingers around your satin clad waist. “You’re so beautiful. I’m a lucky bastard, aren’t I?”

It feels like your brain instantly turns to mush over his words, and your tongue stumbles to find proper words to reply his sudden sweet outburst. Heat spreads through your neck and cheeks as you lean back against his chest, feeling Bucky’s arms wrap you completely with such warmth like home is supposed to feel.

Watching your reflections through the mirror, you can’t help but think how comforting the situation is, even if it can look silly to anybody else. How comforting is to see you with him, the changes, the little quirks that remain the same after a straight up mess.

How funny is it that you want to turn your little comment into reality?

How funny is it that Bucky wants that moment of certainty to freeze?

“You’ve got to help me with something.” You break the silence, smiling shyly before reaching out to the small jewelry box sitting on your make-up cabinet. A silver necklace with a studded little star is pulled out. “Please?”

Smart fingers wrap the necklace around your neck with ease, the touch of vibranium rising shivers to your skin as Bucky closes it with a little kiss pressed between your shoulder blades.

There’s that little moment of silence again until a sigh escapes from his lips, a beat of hesitancy rushing through his body before he’s fishing for the black box in his pocket. A box he’s been carrying for way too long now, just waiting for its buyer to build up the damn courage because that’s all it takes.

I mean it, Bucky! I’m marrying you.

“I’ve got something else for you to wear tonight.” Bucky says. Heart pounding violently through his chest, so much he thinks you might hear it, but voice sounding as light as ever under your curious eyes. “I—I’ve had it for a long time now. And I know it might not be the perfect moment but you just said you’d marry me.”

Turning around to face him, your mouth immediately falls open. Chest to chest, your eyes searching for his. And ss Bucky lifts the little velvet box and flips it open so, so easily with his metal thumb, your choked, disbelieved laugh fills the room.

The ring is beautiful.

No fancy stones, just a simple, silver band formed to wrap around a finger with its two ends meeting together on the top.

Both of you kept meeting each other over and over through accords, battles and sudden disappearances.

It’s meaningful enough to make your heart beat faster.

“You can’t be serious. Are you?” You ask dumbly, a silly smile soon growing on your lips as Bucky gives a playful glare. “You are. Holy shit, Bucky!”

“You aren’t sayin’ yes, baby doll.” Bucky jokes, starting to feel jittery with nerves despite a small grin. Under the anxiety and accent slip, he’s just loving to see how positively astonished you look. “I’m sweating under this suit and it won’t be good for—”

Red lips crash upon his in a rush, your fingers fisting the lapels of his suit so hard that Bucky almost stumbles on his feet, making him pull your body flush against his own. He’s sure your fingers are wrinkling his jacket just as much as his metal ones are wrinkling the delicate fabric of your dress. And your make-up, thank God, you’re wearing the smudge-proof lipstick.

There’s no time to breathe between quick, several pecks and a gasped but definitely excited reply.

“I am saying yes!”

There’s another Satuday afternoon.

A pair of booted feet walks through the tight hallway of the shoebox apartment, laughter completely filling the place as a pair of heeled feet bumps the wall in a funny noise.

The white sandals are a perfect match for the white mini dress, its hem flowing over very familiar thighs, showing a little too much because the position—or general space really, isn’t the best. Turns out that despite your skepticism, Bucky can carry you in bridal style through the cramped space. Even though, you can easily spot a stain in the back of his blazer because of a knocked vase. 

It doesn’t really matter.

As Bucky puts you down, your heels are kicked off and you immediately reach out to the memory board on the wall, pinning up a marriage certificate like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

When you turn around, Bucky is sitting by the edge of the bed just like one week ago, but now sans apprehension of an insecure man.

“We’re married!”

The gleeful tone of your words make him smile right away, pulling you closer with a gentle tug until you’re standing between his legs. Towering over him, your hands cup both of Bucky’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over the sharp, stubbly cheekbones. Your heart swells in your chest, happiness and love and calmness, because everything about the day really had been simple.

A city hall wedding with Sam, Wanda and Sam’s parents as witnesses, exactly a week after their own second wedding. Very simple and easy, as the decision of marrying each other had been.

“You’re officially a Barnes.” Bucky grins, hands brushing down the back of your thighs. Gentle fingertips under the hem of your dress, he silently urges you to sit on his lap. “Told ya, got me in trouble.”

“You say that as if you didn’t want to marry me.” You scoff playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck as settling down over him. “You can’t fool me. I totally noticed you were nervous back there.”

Not bothering to deny your words, Bucky shrugs. Even though he was nervous, it doesn’t really matter. Wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the quietness of the apartment, all he cares about is you.

A little kiss pressed to your neck.

“Well, you’d be nervous too if you were marryin’ the prettiest girl in the world.”

A laugh and a little kiss pressed to his nose.

“Well, I was nervous marrying the prettiest boy in the world.”

And then—Bucky’s lips are meeting yours in a soft kiss that swallows a sigh, hands steady and gentle around your waist as he dips down to the bed under your body. It feels like you’re both back at the ceremony again, high on your love and completely unaware of everything that isn’t each other. And he kisses you once, twice, three, four times.

Just enough to ground him, to remind him that this is what his life came to.

Don’t they say that after a storm, there’s always calm?

Yeah, well. This little shoebox apartment in the heart of Brooklyn.

This might be just it.

[abyssmail]

Caerul Design Notes,

because I’ve actually put a lot of thought into creating Caerul’s aesthetic and I’m lowkey really proud of it.  I won’t get into her actual character concept/personality/backstory/etc. since this got super long, but this is how/why I made the choices I did with regards to her name and visual design!

▶ Caerul’s color scheme started off way bluer (hence the name “Caerul,” from caeruleus/a/um - “blue”/“cerulean”/“azure”/“of the sky/sea” in Latin) and less saturated, but when I gave her a (dead) twin with a red theme, I wanted them to look more alike and made both of their hair purple (although I haven’t actually done more than sketch Roseus before... he’s got purple hair and red eyes).  Purple’s my favorite color, and unnatural hair colors don’t seem to be uncommon in Orth, so why not, right?   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   The red elements in Caerul’s design are meant to represent her honoring Roseus!

All of the base colors I use when drawing Caerul! They all end up looking a bit darker once they’re shaded though.

▶ As well as shamelessly using one of my favorite Latin words (I’m a Classics major, okay ;;>~>), I also tried to pick a name that sounded similar to the ones that already exist in-universe.  This was actually fairly tricky, since as far as I can tell the names in Made in Abyss have a WIDE variety of influences.  Some of them seem passably Japanese-sounding (Riko, Jiruo, Kiyui, Nanachi) disclaimer I bring dishonor to my ancestors and know 0 Japanese so this is just about vibez, others seem Western-ish (Reg, Nat, Lyza, Prushka).  Some are fairly whimsical (Shiggy, Maruruk, Mitty) while others are more mysterious and fantastic (Any of the White Whistles besides maybe Lyza).  The only common thread I could really settle on was a general fantasy feeling to all of the names.  I tried to capture that nebulous vibe with Caerul’s name, although with something so vague and subjective it’s pretty much impossible to say if I was entirely successful.  I named her siblings afterward with other Latin color words and ended up with a RGB theme lol.

▸ By the way, “Caerul” is pronounced “KAI-rool.”  It rhymes with “Hyrule.”  The ae diphthong makes an “eye” sound in Latin #TheMoreYouKnow

▸ “Caducalae” is a portmanteau of “caducae alae,” literally “falling/doomed/futile wings” in Latin (again), playing off how pointless it is to be able to fly when the Curse of the Abyss is a thing.  Originally, they weren’t supposed to work at all outside of the Abyss, but I decided that was boring for crossovers/other verses so I scrapped it.  I’m not too happy with the name since it doesn’t fit the naming scheme of the canon relics (there is no precedent at all for gratuitous Latin in Made in Abyss, which is a good thing because it’s overused in fantasy, but Latin was the only thing I was good at in high school sooooo... ^^;), but I didn’t like any of my other ideas that much, either.  “Wings of Futility” feels more canon, but it’s also kinda depressing :/

▶ I’ve mentioned before that Caerul’s build is based off of mine for art reference purposes (it’s convenient to just look in the mirror while making the pose I want =w=)b), but another reason she’s so short is that I didn’t have to make the caducalae quite as big since she’s smaller, so she can actually go indoors if she’s careful.

▶ Long hair isn’t super practical with mechanical wings with lots of bits for it to get caught in, but Caerul idolizes Lyza, so I left her hair as long as I could reasonably get away with.

▶ I heavily referenced the canon Made in Abyss character designs for Caerul’s clothing so she would fit into the world, but made some alterations to make everything more personal to her and accommodate for her wings.  In general, I lightened everything up, since she takes a bunch of short, quick trips rather than lengthy expeditions.  Her gloves, for instance, are loosely inspired by the ones we see many delvers wearing in the manga/anime, but are less heavy-duty and are convertible mittens/fingerless gloves for better dexterity with handling letters and such.  

The best close up of the gloves I could find was actually a screenshot of the aftermath Reg & Riko’s orb piercer encounter, but I didn’t want to have to tag this for gore, so you get Lyza ^^; There’s a filter over Caerul here so you can see the glove better which is why she looks kinda washed out :/

▶ Her coat is heavily influenced by Jiruo’s, since he’s the only Moon Whistle we’ve seen in canon.  

yeah, uhhhh, sorry to yoink your style my dude ^^;

▸ Caerul’s has a different color palette, a simpler lapel border, an extra set of outer pockets, and three separate panels in the back that button around her wings so she can put it on! I haven’t drawn it, but her shirt works similarly.  

This is my favorite detail about her design tbh... it’s just really satisfying what a logical solution it is for some reason???  the original doodle is off rotting somewhere in my Modern European History notes, but I tried to recreate it just as sloppily here =w=)b

▶ Caerul’s corset isn’t just a painful fashion choice - it’s actually meant to be a(n admittedly heavily stylized) brace for her back against the weight of her wings.  

▶ Since Caerul can’t wear a backpack with the wings, I had to get creative with storage options for her.  In addition to an undetermined number of pockets on the inside of her coat, I gave her these two pouches on her thighs to carry more stuff.  

I wonder how buff your quads could get carrying a significant amount of weight there...

▸ Messenger bags don’t seem super practical for delving, so I didn’t design a specific one for her to carry all the time, but Caerul does use them on occasion.  Even with that, though, she still has far less carrying capacity than the average delver, which is a problem she has to deal with when carrying out her duties!

▶ The wings/caducalae were by far the most difficult part of designing Caerul, and it took several redesigns over 2+ years before I was finally happy with them.  Their first design was deliberately far simpler in the interest of having to draw them a zillion times, but they ended up clunky and unwieldy looking: 

chonky o~O

▸ The final design is MUCH more of a pain to draw (in fact, a lot of the time I cheat and just copy and paste them from drawings I’ve already done), but I think it looks much sleeker and more “functional”.  

I also got better at making my diagrams look slightly more authentic ;0

▸ I knew I wanted jetpack-style thrusters to be a component of the wings to somewhat justify the shit I wanted Caerul to be able to pull with them (especially to eliminate the need for accounting for the damage landing suddenly could do to her ankles), but incorporating them proved to be one of the biggest problems of the design.  At one point, they were going to have a whole separate attachment point on her back, but I finally just made them an offshoot of the first “joint,” as you can see in the final design.  

A really messy intermediate caducalae sketch.  The weird double pentagon shape was meant to be the part of the relic actually fused to Caerul’s back, but I scrapped that too when I scrapped the separate limbs for the thrusters.

▸ Speaking of the joints, they’re all balls so they can rotate all over and I don’t have to fuss too much about how they move.  Likewise, the frame is metal, but I treat it like it’s kind of flexible, so Caerul can “flex” the wings open and closed.  These wings are hard enough to draw period okay I’m giving myself every excuse to be inconsistent af on purpose.

▸ The caducalae have some “bonus” features that I’ve sketched out, but that Caerul hasn’t unlocked yet, and won’t for a while.  

owo what’s this?

▸ For the wings, I think my biggest inspirations were some of the mechier Cardfight!! Vanguard dragon units (although I don’t remember which cards specifically) and the energy wings on the ninth-generation knightmares in Code Geass R2.

I’ve made a lot of OCs, and since I don’t like to use faceclaims, I’ve done a fair amount of character designing.  I don’t think I’ve ever spent as much time or had as much fun with any of them as I have with Caerul, though!  OCs aren’t always super well accepted in fandom roleplay, but the Made in Abyss community has been super welcoming and I’ve had a blast.  Thanks for listening to me gush about Caerul if you got this far, and thank you to everyone who’s interacted with her!  

The original sketch of Caerul from back in 2017.  How far we’ve come :’D