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anika-ann · 4 years

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Homecoming (S.R)

Type: One-shot (long drabble?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader Word Count: 1680

Summary: There is no feeling like this; coming home and having this waiting for you...what else could a girl want?

Prompt: coming home to an eager puppy

Warnings: practically zero plot, maybe some bitching about work and then just fluff and more fluff

A/N: For softbiker’s 25 Things Challenge. Thanks for letting me participate in such a positive challenge! May your blog grow and gain more kind followers in the future :))

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You whimpered, muttering profanities as you finally reached the top of the stairs, dropping the suitcase on the floor with a thud, grateful that the wheels would be of use at last. You had climbed three floors up with that thing, because the elevator was out of service; because that was just your luck.

Your feet were aching just like your calves from wearing nothing but high heels for almost two days straight, your Converse doing nothing for you now as it was too late to make up for the time spent in the pumps. The conference few towns over was almost nice, but too luxurious as always; your boss had claim to need you there (he didn’t) and had required you to look presentable and a head taller than him just so rich people could admire his choice of assistant (they didn’t care and those who did made you nauseous).

You really needed to change jobs once an opportunity would rise, before you lost your sanity and missed out on too many things in your life.

You sighed and dragged your feet towards your apartment, a brief smile flashing on your lips as you passed 3A, the home of your acquaintance/friend Clint. A muffled bark greeted you from behind the closed door and you hummed a sleepy “Hi, Lucky” in that direction before continuing your path.

You were worn to a bone; your body felt like made of lead, sticky after travelling, your hair was probably a mess and your breathing was heavy after the almost-midnight workout consisting of walking the stairs while lifting weights.

Yet, contentment slowly lifted your spirits as you reached your door and slid the key to the lock. Furious scratching of nails and quick rhythmic tapping on a bamboo flooring welcomed you along with an enthusiastic bark and you were done for, the widest smile spreading on your lips when you were reminded just what was waiting for you in your home.

You barely managed to open the door for a slit when a pair of paws – one tawny and one white, pushed through, raking with vigour to get to you. You chuckled as you carefully opened some more and slid in, your leg already being bounced on, barks echoing through the apartment as your 10-month-old furball couldn’t but express his excitement.

“Shh, shh-“ you whispered, though the giant grin stayed on your face as you manoeuvred your suitcase into the hall and closed the door and finally, finally crouched to give your favourite boy the greeting he deserved.

The moment you got your hands on him, your heart sang, fluttering in your chest. He was such a sweet baby and not for the first time, you wondered how his previous owners could give him up.

It probably had something to do with the fact that they wanted a damn guard dog – straight away, no less – and didn’t appreciate the love the puppy, a tawny-coloured Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, had been showering them with.

They had called him Fury, for God’s sake. Who does that? He was the cutest thing you had ever seen, a puppy so full of energy and affection that you had been helpless against his charm, falling in love instantly, secretly renaming him despite not changing a thing in his papers. No Fury. Furball. Your adorable loveable ball of fur, tawny, but with a line of white fur on his head and a patch on his chest and looking like he had lost a tiny white sock from his left back and right front leg.

“Hi, sweety, hi!” you cooed at him, giggling as he climbed up, stretching his neck so he could lick your face, nearly chasing tears into your eyes. God, this. This made the two godawful days worth it.

Your fingers ran through the fur, scratching and stroking his back, behind his ears and it was a testimony of how much he needed to show you he loved you that rather than rolling on his back to earn himself some belly rubs, he kept licking at your face, his tail swinging wildly.

“What a good boy you are!” you continued in low voice, marvelling at how obedient he was, truly tuning down the barking and welcoming you in other ways instead. “What a sweet greeting you’re giving your momma!”

“Well, we did miss you a lot,” a male voice, raspy from sleep, explained, causing your smile to widen enough to nearly tear your mouth, familiar warmth spreading in your ribcage.

“We?” you echoed, your head snapping up to the figure leaning onto the wall, your breath catching in your throat.

You felt heat rising to your cheeks, your heart skipping an excited beat.

There he was, a real-life Adonis, blond, broad-shouldered and tall, with face carved by the Gods himself. And he had apparently taken a nap on your couch while dog-sitting your buddy, because he had his left cheek red and a bit wrinkled – and still, you felt ashamed as he looked like the most beautiful human being in the stark contrast to your pathetic messy self.

It all had been Clint’s fault, really. First, your neighbour – a half-retired Avenger! – had had you fall in love with his dog Lucky, encouraging you to get a pup on your own. While it could be difficult to arrange everything with your job that occasionally required short travels, he had said, there were always people to dog-sit. You were sold and brought a new four-legged friend home two days later.

Except Clint had forgotten to mention that he was off the table as a potential help, because Lucky was a special snowflake – adorable and loveable one, yes, but incredibly selfish, unable to stand another dog in his territory.

And then the goofball of a man assured that it was still not a problem, because he happened to have a friend who would be delighted to help with your Furball and even would be ecstatic to wear him out by running in the park; all of that, for free, maybe for a bit of food, because he couldn’t quite get a dog of his own. You, the dumbass you were, accepted Clint’s offer, because it sounded amazing.

Once again, he failed to mention an important detail. His dog-sitting volunteer was Captain America himself. You had nearly fainted when he had rung your bell at 6 am in the morning, claiming that Clint had suggested a test run (quite literally).

And yet somehow… somehow it still worked out. Furball loved Steve in an instant – because you obviously weren’t the only one ready to fall to this god-like golden-haired and golden-hearted man’s feet – and Steve Rogers became your regular dog-sitter.

Now, he was standing in the tiny hall in your apartment, smiling tiredly at the reunion of two desperate co-dependents, probably aware just how ready you were to faint again as he had claimed that both of them had missed you.

He didn’t even have the decency to be bashful about it, the charming bastard he was.

He bounced off of the wall, slowly walking to you, extending a hand to help you up. You patted Furball’s head once more and accepted, letting Steve to pull you to your feet and wrap his arm around your waist, his gaze roaming over you lovingly despite your dishevelled state.

“Well, we missed you a lot,” he had said that one time about four months ago, shocking you into silence as you had simply stared at him, watching the blush creep up his neck and face at your soundless “We?” as he realized what had slipped past his lips.

He had been a lot more bashful then, stumbling over his words, frantically trying to explain— and ending up asking you (and Furball, obviously) out anyway.

Four months later, here you were, midnight approaching as Steve greeted you home, a kiss to your hair before ducking his head to kiss your lips.

“Yeah,” he whispered to your mouth, his nose tenderly bumping yours, half-lidded eyes and goofy smiles. His lips caught yours again, only then breathing out the magical word. “We.”

It became a ritual of yours, that little exchange. A brief heartfelt tribute to the moment of your relationship taking an unexpected turn.

Soft ‘hi’s were whispered, few more pecks alternating with ardent kisses lasting long enough to steal your breath, your already tired feet feeling like made of jello, your brain turned into mush with each stroke of Steve’s fingers in your hair.

A whine and impatient pats on your calf signalled that your furry friend was losing patience and demanding some of the attention too. Both you and Steve chuckled to the kiss, parting and he bent lower, giving your good boy a calming scratch behind his ears, while trying to maintain eye-contact with you.

“You could have called, I’d help with the suitcase. The elevator-”

“Yeah, I noticed. Didn’t want to wake you…”

Steve shook his head tenderly, touched and mentally rolling his eyes at the same time. Sometimes you treated him as if he was not a supersoldier… but you both knew he in fact enjoyed it on occasion, simply because while he loved pampering you, he appreciated to be just Steve around you.

“How was the conference, honey? How was the journey?

You huffed in annoyance, not keen on tainting the wholesome reunion with grumbling about your unappealing job.

“I’ll tell you in the morning. Now I just want a shower and some snuggles if that’s okay,” you mumbled, your energy once again leaving your body at the memory of your draining weekend.

Steve’s brows furrowed in concern, but when you attempted a lame smile, he returned it fully and planted another kiss on your forehead, caressing your arm.

“Yeah. I think we can do that,” he assured you with a light squeeze to your bicep, turning to your companion as he patted his thigh and gestured for the puppy to follow. “Come on, Furball. Let’s leave your momma to clean up and warm the bed for her in the meantime. Then we can give her all the snuggles she wants.”

Steve glanced at you over his shoulder once more, a twinkle in his soft blue-green eyes and you felt your heart grew in size.

It felt good to be home. And coming home to a puppy and a man who could as well be a golden retriever in a human form? There was simply no other feeling like it.

You couldn’t wait to snuggle them both.

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S.R. masterlist

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Thank you for reading! I’m pretty sure that’s the shortest fic I’ve ever written, so I hoped you enjoyed the change ;)

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stelliferia · 3 years

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So yknow my kobold arcane trickster rogue, Kitt? She has a familiar now! His name is Mugwump (after the Canadian cryptid) and he is the best familiar I could ever ask for. What a beautiful good boy.

The process for this little boi was probably the best way I’ve seen find familiar done. The DM’s an absolute legend. I keep thinking about it, and it just make me cry. Process/backstory dump under the cut. It’s a little long, be warned

I’m so sorry in advance, this became something of a writing exercise for me - if you read it, I really appreciate it, and feel free to send me a PM if you want to chat!

So in addition to the usual components for the spell (10 gp worth of charcoal, incense, and herbs, and a bronze brazier) Kitt was required to collect a few other things. As someone who casts through her mind (intelligence) she needed to find three objects that represented mastery over three parts of her mind, in order to to have a familiar that represented it.

First was what does she want. Second was what would she do to get what she wanted. And the third was what does she fear will happen if she doesn’t get what she wants.

After much deliberating (on both hers and my parts), Kitt settled on the following things. A feather, some rope, and a set of charred wooden dice.

The feather represented freedom. Freedom from the slumbering ancient red dragon she used to collect shinies, and the threat of the terrible things it is capable of if it wakes. She wants for the rest of the kobolds to be free too. To explore the world and see the wonders it has to offer, no longer bound to endless servitude, just like she is now. The feather itself came from a hawk that used to belong to a very unpleasant man who had since been drowned, freeing it - something Kitt would want for herself and the other kobolds.

The rope represented Kitt’s willingness to explore to the ends of the earth(?) to find the Great Blade that is said to be capable of slaying the dragon for good. If the Blade isn’t the answer, she intends to keep on looking. Her dragonborn companion once told her rope was the most important thing an adventurer could have. So if she’ll be travelling a lot, Kitt figures she’s going to need quite a significant amount.

The charred dice represented everything she’s come to know and love being destroyed. This expansive, scary, beautiful world that she still has so much to learn about, would be ripped away from her if something wasn’t done about the dragon. She’d never see them again - her beloved Priestess telling stories with the shimmery pictures, or her friends and weasel running about, calling her to play. And while she hasn’t known them for quite as long, the crew, no, friends she’s made, she wouldn’t want them taken from her either. They still have stories to write write, quests to complete, and she wants to help see them through to the end. The dice, before they were charred, had delicate gold lettering etched onto each of the faces, and finished with a rich mahogany varnish. They were the first shinies she had ever found, and her first exposure to the outside world. She has fond memories with these dice, of her and her friend sneaking off during rituals to admire and play with the pretty shinies, delighting in the clickity-clackity noise they’d make as they hit the ground. As she went to put them in the fire place, her eyes started welling up, watching her precious reminder of home going up in flames. She quickly wiped them away, as the dice burned and blackened beyond recognition, and she started the ritual.

Falling into a meditative trance, visions surrounded her. She’s standing on the ship deck, nothing and no one else around, except the hawk, soaring above her. She blinked, and suddenly, she was seeing through the hawk’s eyes. It flew over the various islands, some of which she had visited, some of them soon to be. The scene shifts again, and she’s standing again, but this time, its somewhere hot, ashy, and dark. She’s home again. As her eyes adjust, her heart sinks to the floor. All of her friends. Dead. Reluctantly, she looks around. And it’s not just them, but all of the crew, the people she’s met along the way, and her clan, scattered like ragdolls. Looking away from the bodies, she comes snout to snout with a familiar face. A face she spent her life fearing, and hoped never to see again, and not like this. The Great Dragon Viskelaer was awake.

Waking with a gasp, she found herself back in her quarters. Her heart was pounding, and her face was wet with tears. She curled into a ball, shaken by what she saw. There was a tug at her scarf, and when she looked, bright blue eyes looked back at her. The small mahogany creature pawed its way into Kitt’s lap, and its rope-like tail curling around as it settles in for a nap. Tentatively, the kobold reached out her claws to pet it, like she did the weasels back home. This one felt a little different though. The fur was more like soft feathers, somewhat reminiscent of the hawk. Realizing what had happened, Kitt’s cracked the tiniest grin. This weasel, Mugwump, is her precious shiny, and she was going to make sure she worked to protect it.

RIGHT SO THAT WAs BASICLALY WHAT HAPPENED for Kitt to get her familiar, and nearly everything about it I attribute to my incredible DM. I think he’s the first DM I’ve had who’s given me a world I absolutely adore, and he handles my character (monster race) so incredibly well. He’s very much all about the creative reflavouring, and I live for it. Gahh I have so much to say about this DM. They also handle Mugwump (in-game) very well, and it makes me so unbelievably happy. (i’m going to start a tag for myself for things Mugwump does/things I headcannon he does, called Mugwump Ventures)

So because of Kitt’s love of shinies, Mugwump has an inherent need for them as well. He doesn’t quite understand why though, so his natural response is to bite shinies he finds. He’s always actively seeking them out, eyes glittering whenever he sees one. He melts my heart. The forge cleric (one of my good friends in the group) had just gotten an upgrade to his armour, and didn’t know what to do with his old chain mail, so he ended up giving it to Kitt/Mugwump as a gift. Mugwump was overjoyed, and it’s his new toy now. It was so so sweet, and we are all crying.

Tangent, but everyone in the party has gifted Kitt with something at some point. I mean, makes sense, you want to appease the captain >:). The druid gave her little daisies whenever he went to get her, the carpenter made her a little boat model, and the forge cleric not only gave her the armour, but he also forged her a proper rapier to replace her pointy stick. It’s just so sweet and wholesome. The crewjust wants to keep this little Kobold child happy

Gosh, another thing, when i first thought about casting Find Familiar, I just assumed it would be a regular weasel, but when the DM began describing Mugwump’s appearance, I began squealing from joy. Every aspect of the familiar’s appearance reflects the items, and what they mean to Kitt. So the eyes were meant to be the seas they were sailing, the rope tail was... the rope, the colouring was supposed to be the dice and the charring, the feathers for freedom/the hawk, and the form (though predetermined) was home. I was legit so happy about it. I love this DM. It’s been a great time.

Anyways, long post over thanks for reading, hope you stay tuned for more wholesome content!

#dnd #find familiar #kobold #weasel #pirates campaign #mugwump ventures #stelliferiarts #stelliramblings

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