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azures-bazar · 1 year

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To His Eyes

Here's a one shot following the lovely request of @bubblegumbitchs-world ! The plot was that buff female!reader was insecure about her body, and Arthur is here to comfort her !

I added a few things to the plot, like Micah being mean (as always). Please excuse all these mistakes or non-sense English terms, some of them make sense in French lol

Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader

Word count : 2.8k

Short summary : You always had a stronger build, as far as you could remember. And Arthur is probably your number one supporter whenever you feel down about it !

Tags : Buff woman, Chapter 2, insecurity, cute, you’re beautiful, your muscles are astonishing, Arthur admires and loves you, post Sean’s return party, Micah being mean

"Y/N !" Lenny shouted from the other side of the camp while getting to his horse. "Could you chop some wood ? I have to head to town and can’t do it now ! I’ll pay you back !"

"I’m on it !"

You put down your morning coffee and headed over to the pile of wood Lenny had left for you. You did not mind trading tasks since you knew how busy Lenny could be at times. Charles was away hunting with Arthur, John was still not feeling well, and Sean… well let’s say your favourite Irish Terrier was too busy sleeping it off after last night’s party before his guard duty. You were the only fella suitable for a task you somewhat enjoyed at times. Wearing one of Arthur’s shirts and a plain grey skirt, you obliged.

As far as you could recall, you always had a strong build. You had been stronger than the vast majority of children since a very young age, always carrying the weakest ones around the streets of your town. Dutch found you by chance somewhere in 1894 while you were having some hard time finishing a brawl after a drunk man, displaying a cruel lack of decency, had tried courting you by dragging you close to him. You had pushed him away, resulting in a fist fight, which then escalated to a brawl in the entire saloon. Dutch had dragged you out of the pit and took you to his hideout without questioning anything about your bruise-covered face.

"We need another pair of strong arms, this lady right here will do the trick !" you heard him laugh as you were left with Arthur

Morgan had spent a few hours trying to stitch your wounds, which was something you obviously hated. He had tried catching your attention by getting to know your name, calmly reminding you that you were safe with him, joking about his current torture in order to make you smile. It took you two weeks to get back on your feet and work with the rest of the gang members, performing chores that were mostly assigned to men due to your strength. Arthur unexpectedly fell for you while you were carrying sacks to Mr. Pearson’s wagon, dropping them nearby before adjusting your hair.

Arthur had often found himself staring at you, sketching your movements in his journal while contemplating your beauty. He admired your strength, your shape, your beautiful traits, the way you could easily cut Bill’s speeches about women being inferior to men. Even Davey and Mac respected you for that ! Arthur was quick to find himself dreaming about you, waking up shaken and almost sad since nothing he had seen earlier was real. He had made a very first awkward move to tell you how beautiful you were by slipping a drawing on your cot with a note inviting you to meet him in the middle of the night outside camp. His confession was the sweetest thing you had ever heard as you could tell this brawny man, looking so threatening at times with his heavy Southern accent and rowdy behaviour, was as adorable as a puppy whenever he was around you !

Your affair had started just a few weeks prior to Blackwater’s ferry heist. Arthur often took you to town, enjoying spending time with you at the saloon or taking you to the tailor for you to get better clothes. Your shape was different than the rest of the girls, and you deserved more than a full ocean of gold according to Arthur. Your stay at Colter, holding onto each-other on his bed had brought the two of you close enough to lead you to share his tent at Horseshoe Overlook. At least, neither you nor him would have to walk through the entirety of the camp to see one another ! Surprisingly enough, it was Dutch’s idea to to bring the two of you together, for the better… and the worse, since you were not this quiet most of the nights.

As you finished your chopping wood, you walked around the hideout to carry a few sacks to Pearson’s wagon before stumbling upon Micah, who had left his chair to head to you, smoking his cigarette with a large smile. You crossed your arms on your chest as you wanted him to move aside, but whenever you tried stepping near him, Micah would move and block your way. Meeting his gaze made you regret not begging Arthur to leave him in Strawberry.

"And here’s our strong lady." Micah smirked. "How does it feel to have your clothes directly borrowed from Arthur’s stash ?"

"Get lost." you said as you noticed Karen nearby, who was quick to stop her guard duty as soon as she noticed you

"Must be hard being a lady and having to buy men’s clothes since women’s are too tight."

Ever since the day Dutch brought him in, Micah’s favourite hobby had been to tease everyone around camp, often provoking women. You were his favourite target since you could easily fight back, he had adored the first punch you gave him after witnessing him acting inappropriate towards Mary-Beth.

"'Em big arms are good for a man, but for a lady…-" Micah laughed

"Shut up." Karen said, interrupting him as she noticed you trying to hold yourself from punching him

"In my opinion, ladies built like men shouldn’t be called…-"

"No one cares ‘bout your opinion. Leave her alone."

Micah smirked and walked away as Karen carefully placed her riffle on the ground, taking your hands between hers. Being Micah’s second favourite target due to her overall behaviour, she could not help but feel empathy towards you.

"Are you okay ?" she asked. "Micah’s always a dick with us ladies."

"I’m alright." you smiled. "I… I should get back to my chores."

You quickly walked away from Karen, grabbing a few more bags while making your way to Pearson’s wagon, doing your best to avoid Micah who kept looking at you from his seat. His sole remark about your arms made you vanish under a wave of insecurity towards your own body. You looked at the girls, analysing their beauty while they were apparently stitching a skirt.

It had always been easy to notice that your body type was a little different from theirs. Your muscles were more defined and larger, you were in a perfect shape since you were active most of the time, only sitting down three times a day as you were doing so many things around camp. When you were not doing chores or hunting, you could be sent outside to rob some shops. You were never truly resting, always being active, which caused your muscles to remain as defined as they were.

"Damn." you grumbled

You found yourself envying the girl’s various body shapes. From Karen’s beautiful curves to Tilly’s thin corseted waist, the way Molly held herself, how sweet Mary-Beth appeared… Micah had made you highly doubt yourself, despite your overall shape never caused you any trouble earlier. In fact, you were proud of it, despite having to borrow some of Arthur’s tightest shirts at times since the ones the girls were wearing were not fitting or could be uncomfortable for your daily tasks. Your body was different and, despite you felt insecure about it, everyone loved the way you looked.

The girls admired you, you were strong and beautiful ! You were kind and so sweet, with a precious porcelain heart anyone could notice. Men around camp adored your implication into chores, you often demanded more to keep up, frequently asking anyone if they needed help. Even Bill was always amazed by the way you could do things the rest of the girl couldn’t. But your number one admirer and probably best support was Arthur, and nobody could deny it.

You were his everything, his sweetest girl, his darling lady he would love until his last breath. He loved having you rest into his arms, drawing circles on your back, massaging your scalp while whistling a few old melodies his father had taught him decades ago. He adored the sight of you wearing his shirts since most of them were too large for you, drawing your portraits by night when you were asleep. He loved seeing you wear pants and skirts, dresses or even rags. Every single thing you were wearing suited you, and he was quick to remind it.

"M’lady, you could wear a tent as a dress and a flower pot as a hat, everything suits you !" he often said

You kept doing a few chores around camp, barely noticing Arthur and Charles were back from hunting. After giving some meat to Pearson, Arthur’s very first gesture was to gently kiss your forehead. Instead of spending time with him, knowing that your chores were done, you decided to withdraw inside your tent to get some rest and untie your corset, wanting to take it of for the rest of the day.

Since he came back to camp, Arthur could not take his eyes away from you. He could easily notice something was wrong, he could feel it. Just by the way you held yourself, or how quickly you headed to your tent, closing its flaps behind you. Whenever he would come back, even after a few hours, you would spend the rest of the day with him, sitting on his knees by the fire, singing old ballads with him, kissing him under the ocean of stars above your head… but not that day.

Arthur had left his current conversation with Javier and Sean to head to your shared tent, calmly clearing out his voice before entering, not wanting to walk in while you were getting dressed. Indeed, he had seen you naked more than once, but he did not want to have anyone look inside the tent while passing behind him, just out of curiosity. Sean was quick to do it at times, but no one had the right to see your body bare but Arthur.

"Can I come in ?" he asked

"Yes."

You sighed as you took your shirt off, moving your arms back to reach the laces of your corset. Ms. Grimshaw had given it to you a few days after you arrived, she had worn it years ago when her shape was a little similar to yours. It fitted you perfectly, but you wanted to take it off, feeling the need to wander around camp without it for a few minutes. A dress and one of Arthur’s shirts would certainly do the trick !

"Hey sweetheart." Arthur said, walking inside as you were untying your corset. "What’s wrong ?"

"Are my arms really this big ?" you asked, dropping your corset on the ground

"What ?"

"Am I built like a man ?"

"What the hell are you talkin’ about ?"

You turned back to Arthur while dragging a skirt out of your chest, putting it on over your chemise as he approached you, looking concerned. You stepped back, wishing for an answer first. You could easily spot Arthur’s confusion as his eyes were quick to speak for him. You proceeded putting on one of your shirts you usually would wear for the evening. It was a tailor-made blue blouse Arthur had bought you back in Blackwater. Your favourite.

"Just… just tell me if I’m built like a man." you asked, being suddenly brought to tears

"Of course you ain’t !" Arthur laughed, believing you were joking. "What the hell, Y/N ? Haven’t seen a man lookin' as feminine as you yet !"

Arthur’s reaction made you chuckle, but tears were quick to make their way out of your eyes. You hid your face behind your shaking hands as you started crying, doing your best to mute yourself. Micah’s comments were repeating themselves in your poor mind, causing you to break down into pieces despite knowing how beautiful you were, and how amazingly you were built.

"Oh, princess… c’mere." Arthur said, opening his arms to greet you

"I’m sorry, I’m…-"

"C’mere."

You walked forward and threw yourself into Arthur’s embrace, burying your head in his shirt, allowing yourself to cry against him. One of his large hands made its way to your hair while the other one kept caressing your back. He kissed the top of your head and closed his eyes.

"Lemme guess… Micah’s been sayin’ shit."

"Mmmm-mmmm…" you hiccuped

"I’m so sorry he’s such a bastard…"

"It ain’t y-your f-fault…"

Arthur kissed the top of your head, feeling deeply saddened about your the way you felt. He was sorry for leaving you alone with Micah, he was sorry for bringing him back to camp after what they did in Strawberry. On a few occasions, Arthur would deeply wish to go back in time and stop Dutch from leaving camp on the day he would encounter Micah. Life might have been easier without him around, the Blackwater’s botched heist would never had taken place, and you would not be crying into his embrace by now. However, there was one thing which made him outrageously devastated, one single thing which was quick to bring him to tears : witnessing you being insecure about your body.

"It’s alright, sweetheart." Arthur whispered to your ear as you clung onto his shirt. "I got you."

Needless to say, Arthur adored your body. He would run his fingers on your toned arms, on your back, on your calves, and often admire how beautiful you were. You were his main subject when it came to sketching people. You were so inspiring, inside and outside ! Whatever you were doing, Arthur loved it. To his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. A large shining sun which was blinding him with love. You were the beautifulest gem of his crown, his pride and most certainly one of the main reasons why he was still alive. There were no other women like you, so sweet, kind and caring, so gentle and so strong, eager to help anyone, whatever the situation was. He loved you for who you were, and the rest of the world did not matter as long as he had you by his side.

It took him about five minutes to calm you down. You left his embrace after some time, he firmly held you by the shoulders, looking into you eyes with a large smile. You could easily feel lost when your eyes would meet his, they were the main reason why you fell in love. His puppy glance won you over so often that you could not even count the number of times you had forgiven Arthur’s attitude and manners. His beautiful green eyes were quick to show you all the support you needed, you knew Arthur was quick when he had to cheer you up, just like you were with him.

"You don’t have large arms, and you ain’t built like a man." Arthur smiled. "You’re literally a greek goddess or somethin’. You’re perfect."

"You’re saying it because you like me."

"First of, I ain’t likin’ you, I love. And secondly, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, period. I love your body, I love bittin’ your well-shaped muscles when we’re in bed, run my fingers on your body… I love you, as a whole."

"Arthur, I…-"

"If you don’t believe me, lemme try something. SEAN !"

You gasped, hiding behind Arthur while buttoning your shirt above your chemise as Morgan called for Sean a second time, you heard him scream from the other side of the camp. He was probably eating some stew or was drinking a whiskey before going on guard duty, and would not hesitate to look between your tent flaps if needed !

"Oi ! What’s it, English ?!" Sean shouted

"Ain’t Y/N beautiful ?!" Arthur asked

"Oh, ya ! One of the most beautiful women of that damn country with Miss Jones !"

"Shut up, Sean !" Karen laughed behind your tent

"See ?"

This overall interaction made you laugh. Arthur turned his head back to you and gently lifted your chin up for you to meet his gaze one more time. This time, he was blushing. Just the sight of you smiling at him was quick to make him believe some butterflies were flying in his stomach. You were such a gorgeous woman, even Sean, being in love with Karen, was quick to confirm it !

"Darlin’, you know you’re so beautiful when you smile." he mumbled

"Thank you, Arthur."

Don’t ever let Micah make you feel like that. You’re a beautiful woman, the most beautiful I know. Nobody should convince you otherwise.

You nodded, allowing Arthur to drop a soft kiss on your lips before embracing you one more time. Your confidence was still hurt, but Morgan’s words were so encouraging and genuinely filled with love that Micah’s comments were quick to be forgotten. You nuzzled your head into Arthur’s neck, allowing him to kiss your forehead. You felt protected, you felt loved. You did not need anything but Arthur at this moment.

To his eyes, you were beautiful. And nothing would change his mind, nothing.

Nothing.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #buff reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #azurestales #micah being a dick #you're beautiful #Arthur loves you

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dawninlatin · 1 year

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Can I have a sketch with Manorian where Manon is pregnant and Dorian is taking care of her??😭 I love these vanilla

Hiii anon🌞

By sketch, I sincerely hope you mean drabble, bc I absolutely cannot draw🫣 I can write tho, so I hope you enjoy this teensy tinsy snippet since I’m currently on vacation in Copenhagen without my laptop😌 (yes i’m just typing on my phone so pls forgive all errors lmao)

Hi this is me again two days later, at home with my laptop:) As usual what started out as a drabble turned into a whole-ass fic, but I hope you still enjoy it:):) Also I've never been pregnant (and thank god for that) so I take no responsibility for any inaccuracies....

~~~

Manorian one shot, canonverse, 1,5k words

Manon slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the morning sun shining through the curtains. She wasn’t sure what had woken her up this time, but the sunlight meant she’d gotten a few hours of sleep, at least.

With a sigh, she tried to get comfortable, even if that was impossible these days. Next to her, a still-asleep Dorian shifted, throwing an arm over her middle and snuggling close.

He mumbled something Manon couldn’t make sense of, but she just shoved at him, hissing «Don’t touch me.»

«I just wanna cuddle,» he murmured, his lips caressing her neck in a way that usually would have had Manon wanting and ready.

Instead, she let out a huff, and gave a weak attempt at swatting him away once more, when he didn't move. Manon was usually strong enough to just push him away from her, but right now she couldn't find the energy to bother.

«Just cuddling is what got us in this situation in the first place.» Manon looked at her round belly as she spoke, the thing so big she resembled a beached whale. She couldn’t fathom how she still had a month and a half left to get even bigger.

Safe to say, Manon wasn’t particularly enjoying pregnancy. In fact, she hated it, and couldn’t wait for it to be over so she could have their witchling and her body back.

She was nothing like the insufferable ladies at court, though, who only spoke in hushed voices about avoiding strechmarks and staying tight down thereso that Dorian would still desire her.

Yes, she missed sleeping comfortably and moving freely, but in the end, the only thing that mattered was that their witchling was born alive and healthy.

And her current state did nothing to quell Dorian’s desire, it seemed, given by the stiff cock pressing against her thigh at the moment.

That’s his problem to deal with, Manon thought grumpily as she once more pushed his shoulder.

There had been a few months in the middle of her pregnancy, after she’d stopped puking all day and night but before the constant fatigue and body aches, where she’d been insatiable, jumping Dorian at any opportunity, but sex these days required too much moving on her part, so their couplings were few and far between.

«Dorian, move. I’m too warm and clammy for cuddling.» It sounded more like a whine than she’d like, but whining seemed to be her default mode for communicating lately.

Manon also really had to pee, but she always really had to pee, so the heat was the most unbearable at the moment.

They had arrived in Rifthold three days ago for the King’s upcoming birthday celebration, but given that Dorian had been born in the middle of summer, it had been three days of bright sun, no wind and a much too high temperature.

Already, Manon longed to return to the Witch Kingdom. Yes, it may be summer there as well, but it’s location on the western coast of Erilea meant a constant, cooling wind blowing in from the vast ocean. She would give anything right now to feel that wind on her face.

The plan had been to stay for two weeks to attend the royal birthday celebration, and then return to the Witch Kingdom together, where they would remain until well after their witchling was born, but Manon’s hips and pelvis had been aching for days now, the pain only increasing, and she wasn’t sure she could make the trip back to the Wastes if it got much worse. The mere possibility filled her with anxiety.

They had discussed this long ago, how important it was to Manon that their child was born in the Witch Kingdom. Both because she wanted the comfort of being surrounded by her own, but also because while the curse had been lifted, witches were still wary of giving birth on the previously barren land, fearing it would lead to a stillborn witchling, so if their heir was born on foreign soil, it would send the wrong kind of message.

Manon couldn’t lie still for a moment longer, so she gave the still-sleeping king one final shove, glad that he actually moved this time, then rolled out of bed and waddled her way to the bathing chamber, as she’d done so many times earlier that night.

After what seemed like an eternity, Manon returned to their bedchamber to find Dorian awake and out of bed, pulling on a shirt. It annoyed her to no end that he could look so good after just waking up.

How miserable she felt must have been written on her face, because the king gave her a look filled with sympathy. «How was your night?»

Stopping in the middle of the room, Manon sighed «Terrible.» The day had barely begun, but she could already feel tears trying to escape. That was another thing she hated with being pregnant. There were so many emotions. All. The. Time. In one moment, she could storm out of a room in anger simply because Dorian’s presence annoyed her so much, but then in the next she could come back crying, needing to be in his arms, sobbing that «she was sorry for being so mean».

It truly marveled her, how she’d gotten to this point. Standing in the bedchamber she shared with the King of Adarlan, her husband, whom she had married not for alliance or plotting, but love, wearing a loose linen dress, the only item of clothing comfortable enough and big enough to fit her enormous belly because she was so very pregnant, and trying not to burst into tears in front of said husband, which was no worry, really, since she did it all the time now, but she still tried to keep some of her dignity.

Sensing that she neared another breakdown, Dorian came over to her, standing behind her. Manon leaned against him, her back to his front, and his hands immediately went to her belly, caressing it. «How can I make it better?»

Manon didn’t answer him, only closed her eyes, savoring the comfort of his arms. How clingy she’d gotten had been one of the first signs of her pregnancy, as it was common for witches, along with the nausea.

Then Dorian did something incredible. He placed his hands underneath her belly and lifted it, taking almost all the weight off of her hips and pelvis.

Feeling her whole body straighten, Manon let out a moan, her head falling backwards to rest against Dorian’s shoulder.

When in addition, an ice-kissed wind summoned by the king’s raw magic caressed her face, the relief was so great Manon did start to cry.

«What’s the matter, witchling?» Dorian asked as silent tears trickled down her cheeks.

She merely leaned into him further.

Manon had spent 117 years of her immortal life locking every emotion, every fear, deep within herself, never showing any weakness or vulnerability, so getting to a point where she could be real and raw with Dorian had been hard, and she still struggled with communicating her needs at times.

Dorian pressed a light kiss to her jaw. «Talk to me, love.»

«I want to go home.» The words came out as a whisper, but Dorian heard them. He hummed, a phantom hand brushing her hair out of her face. The pure love in those simple gestures urged her to go on.

«I can’t take the heat here. I’m always uncomfortable now, but the heat makes it unbearable! It feels like I’m suffocating. And what if I can’t make it back to the Wastes in two weeks? What if I’ll have to give birth here?»

«Then we’ll go back now,» Dorian said, his calm voice grounding her, if only a little. «I need a few hours to arrange things, but if you need to go back, we’ll go back.»

Even if it was exactly what she wanted, Manon shook her head, feeling selfish for making him drop everything just for her. He was a king, after all, and while they had spent as much time together as possible throughout her pregnancy, he still had responsibilities here.

«We can’t just go back. You need to stay here for your birthday celebration, and I don’t want to go back alone.» She let out a sob at the thought. Witches going into labour early wasn’t uncommon, and the thought of giving birth to their witchling without Dorian there scared her more than anything.

«Fuck that. The people care more about the celebration in itself than what they’re celebrating.»

Manon was about to protest, but Dorian stopped her.

«What’s most important to me, is you, Manon, and our witchling,» a phantom hand stroked her belly at that, «and if traveling back to the Wastes is what’s best for you right now, that’s what we’ll do.»

Placing her hands over Dorian’s, Manon nodded once, feeling a little less scared, a little more ready for what was to come. «That’s what we’ll do.»

Taglist: @fireheartfaery @bookishwitchling @celestialams @darklingswhxore @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn@sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp @rainbowcheetah512 @mirubyjane @zoyalovesbooks

#ask #manorian #manon x dorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

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the domestication of steven grant rogers - a study in red, white, and blue

summary: when Steve came out of the ice, you were one of the first people he met outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., and quickly became the only thing that made sense to him.

warning: smut, fluff, my heartache over steve rogers, explicit sex, canon-typical violence

a/n: I wrote this last year (DAMN) in honour of my favourite star-spangled man with a plan’s bday, and since it’s been a whole year and I haven’t posted a steve fic on here yet, here ya go!

| main masterlist | ao3 |

2012

Steve Rogers has gone to the same cafe every day, sat at the same table, drank the same black coffee, since he came out of the ice. When the weather’s nice, he takes the table in the middle, with the clear view of the clock above Grand Central Station. If not, then the one just inside the cafe, right beside the front door. Sitting at the table, he fills journals with notes about what he’s learned, general musings, sketches in the corners of the pages.

He’s spent every night sifting through the files S.H.I.E.LD. provided him with, catching up on some of what he’s missed. His head spins over something new every day, and so he’s kept up some sort of routine. Same cafe, same table, same coffee. Something, anything to keep him tied to the earth, make him feel some sort of normalcy once more.

He learns the staff rotation of the cafe pretty quickly. During the week, there’s an older woman named Dolores who brings him his order without a word. She introduced herself the first day he went to the cafe, quickly understood Steve wasn’t one to talk, and kept the coffee coming. On the weekends, a tall, lanky guy named Eric who doesn’t have the same social radar Dolores does, and will talk Steve’s ear off for an hour before finally leaving him in peace.

And then, a few months into his routine, something changes, and it throws him through a loop.

He shows up Monday morning, a fresh journal tucked under his arm and a perfectly sunny day ahead of him. He takes his normal table outside, cranes his neck towards the cafe entrance, but instead of Dolores’s familiar figure, he sees you.

And damn it all if you don’t take his breath away.

He catches himself. His feelings for Peggy Carter are still fresh, the thought of what they could have had if he had survived hanging around the back of his head like an unwelcome shadow. He knows she moved on, that she married, had kids and built a life with her husband, and he can’t fault her for it. Knowing what he does, he’s glad, in a way, that she did, that she didn’t let the loss of him get in her way. Peggy’s still alive, he knows. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to go visit her in Washington, not yet.

You walk towards his table, steaming cup of coffee balanced on the tray in your hand, an easy smile on his face. Y/N your name tag reads, and he commits it to memory. There’s a uniform for the cafe, a light yellow button up and a black skirt, and you wear it well, the shirt tied up at your waist, red chucks on your feet, hair piled atop your head in a messy bun. The skirt clings to your curves in a way that has Steve stifling the blush that creeps up the back of his neck, and his mouth goes dry when you come to stop in front of him, lifting the coffee cup from his tray and setting it in front of him.

“You must be Steve,” you say, and your voice is melodic in a way that makes Steve want to ask you a million questions, if only to hear you talk more. In an instant, he’s hooked.

He’s staring, he realizes after a moment, his mouth apparently forgetting how to stay shut and his palms going sweaty. “I…uh…yes.”

The smile you give him makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Dolores told me about you. You were her favourite regular. She told me to take good care of you.”

“What happened to her?”

You spin the tray once in your hand and then tuck it under your arm, pulling an order pad from the apron around your waist. “She retired. Her and her husband are moving to Florida, right on the beach.”

“Sounds peaceful,” he says.

You hum in agreement. “It does, doesn’t it? But I’ve got her shifts now, so you’ll have to settle for me instead.” Across the tables, towards the cafe entrance, someone calls your name, and your head turns toward it. Steve is still staring. “I gotta go, but let me know if you need anything, okay? Table’s yours as long as you want.”

He watches you go, until you’ve disappeared into the cafe once more, and an elderly man at the table beside him pipes up, leaning back over his chair. “Ask for her number, you moron.”

Steve spends the rest of the day hunched over his journal, pencil in hand, sketching. He’s never been great at faces, but you make enough appearances outside that he gets all the angles he needs. You catch him staring a few times, winking when his gaze meets yours, and he blushes every time.

The sketch is rough, and the paper is filled with a few different versions, but it’s still your face. He’s pretty pleased with himself, and tears the page from the journal. He scribbles a note beneath his sketches, and leaves the page folded beneath his empty coffee cup, a ten dollar bill along with it.

See you tomorrow.

When Dolores announced her retirement, and your boss at the cafe asked if you were willing to pick up the extra shifts, you were more than happy to oblige. You were bouncing between two jobs, the cafe at Grand Central, and some retail shop on Broadway, but you liked the cafe better. The atmosphere was nicer, the pay was better, and people tended to tip heavier when they were in a hurry to catch a train.

So you said yes, altered your schedule, and gave your two weeks at the other place. Dolores gave you the rundown of her day-to-day, when she’d come in, what she’d get done before the cafe opened. She also filled you in on all of her regulars; where they sat, their orders, how long they usually stayed. She had it down to a science, nearly, and supplied you with detailed notes in a tiny red book.

Steve was the latest entry on the list, his details specific enough: table in the middle (outside unless it’s raining - right by the door if it is), black coffee (keep it coming), he’ll stay as long as he needs, handsome.

The last word was underlined three times, so hard the mark had scratched through the page, and it made you laugh.

She was right, he was handsome. However, she’d failed to mention who he was, though part of you wondered if she knew.

Captain America.

Captain America was now one of your regulars. Captain America had spent the day drawing sketches of you from his spot outside, and had left you the evidence with a promise scrawled along the bottom of the page: See you tomorrow.

You certainly hoped so.

The history was common knowledge. You’d read the books in high school, listened to the lectures in the history elective you’d taken in college. You knew the story, at least what was shared with the public: the experiment that had turned him into the super-soldier he still was, all the lives he’d saved crashing a plane carrying enough explosives to level the state. They’d searched the world over for his body, but if they’d ever found him, you didn’t know about it.

Until you stepped out of the cafe with a black coffee on your tray and realized you were delivering it to Captain America himself. He’s just as handsome in real life as he’d been in the photographs you’d seen, maybe even more so. The same floppy blonde hair, combed to the side in true forties fashion, piercing baby blues that would make the ocean jealous, broad shoulders that were definitely something to write home about. He was…Captain America. Steve Rogers.

Your interaction had gone smoothly enough, and you’d kept an eye on him through your shift. You didn’t press him; he looked…spooked, in a way, like a deer in the headlights, and you didn’t want to make it worse. He didn’t once move from his table, only asked for a refill after you pressed him, and spent most of the day hunched over his journal. Towards the end of your shift, you’d stepped outside to find his seat empty, and gone to clear the table, only to find a folded piece of paper beneath his empty cup, with a ten dollar bill.

It was you. He’d drawn you. Over and over again.

It occurs to you that in another circumstance, maybe you’d maybe find it creepy, but the detail is so good that you find it almost…endearing? He even managed to sketch the clover-shaped necklace at your throat, a gift from your parents when you graduated.

You put the paper in your purse, hang up your apron, and head out of the cafe. The night shift has arrived, and you bid everyone a goodnight before stepping outside.

And straight into Steve Rogers’s chest.

“Oh!” you cry out, startled and nearly tripping over your own shoes. Steve catches your wrist easily, his grip warm and his skin soft on yours. “I thought you went home.”

“I did,” he replies, “did some thinking, decided to come back and ask if you’d like to have dinner with me?” His voice hitches at the end with the question, and you can feel a grin pulling at your mouth. He starts talking again before you can answer, dropping your wrist and taking a step back, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and staring down at his shoes. “I’m sorry, if that’s too forward, I just…well, you’re very nice. And beautiful, and I…” He trails off, finally looking back up at you. “I am not very good at this.”

You wave him off. “No such thing. I like the forwardness. Dinner sounds great.” You look down at your shirt, stained with coffee from a rogue pot and your skirt dusted with flour from the pastries you’d helped bake earlier in the day. “But if we’re going to go to a restaurant, I need to change first.”

“Of course,” Steve says, gesturing with a hand in a way that makes you giggle. “I should have just asked for your phone number, like a normal person, made plans for another day when you haven’t been on your feet for eight hours.”

He pauses for a breath, but then opens his mouth to keep talking, and you lift a quick hand, pressing your finger to his lips. There’s something so endearing about him, you can’t get past it. The whole man-out-of-time thing is working, not to mention those blue eyes make you want to roll over and die. “Steve,” you say, laughing, “it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you drop your hand. “It’s been a long time since I asked a dame on a date.”

You scoff a laugh. “Dame?”

He blushes. “Sorry. Girl. Woman?”

He’s got you laughing again, and you shake your head at him. “I live a few blocks over. I’ll change, and then we can go to this little Italian place on the other side of the park.”

Steve doesn’t say anything more, but just nods. He offers you his elbow, bending slightly, and you slip your hand into the crook of his arm and lead him away from the cafe.

Half an hour later, Steve is standing outside your apartment building, leaning against the fence on the sidewalk. You’d asked if he wanted to come up with you, but he’d declined. Was that appropriate now? To be alone in an apartment with a girl you barely know? Woman? Dame? His head is spinning, but he’s hooked onto one thing: you said yes. If he’s honest, it’s the best thing that’s happened to him since he came out of the ice.

The door opens again and you step outside, yanking it shut behind you, and for the second time that day, you take his breath away. Gone is the coffee-stained uniform, replaced with dark pants that cling to you, and a white top made of flowing material that makes Steve think of fairies from stories he read a long time ago.

You’re beautiful, and he’s struck by it. Again.

“Ready?” you ask, your lips painted a deep pink colour. He wants to kiss you. Is that appropriate? Damn it.

“Uh, yes,” he replies, and offers you his elbow once more.

He lets you lead as you walk through the streets of the city. It’s familiar to him in a strange way; the streets themselves haven’t changed much from what he remembers, but the buildings that line either side are completely different in some places, identical to his memory in others.

You both talk as you walk. You more than him, but you don’t seem to mind. He asks more about you. Did you grow up in the city? No, you’re from the South originally, but your parents had moved a lot when you were a teenager and you’d ended up in New York for school. Any siblings? Only child. What did you go to school for? You were a history major in Columbia, graduated a few years back with a minor in creative writing as well.

Learning what you studied answers his next question, the one he’s been dying to ask. “So you know who I am.”

You pause, seemingly choosing your words before you reply. “I do. The second World War was one of my focuses in senior year. I wrote my final thesis paper on Allied experimentation.”

Steve’s brows lift. “Impressive. I might know a thing or two about that.”

The easy smile returns to your face, and Steve’s gut clenches when you bite your bottom lip gently. “Your name came up once or twice. I did a lot of research, and I’ll tell you, I don’t usually know my dates this well before meeting them.”

“I’m assuming you don’t usually date men from your history books.”

Something changes in your expression then, you brows pulling down. “We don’t have to talk about it, you know. What happened to you. I mean, if you want to, then I’m all ears. It must be…shocking, I don’t know.” You pause, put your hand on his arm, stopping you both. You’re in the middle of Central Park now, the streetlights just starting to come on. “Are you okay?”

Steve balks for a second at your question. The truth of it is no, he’s not okay.

It’s been a strange few months to say the least, and he doesn’t know the last time someone asked him if he was okay. They’ve poked and prodded him enough to know he’s healthy, but save for Fury, few have had the courage to speak to him, let alone look him in the eye. Most people he’s encountered in public have either resorted to whispers behind their hands, or snapping pictures from afar.

And yet here you are.

“I’m fine,” is what comes out of his mouth instead, hands clenching into fists at his sides and continuing on down the pathway. After a moment, he feels your hand around his wrist, your skin warm against his. He lets you unfurl his fingers, and your hand slips into his.

“I could try and help, if you’d like,” you offer, double-stepping to get a little closer to him. “Answer whatever questions you have, try and catch you up on the world. I know my history pretty well, and I’m a master of reality television.”

His brow lifts. “You’d do that? I’ve got a lot of questions. Lot of stupid ones, probably. Like, what’s a selfie?”

You let out a laugh, and Steve’s gut twists. Your laugh is just as pretty as your face, and he wants to drown in it, wants to hear it again as soon as it stops.

“Come here,” you say, your grip tightening on his hand and pulling him closer to you. You angle yourself in front of him, pulling something rectangular and metallic out of your pocket. Your finger swipes across a blank screen, illuminating it, and it takes Steve to realize that it’s a phone. The screen is covered in tiny icons of all different colours, and you press down on one. A moment later, the screen changes, and he can see the two of you reflected back on the screen.

You hold the phone at an arm’s length, reaching back with one hand to pull at his shoulder. He crouches slightly, positions his face close to yours.

“Now, smile!”

You press a button on the screen, there’s a strange sound from the phone, and you pull it close to you again, swiping at the screen again and pulling up the photograph. It’s the two of you, a beaming smile on your face, a toothy grin on Steve’s. He’s in awe, shocked that you can see the picture right away.

The confusion must be clear as day on his face, because you slip the phone back into your pocket and take his hand again. “Okay, maybe we need to start a little smaller. Do you have a cell phone?”

S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him some sort of phone when they’d released him into the world, with a quick tutorial on how to use it. He still didn’t totally understand it, but he didn’t have anyone to talk to, so he hadn’t investigated it further.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the silver flip phone, and hands it to you. You flip it open, start tapping away at the keypad, and then hand it back to him. “There. Now you have my number. Number two on your speed dial.”

“My what?”

“Press the two,” you say around a smile, “and it’ll call me.”

“Huh.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and takes your hand again. “It’s a start,” you say, lifting a shoulder.

You go a few more steps before he asks another question. “What about the internet?”

“Oh.” You blow out a breath, shaking your head. “Food first, Captain. Then we can get into that.”

Dinner is lovely, and Steve Rogers is nothing short of a gentleman.

You sit out on the terrace, the whole patio covered in little twinkly lights that are cliche as anything, but still put a smile on your face. The food is delicious, as it always is, and the expression on Steve’s face when he tries your gnocchi keeps the smile in place. You share a bottle of wine, and he’s quick to offer you his jacket when he catches you shivering at the slight chill in the air.

He has a lot of questions, but you didn’t expect anything less, and you’d meant it when you offered your help. The internet probably takes the longest time to explain - and admittedly, there are parts of it you still don’t understand - but he has a decent grasp by the end of it.

By the time dinner and dessert are done, you’ve covered the important parts of 2012, best that you can think of. You’re sure you’re missing something, and you can tell by Steve’s expression that he has more questions, but you’re both tired with the information overload, yawning around your wine glasses when the waiter brings the check.

You reach for your wallet, but Steve waves you off, pulling a surprisingly thick money clip from his pocket and pulling out enough bills to cover the check and a decent tip. “Apparently whatever money I had back in the forties just sat in the bank collecting interest for seventy years,” he tells you, tucking the clip away. “I’d buy you breakfast too, if you’d let me.”

Your brows raise. There’s an innuendo there, and you know he doesn’t mean it that way, but to say your mind hasn’t wandered in that direction a few times over the course of the evening would be a lie. “I start work at eight,” you reply, “but before that, I’m all yours. If you’re willing to get up that early.”

The waiter returns to collect the cash, thanks Steve for the tip, and he waits for the waiter to disappear before responding, leaning his elbows onto the table. “I slept for seventy years, Y/N. I’ve had my fill. Besides, I’d rather spend my time with a beautiful girl than dreaming of a life that isn’t mine anymore.”

The words are both sincere and sad, and it pulls at something in your chest. Before you can think any better of it, you lean forward, reaching for the collar of his shirt. Your fingers curl in the fabric, thumb pressing against a button, and you bend across the table, your lips meeting Steve’s in a sweet kiss that tastes like wine and tiramisu.

When you pull back, he’s flushed as anything, and you sink back into your seat slowly. “I’m sorry,” you mumble out, chewing your lip, “if that was too forward.”

His gaze goes far off for a moment, and then focuses on you again. “I like the forwardness.”

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?” you ask.

He swallows hard. “…yes.”

You nod, reaching for your wineglass and draining it to it’s dregs. “Not bad.”

Steve just starts to laugh, a low chuckle that shakes his shoulders. His laugh is infectious, and it’s half a second before you’re following suit, laughing along with him. After a second, he gets to his feet, offers you his hand, and leads you off the patio and back towards the park. You’re both quieter on the way back, full of food and wine and information.

All too soon, you’re standing outside your apartment again. You give him back his jacket, thank him for dinner, and ask Steve if he wants to come up for a cup of coffee, but he politely declines. “I’ll see you for breakfast?”

You nod. “Pick me up at six thirty?”

“It’s a date,” he replies, and you go to turn away, stepping up towards the door that leads into your apartment. He reaches for your wrist before you can reach for the door, and spins you backwards, your feet slipping on the step. You all but fall into his arms, and he catches you easily, his arms around your waist, yours around your shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmur, and this time, he’s the one that kisses you.

It’s different than the soft kiss you’d shared at the restaurant, which was quick and gentle and over before it had even begun. This is much different, his lips moulding against yours in a way that has your toes curling in your shoes, your fingers twisting in the fabric at his collar. Your bodies press together, heat sparking deep in you, and you can feel his palm pressed against the small of your back.

He makes a noise when your teeth glance across his bottom lip, and you pull back, nearly stumbling out of his grip. He follows you up the step, crowding you into the corner beside the doorway, his arms finding your waist once more. You fist both hands in the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, your mouth on his. It’s…intoxicating.

You pull away before he does, and Steve’s lips are a perfect shade of pink, his cheeks flushed in a way that makes you want to kiss him some more. “Are you sure you don’t want to come upstairs?”

He chuckles again, and takes a step back, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I should go home. To my apartment. Where I live.” There’s a pause, and he leans forward, kissing your lips once more before pulling back again. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile, the taste of him still on your mouth. “Goodnight, Steve.”

You watch as he heads down the sidewalk, waiting until his figure completely disappears from view before you head inside yourself.

Steve doesn’t get much sleep. Not that he’s really been getting any; since he came out of the ice, it’s like everything is constantly on high alert, and his body doesn’t want to stop. He can’t stop.

And then there’s you. You, who have completely turned the world on it’s head, before he could even recover from the first flip. You, with your pretty eyes and your voice like a song he’s never heard before, but somehow known all his life. With your laugh and your questions and answers. He could have sat on that patio forever, listening to you talk, watching you move.

It’s a miracle he didn’t stand outside your apartment and kiss you until the sun came up.

He spends the night as he normally does, sifting through the piles of information S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him, flipping through his journals. He finds himself sketching faces; Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, the Howling Commandos. Faces he remembers, faces he’ll never see again.

But then, just as he had at the cafe, he draws you.

The sketches are different than what he’d drawn earlier in the day. You’d worn your hair down to the restaurant, the ends curling around your shoulders. He’d wanted to run his fingers through it, and cursed himself for not doing so when he kissed you outside your apartment.

By the time the sun comes up, his pencils are dulled and one of his journals is full. He changes quickly, swapping his button up for a white t-shirt and his leather jacket. Is it awful that part of him hopes it’s cold outside, just so he can see you wearing his jacket again?

The subway is bustling for six in the morning, and he hangs around the doorway, waiting for his stop with his hands stuffed in his pocket, foot tapping impatiently.

Bucky would give him hell, to see him all doe-eyed and anxious over a girl like this, but things are different now. Everything is different now.

You step onto the sidewalk as he’s approaching your building, dressed in your cafe uniform once again, a denim jacket tucked under your arm. You spot him quickly, stepping off the porch and heading for him. Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands, not sure how to greet you, but you beat him to the punch, a beaming smile on your face as your hand settles on his chest and you lean up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Good morning,” you murmur, and when you pull back, he can see your eyes are a little droopy with sleep, that infectious smile still on you lips. Your hair is tied up again, a stray strand curling around your cheek, and before Steve can stop himself, he reaches up and tucks it behind your ear.

“Morning,” he replies, then offers you his elbow. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, your hand slipping into the crook of his arm. He lets you lead again, and to his surprise, you don’t take him to a restaurant, instead to a bagel cart a few blocks down from Central Park. You order two everything bagels, bacon and cheddar cheese, and two coffees, one black, one with cream and sugar. He reaches for his money clip again but this time it’s you waving him off. “Put it away,” you say over your shoulder. “I got this one.”

Bagels and coffee in hand, you lead him through the park, down a few pathways he hasn’t ventured through yet, and come upon a mostly empty stretch with benches lining either side. You take the closest one, sitting down, tucking one leg up underneath you. Steve sits down beside you, and you hand him his bagel and coffee.

You eat in silence for a while, but Steve can’t help the groan that escapes him when he takes a bite of the bagel. You let out a little giggle, smiling at him around yours. “They’re good, huh? Best bagel in the city, I swear.”

“I think this is the best bagel I’ve ever had.” His knee knocks against yours. “Although, the company definitely makes it better.”

Your eyes light up in a way that makes his heart leap in his chest. “Are you flirting with me, Captain Rogers?”

Surprising both you and himself, Steve leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. You make a little startled noise that makes him smile against your mouth, and you taste mostly of coffee. A little bit like bagel, but he doesn’t mind.

For a moment, he thinks, everything else can wait. It can all wait. For a moment, just a moment, he just wants to be this. He just wants to sit on this bench and kiss a beautiful girl until he forgets his own name.

It can all wait.

He’s been so tired. He’s the kind of tired that sleep won’t fix. The kind of tired that seventy years in limbo couldn’t fix. The man out of time, the super soldier, the good man. And he’s trying. He’s trying so hard, trying to feel like he has a place in this world that chewed him up nearly a century ago and spit him back out into a future he doesn’t understand.

And then there’s you. Bright-eyed and gorgeous and somehow knowing just the right things to say. He talks to you, and he feels…light. Like maybe things won’t be so bad. He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to care.

So he sits on that bench beside you, one hand cupping your cheek, keeping your face tilted towards his, and kisses you until the coffee goes cold.

The weeks that follow are the same routine for Steve, only you have now implanted yourself into his daily life. And he’s grateful for it.

He still goes to the cafe everyday, you always waiting with a fresh cup at his table. You even put a little reserved sign on it, so no one else will snag it from him. Most nights, he has dinner with you, exploring the different restaurants New York City has to offer. Your favourite places, mostly, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

You’re off work from the cafe on the Fridays and Saturdays, and those days are for adventures, you decide. The Met, the Museum of Natural History, the Guggenheim, everywhere. You have to physically drag him into a Yankees game, but Steve doesn’t really mind it that much - especially when the two of you get caught on the jumbo-tron and you plant one on him.

You help him find a boxing gym, and Steve’s quick to get a membership. He’ll spend a few hours everyday there, practicing his kicks and punches until you’re off the clock or his body is too tired to carry on. It takes his mind off of everything, off the sneaking feeling he’s been having lately that something is coming, but he can’t put his finger on what it is.

His phone starts to ring more often. You always call him when you’re grocery shopping, talking his ear off while browsing the produce. You show him how to text, and it takes some getting used to, but he gets the hang of it pretty quickly.

There’s a number he doesn’t recognize that keeps calling as well, but those calls he declines without a second thought.

Whatever it is, it can wait. It can all wait.

Things between the two of you…escalate. He’d be a fool to try and deny his attraction to you, and there’s more than a few nights spent at your apartment that you end up straddling his lap, your hands in his hair, the two of you breathing the same air. He’s quickly become addicted to the feeling of your body in his grip. Your hips fill his hands perfectly, and more than once he’s slipped a hand up the back of your shirt, feeling the notches of your spine. It’s heat and longing and seventy years creeping up on him in an instant.

He wants to. There’s no question about that. On more than one occasion, he’s…taken care of himself once he got home from your apartment, images of you flashing through his mind. He’s not shocked at how quickly he finds a release, but he also wishes you were there to share it with him.

But Steve Rogers is a gentleman, through and through.

Nearly a month into your romance - is that what he’s supposed to call it? - Steve finds himself alone one Friday night. A few of your girlfriends from college had dragged you out to a bar to celebrate somebody’s birthday. You’d extended an invitation, but he’d declined. He wasn’t there…not yet.

However, when his phone rings at three in the morning, and he sees your name flashing on the screen, he answers in an instant. “Y/N?”

“Can you come get me?” Steve can barely make out your voice over the loud music in the background. You’re practically shouting into the phone, and repeat your request. “Please?”

“Where are you?”

You rattle off a street name, telling him you’ll text him directions once you hang up. He’s out of bed the moment you hang up, changing quickly and heading out the door without a second thought. He stops in the 24-hour bodega around the corner from his building, and the clerk gives him quicker directions than the mess you’d texted to him as he was leaving.

Twenty minutes later, he’s jogging up to the front of a club, a large man standing by the door, neon lights flashing and painting pictures on the sidewalk. He spots you, leaning against the window, teetering on heels that look sharp enough to kill a man. You have your face in your hands, and you’re swaying slightly. As he steps up to you, the large man by the door lifts a hand. “Hey.”

Your head snaps up, and your face is streaked with makeup, black smudges beneath your eyes. “Steve.” You turn to the man. “It’s okay. I know him.”

The man gives Steve a look, but lowers his hand. You step towards him, teetering like a newborn deer, and Steve grabs your elbows, keeping you steady and leading you away from the building.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Your arms wrap through his, fingers tightening around his forearms.

“My friends are assholes,” you say, and your voice is so sad that he just wants to hug you.

Before he gets the chance to, you wrench yourself out of his grip, and empty your stomach into the trash can beside you. Steve flinches, but reaches for you, pulling your hair back and keeping it out of the puke. It takes a while - he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone throw up that much, not even when Bucky dragged him on the roller coaster at Coney Island - but when you’re done, you stumble back away from the garbage can, and Steve pulls a tissue from his pocket, offering it to you. You wipe your mouth, smearing your lipstick in the process, and before you can say - or do - anything else, he scoops you into his arms, heels and all, and starts walking back in the direction of his apartment.

He has to stop once a few blocks in, you scrambling down from his arms to toss your cookies once more into a trash can. After that, he picks you up again, and you settle against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

Someone is walking out of his building as you two approach, and blessedly holds the door open so Steve can carry you straight up. It takes a little bit of manoeuvring to get his keys out of his pocket while you’re nearly comatose in his arms, but he manages. He nudges the door shut with his foot, flicking the lock before carrying you into his bedroom.

You mumble something unintelligible as he sets you on the bed, rubbing a hand across your face as you do. Steve just chuckles to himself, and reaches for your feet, undoing the multiple buckles on each of your shoes and pulling them off your feet. He sets them on the ground at the foot of his bed, but then freezes. You’re sweaty, your dress stained with what he assumes is alcohol (thankfully no vomit), and while the dress is pretty, he can only imagine it’s not the most comfortable thing.

As he’s sitting there contemplating what he should do next, if it’s appropriate to change you out of your dress or not, you sit up, mumbling again and smudging the makeup under your eyes further. Steve just watches as you shimmy off the end of the bed, grab the hem of your dress in both hands and yank it up over your head.

He definitely doesn’t miss the black lace panties and matching bra, and needless to say has to pick his jaw up off the floor before he crosses the room, reaching into his closet for a t-shirt and tossing it onto the bed. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Hm?” you mumble in response, but see the t-shirt on the bed and reach for it. He heads for the door, but out of the corner of his eye, sees you hold the shirt to your nose, inhaling heavily and breathing out his name. He all but sprints for the kitchen, pours you a glass of water, then retreats.

He doesn’t expect to find you sitting in the middle of his bed, your bare legs crossed beneath you, and his compass in your hands.

Your eyes go wide when you see him in the doorway, looking back at him like a little kid that got caught with her hands in the cookie jar. But you make no move to put the compass away, and say, “She’s very pretty.”

Steve inhales. “She is.”

“Peggy Carter,” you say, and his brows lift. “Right?”

“Right.”

“She’s very pretty,” you say again, your voice hitching a little. You snap the compass closed, and put it back in it’s place on his night stand. Your eyes meet his after a moment, and there’s something in them that makes his chest go tight. “I really like you, Steve.”

He steps towards the bed, hands you the glass of water, and then sinks onto the edge of the mattress. You sip the water, and he toys with his hands, staring down at his knotted fingers. “I really like you, too.” You give him one of your signature beaming smiles, and down the rest of the water. You reach for his hands, fingers twining easily between his. “Wanna tell me what happened at the bar?”

You just lift a shoulder, but your eyes go glassy. “I told you. My friends are assholes. They’re not even good friends, not really.” You shake your head. “I should have just spent the night with you, like we usually do. You’re a much better friend than they are.”

“Friend?” Steve asks. Somehow, the words feel like a punch to his stomach. “Is that what I am?”

Your brows shoot up, and you cover your mouth with your hands. “No! I didn’t…shit. I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant…” You groan, push your palms against your eyes and lean back on the bed. “I just meant I have a better time with you than anyone else. That’s all.” After a moment, you move your hands from your face and your eyes lock with his. “You’re not just my friend, Steve. I don’t know what we are, but you’re not just my friend.”

“I don’t know either,” he agrees, feeling the tightness in his gut ease, “but I know I like you. And…how I feel about you, I can’t just be your friend.”

You stare at him for a long moment, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, if I wasn’t still kind of drunk, and hadn’t thrown up in front of you less than ten minutes ago, I’d probably have sex with you right now.”

“What?” He swears his heart skips a beat, and instantly his cheeks are on fire.

You, on the other hand, dissolve into giggles which quickly turn into a yawn you can barely stifle. Steve stands, trying his best to ignore the zap of heat that your words sent straight to his core, and goes to get you another glass of water. When he returns, you’re curled up on your side, your head on his pillow, eyes shut.

He sets the water on the nightstand beside the compass, goes to get a damp cloth from his bathroom, and then perches beside you, moving you gently and wiping the makeup from your face as best as he can. You don’t open your eyes, sound asleep in his grasp, eyelids fluttering as you dream.

Once he’s done, he goes to leave the room, content to sleep on the couch and give you some privacy, but before he can even get off the edge of the bed, your hand curls in the front of his shirt. “Stay.”

So he does, toeing off his shoes and settling on the bed beside you. You adjust yourself against him, one arm slinging across his waist, your head on his chest. The ends of your hair tickle his nose, but he doesn’t mind. He runs his fingers through it over and over, listening to the steady in and out of your breathing, and finds himself falling asleep with you.

You wake the next morning feeling surprisingly okay, despite the copious amounts of alcohol your so-called friends had shoved at you all night. You suspect your multiple puking sessions and all the water Steve had given you aided you some, and your head throbs slightly, but it’s not unbearable.

It’s early, the clock on the nightstand reading half past six, and your mind starts to race as you realize where exactly you are. And that you’re alone.

You’re sprawled in the bed, still in Steve’s t-shirt, pillow bunched beneath your head. Stretching your back and hearing a symphony of cracks and pops as your body moves, you reach for the empty space beside you, the whole bed still smelling of Steve. Your hand lifts to the pillow, and your fingers brush paper, spotting a note with your name scrawled across the front.

It’s a sketch of you, your hair tumbled across the pillow, arm slung around your face, peaceful and asleep, and below, Steve’s familiar chicken scratch.

Gone to the gym for a bit. Will return with bagels and coffee. There’s aspirin on the nightstand, and a towel for you in the bathroom. - Steve xo

You can’t hide the grin that breaks across your face, nor could you stop it. You smooth your hand over the note, fold it back up carefully, and set it on the nightstand, swiping the two aspirin and the glass of water waiting for you.

Sitting up, you toss back the aspirin and chase it with water, rubbing sleep from your eyes and peering around the room. Steve had brought you straight to the bedroom last night, and you hadn’t seen much of it before you’d passed out.

The bedroom is basic, his closet filled with neatly hung clothes and all the furniture matching. There’s a small stack of books on the dresser, and you recognize a few titles. The Hobbit. To Kill a Mockingbird. Fahrenheit 451. There’s a pile of papers beside the books, file folders all stamped with a strange logo you don’t recognize, CONFIDENTIAL stamped in big red letters across the top.

You leave those well enough alone, and head for the bathroom.

It’s hard, not having your shampoo and conditioner like you do at your own place, but the hot water is exactly what you need, and the pine-scented body wash is good enough. It smells like Steve, and you inhale deeply, letting the steam fill the bathroom.

The apartment is still empty when you’re done, and you pad around the rest of the space, curiosity getting the better of you. The living room is sparse, and the kitchen even more so, both rooms filled with the basics - a sofa and television, dishes and mugs and a coffee maker that looks like it’s seen better days - but something in the corner of the living room catches your eye, tucked behind the small table and chairs.

It’s an army uniform. You recognize it; your grandfather had been a WWII vet, and you’d seen the old pictures of him and your grandmother on their wedding day, him in his dress uniform and her in a white dress.

There’s a number of badges on the lapel, most of which you don’t know the meaning of, but you recognize the Purple Heart, awarded to soldiers wounded or killed while serving in the military.

Your fingers are hovering over the badges, and a voice from behind you makes you flinch. “It’s on loan from the Smithsonian, apparently,” Steve says, and you whirl to find him standing behind you, a brown paper bag in one hand and two coffees balanced atop one another in his other. You take them from him quickly, setting them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He drops the bag beside them, shrugging out of his jacket, and you watch him carefully. There’s something about the expression on his face, something in his tone that has you on edge. Then he takes a step towards you, reaching for your wrist. “I gotta tell you something.”

Your brow furrows, and you pull him towards the sofa, sinking down onto it and settling close to him. He holds your hand between both of his, and your free hand goes to his shoulder, then his face, pushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Steve, it’s okay,” you murmur, and there’s a slight waver in your voice, but you hope he doesn’t notice. “You can tell me anything.”

“I have to leave,” he tells you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. “I have to go, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. I don’t want to leave you, but…” He won’t meet your eyes, his gaze hard and far away. “But I have to do this.”

Slowly, you nod. “Does this have anything to do with those files in your bedroom?”

His brows raise, and he finally looks at you. “You didn’t…?”

“Read them? No. I know better than to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and his gaze goes far off again. You’re both quiet for a long while, and right when you feel that swell of anxiety starting to crest, he opens his mouth. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I like you. A lot. And I don’t know what…this is, between us, and I know I don’t want it to stop. But I won’t ask you to wait for me.”

“You don’t have to ask,” you tell him, shaking your head slightly, “and you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant-”

You crack a smile, and reach for his chin, turning his head and cutting him off with a soft kiss. “Go save the world, Cap,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

He takes you back to your apartment in the late afternoon, after you’ve eaten your bagels and spent some time kissing on his couch. Steve feels bad, having no other clothes to offer you except a grey sweatshirt, and almost laughs when you pull your dress back on and the sweater overtop. It’s comically large, the hem touching the tops of your thighs, but to put it simply, you look adorable. More so than usual.

He wasn’t sure what you’d say at the news of his departure, but he hadn’t been anticipating the kind words and gentle touches. He’s grateful for them. Grateful for you. For all of you. You’ve made things feel…normal in a way he hasn’t experienced since coming out of the ice. Things feel clearer, more concise, like a fog has been lifted. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, but he’s ready for it. He has you.

He’s falling for you, he thinks suddenly, you falling into step beside him in the sidewalk, one hand threaded through his. He’s falling for you hard.

If anything, it only motivates him further. Work with S.H.I.E.L.D., get the Tesseract back, do his duty.

And then come back to you.

You ask him if he wants to come up with you, but he declines. Fury had called him shortly after he’d walked out of the gym, confirming that he was actually onboard or not. When Steve had said yes, Fury had informed him there would be a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents at his apartment to pick him up later in the evening.

“I should…pack, I guess,” he says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I wish I could tell you more, but I-”

You press a finger to his lips, standing a step above him outside your apartment. “Don’t. Just tell me what I need to know, and promise me something.” You don’t move your finger from his mouth, so he nods. “Keep yourself safe.”

There’s a glimmer of tears in your eyes, and it makes Steve’s chest ache. “I will,” he says against your fingers, and you throw your arms around his neck a second later, pulling him to you. “I promise.”

“And don’t get yourself killed,” you mumble in his ear, your voice a little thick, “cuz that would really suck.”

He chuckles at your choice of words, but hugs you back tightly, pressing his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Your scent is a strange mix of his body wash, coffee, and something he has no name for, but it intoxicates him all the same. He waits for you to pull back slightly, then reaches for your face with one hand, his lips finding yours easily in a sweet kiss.

It’s a good few minutes before either of you break away, but Steve is the first. He needs to go home, needs to get ready, needs to disentangle himself from you before he changes his mind and stays with you instead.

The days that follow blow past you in a blur. You work double shifts, keep yourself busy at the cafe, mainly to keep yourself from worrying about Steve.

Your phone is too quiet, and you understand it, you do, but you wish you knew that he was okay.

You find yourself mulling over what happened between you and Steve, both of you admitting that you felt…something for the other, but still not entirely sure what it was, what it meant.

It’s insane, in the grand scheme of things. Captain America carried you home drunk from a club, made sure you were okay, made sure you drank enough water and left aspirin by the bed for you. Captain America kissed you goodbye.

The nights are spent on the couch, wrapped in the sweatshirt Steve had given you, your bed suddenly feeling too empty. True, you’d only spent one night together. You hadn’t slept in the same bed until that night, and yes, you’d woken up a little heavy-headed, but the truth of it was it was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. Steve makes you feel…safe. Content.

Happy.

The cafe is busy, even without your favourite regular taking up the middle table, and the steady stream of patrons keeps you distracted enough.

You’re standing inside the cafe when the bright beam of blue erupts from the top of Stark Tower, and you stumble through the doors as every head in the vicinity turns in it’s direction. The portal opens in the sky a moment later, and when the monsters start pouring through, people start to scream.

There’s a strange whoosh overhead, and then the explosions begin. Stone and brick are thrown through the air, the patio furniture outside the cafe turning into twisted heaps of metal in an instant. People start running, yelling, screaming as they push past you. Debris scrapes at your bare arms and legs, and you rush back towards the cafe, darting inside as one of your co-workers holds the door opened for the panicked public running inside.

“What are those things?” someone asks, and you shake your head in disbelief. This can’t be happening…

…can it?

The moment they land in the city, Steve’s mind drifts to you. He’s worried, and can only pray you’re somewhere safe, that you finished work and went home before the hole in the sky appeared.

You’ve been in the back of his mind the entire time, from the moment he set foot on the Quinjet. Agent Coulson was kind, and the conversation kept him focused on the task at hand. The debriefings and meetings were tolerable, even when Stark gave him a hard time, but Steve knew what needed to be done, so he did it.

He fights his way through the streets, through the ugly alien creatures and piles of debris. Anytime he catches a glimpse of someone running past, someone with your hair colour or about your height, his head turns and he has to see if it’s you or not. It gets him hit a few times, and he has to focus harder, a little voice repeating in the back of his mind that you’re fine, you’re alive, you’re safe.

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do if you’re not.

When Clint tells him the Chitauri have cornered civilians in the bank on Madison, he rushes in that direction, his heart sinking into his boots when he sees that the cafe has been reduced to a pile of rubble outside Grand Central.

Steve sprints inside, brandishing the shield, and when he tosses one of the Chitauri over the railing of the upper floor, he sees you in the crowd below. Relief washes through him, despite it all. You’re alive. A little dirty, your uniform streaked with dirt and your face smudged with dust. He can see a few marks on your cheeks and arms, but you’re alive.

The bomb the Chitauri had detonated goes off, and he’s blown backward, the shield taking most of the impact, and he sees the look on your face go from happy to terrified in a split second.

He’s thrown through the window, and collapses hard onto an already-crushed policy cruiser, groaning as the metal creaks beneath him. Cops swarm forwards, trying to get to the civilians inside, and Steve struggles to his feet, turning to head back inside. He has to get to you. He needs to get you somewhere safe.

“Steve!” he hears, and his head turns in the direction of your voice, seeing you sprinting from the bank, pushing past people as you run for him.

He catches you with a quiet oomph when you launch yourself at him, your arms going around his neck. He’s got the shield in one hand, you in the other.

“Are you okay?” you cry, breathless, pulling back only to take his face in your hands, your thumbs swiping across his dirty cheeks, eyes darting across him, trying to find any injuries. “What’s going on? Why is this happening?”

He wishes he had an easy answer for you, and God only knows he can’t explain the whole thing to you right there on the street. “It doesn’t matter right now,” he tells you, his arm still holding you against him. “I want you to go to my apartment, okay? It’s far enough away that you should be safe there. You can get in through the fire escape. If the fighting gets closer, you leave, but if it doesn’t, you stay and wait for me to come get you. Understood?”

There are tears in your eyes, fears he knows he can’t ease right now, and you nod. “Understood.”

He kisses you hard, holding you as close as he possibly can before he sets you back on your feet. You almost don’t let go of him, and he has to give you a little nudge. You lean up on your toes and kiss him again before turning on your heel and sprinting down the road, dodging debris and heading in the direction of his apartment building.

There’s a wolf-whistle in his earpiece, and Stark’s smug tone. “She’s very pretty, Cap. Shoulda known you had something sweet waiting for you in the city.”

Steve rolls his eyes, readjusts the shield in his grip, and heads back into the fray. “Let’s finish this.”

The noise stops about an hour after you reach Steve’s apartment.

You’d gotten in through the fire escape, just like he’d said, squeezing your way in through an unlocked window. You’d landed on the floor in a heap, and just stayed in place, your eyes glued to the window, watching carefully in case anything came close.

You’re still shaking, your limbs caked in dirt and dust and your left ankle aching something fierce. You suspect it’ll be a while before the shaking stops, and your nerves don’t cease, your gut clenched hard, until, nearly four hours after that, there’s a careful knock at the door.

You rush for it, flicking the locks and yanking the door open to see a very tired-looking Steve Rogers on the other side. He’s still in his uniform, the shield held in one hand, a white plastic takeout bag in the other. His face is as dirty as you feel, and his hair is sweat-soaked, hanging over his forehead in a way that’s frustratingly endearing. You could have died - he could have died - and your first thought it how cute he looks.

“Left my keys in my other pants,” he jokes, stepping over the threshold. He hands you the bag. “Brought you some food.”

It’s the adrenaline, you think, and you set the bag down carefully, then take the shield from Steve’s hand and lean it against the wall beside the door. The door is shut, the locks slid back into place, and then you take his hand, pulling him down the hallway and into the bathroom without a word.

He’s just watching you, his brow slightly furrowed as he watches you move towards the tub, cranking the water on and moving the shower curtain into place.

Then you start undoing the buttons of your shirt, and you can see the wheels turning in his head, his mouth opening slightly as he finally catches on.

“Oh. Oh.”

Your shirt hits the ground, skirt, socks, and shoes joining the pile a moment later. Steve flushes red when you step towards him, clad only in your underwear, and reach for his belt. It takes some time and a bit of manoeuvring to figure out all the clasps and buttons keeping the uniform in place, but you manage, and soon enough, he’s just as naked as you are, only wearing a pair of tight black boxers that leave little to the imagination.

You’d turned the water hot, and there’s steam filling the bathroom. You’re still silent as you give him a quick once over, concern filling you when you see the series of bruises and marks that travel from his left hip and up around his rib cage. It looks painful, but as you look at it, you can almost see the bruises starting to fade, the super soldier healing from the inside out.

Steve catches the worry in your features, and his hand lifts to your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, and his thumb swipes across your skin. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

Your heart is rioting in your chest, and you just nod. Your brain is still processing everything that’s happened, and the only thing that seems to make sense is the man standing in front of you.

Still without a word, you step out of his reach, moving the shower curtain and stepping inside, still in your underwear. Steve follows, reaching for your waist as he crowds up behind you. You both hiss at the temperature, Steve reaching around to adjust it slightly before you both step under the spray. You reach for a washcloth and his body wash, lathering the cloth and then reaching up, dragging it slowly across his chest, cleaning the dirt and blood from his skin.

He just watches as you do, and you feel both his hands settling on your hips, fingers twisting in the wet fabric covering you. Once you’ve cleaned him as thoroughly as you can, he takes the cloth from you, and it’s your turn. Then he moves onto your hair, and you return the favour.

You both move slow and languid, the hot water making both of you feel infinitely better, easing sore muscles and tense bodies. Steve barely takes his hands off of you, and the water is still hot when he crowds you against the tile, one hand slipping up your back, and puts his mouth on yours.

It’s a desperate kiss, an oh god we almost died kiss, and you can’t get enough, your hands plunging into his wet hair, holding him as close as you can. It’s not long before he’s hiking your leg around his hip, his body rolling against yours, pulling a noise from your throat that makes you both blush.

He pulls at your underwear, and the wet fabric slides down your hips a little awkwardly, pooling at your feet. His head dips, mouth skimming along the swell of your breast, and you make that noise again, unable to hold it back. Your bra is slipping from your shoulders, and you groan when you feel Steve’s fingers along the inside of your thigh.

“Do you want this?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head and staring you dead in the eye. “Do you want me?”

You nod, enthusiastic. “I do.”

“Are you sure?” His voice is low and husky, and it sends a zip of electricity through you.

You kiss him hard, your hips canting towards his hand, gasping when his fingers brush against your core. “I’m sure.”

He captures your lips again, his kiss searing it’s way into your brain, and then reaches around you to shut the water off.

Steve carries you to his bedroom, both of you dripping water the whole way, but he doesn’t care.

When he lays you out on his bed, almost completely nude except for the bra that’s leaving little to his imagination at this point, he knows he’s the luckiest man in the world.

He’s not a virgin - God knows Bucky had called in a favour or two and made sure he wasn’t back in the forties - and the attention he’d received after he’d debuted as Captain America had been enthusiastic. There’d been a few dames back then, a sweet redhead who’d caught his attention and held it for a while.

And then, of course, there was Peggy. Not that they’d…fondue-d, but the notion still stands.

You, however, are uncharted territory. An island he wants to explore every inch of. He wants to know how your body reacts, where he should touch, kiss, bite. Wants to feel every part of you, memorize it until he’s an expert on you.

He hovers over you on the bed, plants an elbow beside your head and finds your lips again. Your hands are soft along his jaw, your skin still damp under his touch, and his free hand skirts along your body, travelling over your ribs and down over your hip. The pads of his fingers skim the silky-soft skin at the inside of your thigh, and when he brushes over your core, finds you wet and ready, every instinct he has seems to heighten.

Your back bows off the bed when he pushes one finger inside, crooking it just so as you moan into his mouth. One becomes two, and one of your hands falls from his face and reaches for his waist, pushing the wet boxers over his hip, fingers dipping past the elastic and closing around him.

It’s been a long time since he’s been touched by a woman, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come on the spot when your hand strokes him, your thumb swiping over his tip. You swallow each other’s moans, your other hand going to his waist to push his boxers down further. He thrusts his fingers once, twice, three times more before you’re gasping his name, your lips parted in a perfect o.

“Steve, please,” you whisper out.

He detaches himself from you long enough to kick his boxers off the rest of the way, and while he’s gone, you rid yourself of your bra, tossing it to the side and scrambling a little further up the bed. He follows, stretches out beside you, and you reach for his hip, pulling him back on top of you easily. Your hands skim up and down his ribs, your nails catching on his skin every so often, and he drops his face into the crook of your neck, lips closing around his pulse.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says suddenly, pulling back, and you let out a quiet giggle, your hands tightening at his sides.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I’m on the pill.”

He nods once. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I’m sure,” you whisper, pulling him back down to you and kissing him hard.

Your legs widen around his hips, your body rolling against his as he ruts against you. He feels flushed and out of breath and everything is almost too much, but it feels so good he can’t stop. Your mouth moves along his jaw, teeth nipping at his skin, and he thrusts into you, sliding home, and it’s like the world stops for a moment. There’s only you, your breath against his ear and your skin against his. Your nails digging in ever so slightly, keeping him grounded to the earth, and your low gasp when he starts to move, pulls out almost all the way and then slides in again. “Oh god.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs, and he reaches up with one hand, using the headboard as leverage. His other hand plants itself beside your head, and he groans out, eyes almost rolling back when you clench around him.

With each slam of his hips, there’s a coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter, and he feels your hands slide down his back, one grabbing a handful of his ass, the other pressing against the dip at the base of spine. He’s losing his mind, losing himself in you. “You feel so good,” he manages to say, unable to hold it back.

You moan, your head tipping back against the pillow, and then a second later, you’re reaching for his shoulders, tipping him sideways and rolling until you’re on top of him. He’s still inside you, and the new angle makes his jaw drop, his vision going nearly white when you plant your hands on his chest and grind your hips against his.

He thrusts up into you, and it catches you off guard. You collapse against his chest, your hair a curtain around the two of you and his arms go around your waist, holding you tight against him. His name stutters from your mouth, your eyes screwing shut, your hands flexing wide on the mattress on either side of him. “Oh god,” you say again, your voice hitching. “Steve, please.”

He can’t stop, won’t stop moving, and plants his feet, giving himself more leverage as you move against him. You gasp again, a moan following quickly after, and he knows you’re there because he can feel it. Your whole body goes tight in his grip, your insides clenching around his cock, and his own pleasure only grows. You go limp a second later, and he still can’t stop, the coil going completely taut before his entire body floods with warmth, hands tightening on you before his grip goes slack. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and you both heave out a breath.

It’s a long moment before either of you says anything, and you’re the first to speak, propping your head up on your hand and looking down at him. “We should have done that a long time ago.”

Steve chuckles, one hand trailing it’s way up and down your spine. Your skin is still damp, from the shower and with sweat, and his fingers catch slightly. “Guess an alien invasion is all it took,” he replies, laughing.

You purse your lips at him, shaking your head. “Remember what I said before, about you only telling me what I need to know?”

He nods. “I remember.”

“I think I need more than that.” He opens his mouth to say more, but you put a finger to his lips. “Not now. Now, I just want to lie here, and be happy you’re alive.”

A few days later, Steve has business in Central Park. You’ve been at his apartment since the invasion, barely getting out of bed - except for food and water - trapped in a perfect bubble of love-making and heavy petting. You don’t want to leave the bubble, but Steve also informs you that he has something planned once his business is finished with, and you find yourself stopping at your own apartment to pack an overnight bag before getting on the back of his motorcycle and heading for Central Park.

He’d filled you in, for the most part. The story had taken a while to process, and parts of it still made no sense to you, but Steve had done his best. You had some common ground, something that made no sense to either of you.

You hang back as Steve approaches the rest of the group that had saved the city - the Avengers. Their faces had been all over the news since the day of the Battle, and you already know who Tony Stark is.

Some words are exchanged, Stark saying something to Steve before gesturing to you. Steve turns to look at you, gives you a broad grin, and you lift your hand to wave. Tony waves back.

There’s a bright blue cube - Steve had called it the Tesseract - given to the man you know to be Thor. Then there’s a flash of rainbow-hued light, and Thor and Loki - who you now know orchestrated the attack on the city - disappear.

Steve says his goodbyes, then jogs back to where you are, still sitting on his motorcycle. He doesn’t say anything at first, but takes your face in his hands and kisses you softly. “You ready?” he asks when he pulls away, a giant grin on his face and a slight flush to his cheeks. You nod in response, and he swings his leg over the bike, kicking the stand up. You scoot closer on the seat, putting your arms around his middle.

The engine revs and you bury your face in the back of his leather jacket. The bike zooms forward, and you disappear down the road, holding on as tight as you can.

—————

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andydrysdalerogers · 4 months

Text

Yours Submissively ~ Nacita

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N: Only two more left after today! I'm not ready to say goodbye to my babies so the next uploads are just once a week.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Understanding

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

All was calm in the Rogers household.

Belle was in the completed nursey, just a few weeks away from her due date and the nesting stage of her pregnancy, fluttering back and forth with all of the clothes gifted to them from their friends. She enjoyed the quiet, with Steve in his office and Bucky and Ava out on a date. She stared at the onesies that she received, a blue one that said Prince and a pink one that said Princess. She sighed happily before folding them and setting them aside.

“A reason those are separate?” She turned to see Steve leaning in the doorway.

“For my maternity bag. It’s what they are wearing when we bring them home.” She smiled up at her husband. “Always have a plan, Captain.”

Steve snorted. He placed his arms on Belle’s shoulders and duck down to be eye level with her. “Think you are cute, Mrs. Rogers?”

“I know I am, Mr. Rogers,” she smirked at him before kissing the tip of his nose.

He leaned more to press a kiss to her lips and took in the room. “It’s looking good in here.” He got behind Belle and wrapped his arms around her, leaving his hand on her belly.

Belle leaned into his warmth. “It is. I just wish we had a picture or something over the changing table. I could have sworn that I picked something out, but I can’t remember.”

“About that.” Steve went back to the door and came back with a large flat package. He left it on the changing table. “I made something for the twins.”

“Stevie, what do you mean?”

“Well, I know how much music makes your feel better. A way to get all your extra emotions out, right? Well, before, I used to draw or paint or sketch. And I thought, maybe I could make something that would show off how happy I am for our babies.” He chewed his lip nervously as Belle approached the bench.

Two painting were wrapped. It was a picture painting in watercolor, a bear looking out at the moon with his night cap on the other with the sun, the bear and a backpack. Belle’s lower lip wobbled. “Stevie…”

“Do you like them love? I know they are kinda simple…” he was cut off when Belle pulled him down with a kiss. When they pulled apart, Steve smiled. “I guess you do like them.”

“I love them amore mio. Can you hand them up?”

“Sure. Go sit and tell me if their straight.” Steve got a hammer and set up to hang them over the changing table. Belle smiled as she sat in one of the rocking chairs and watched her man go to work.

“You know, we haven’t really talked names amore.”

“Did you have any in mind?” Steve mumbled with the nails in his mouth as he measures where to place the nails.

“I was thinking for our son, just the middle name, we could name him after my dad.” She chewed her lip, waiting for his reaction.

“Phil? Or Agent, as Tony liked to call him?” Steve smiled down at his wife. “Sweet Pea, I think that’s perfect. Phillip. I like it.”

“Yea? Do you have any suggestions? Like your dad’s name maybe?”

Steve crinkled his nose. “Joseph Phillip? No, that doesn’t fit. I like the initials though. JP.” He stopped for a second. “James. James Phillip.”

Belle smiled. “I love it. James Phillip Rogers. A good strong name for our boy.”

Steve nailed in the first one and hung the moon, literally. He got down and pressed a kiss on top of her head. “I think it’s perfect. Now how about our princess?” He moved to hang the sun.

“I’m not sure. She is like a ray of perfect sunshine. A light after all the darkness.”

“Very poetic love. Maybe an Italian name for her?”

“Well, the Italian word for light is luce. But that sounds wrong.”

“How about Lucy?” Steve stepped back to grab the sun painting.

“Lucy.” Belle tested the name. “I like that. Lucy. Ok princess,” she patted her belly. “Lucy. Lucy what?”

They bounced around names, nothing sounding correct. They were interrupted when Steve’s phone went off with a message. He looked at his phone and snorted. “Morgan wants to know when her cousins can play with her.”

“Aww, she’s excited just like the rest of the family.” Belle always referred to the other Avengers as family, never as the Avengers.

“I know, Tony was even saying that…”

“That’s it,” Belle interrupted. “Toni.”

“What?”

“Lucy Antonia.” Belle softly smiles. “If it wasn’t for Tony, we may have never met.”

“Sweet pea, I would have found you one way or another. But,” he sighed, “I do love it. Jamie and Lucy.”

“Jamie and Lucy. Hey babies. Our prince James and our princess Lucy.”

Steve put the last picture up and stepped back and sat on the matching rocking chair. He took Belle’s hand. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

They sat for a few minutes before Belle got up gently. “I’m going to make Bucky a cake.”

“Chocolate is his favorite. You want some help?”

“Don’t you have to work?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve started paternity leave since the doc said you could go into labor at any time. I know that Ava and Clint would get you to the hospital, but I just want to be here.”

“Oh Steve, thank you. I wouldn’t want you to miss anything. C’mon, cake time.”

As the cake slid out of the oven, the door opened with Bucky and Ava holding hands as they entered. Bucky sniffed the air and smiled. “Ava, baby, are you in for a treat.” He pulled her towards the kitchen while she giggled. “Belle, my heart, why didn’t you marry me?”

“I am right here jerk”, Steve growled.

“But she made cake. Chocolate cake at that, my favorite. This proves she loves me more.”

Ava walked over to Belle as the guys continued to argue. “Do they always do that?”

“Since the day I first cooked for them. The way to Bucky’s heart is his stomach.”

“Noted. I make a mean chicken parmigiana.”

“Keep that in your back pocket. How was your date?”

“Oh,” Ava blushed. “Wonderful. He took me to the aquarium in Central Park. It is so beautiful with the underwater tanks. So blue. He kissed me.”

“Well, well. He does have moves.” Belle giggled and then gasped as one of the babies kicked.

“May I?”

“Sure, right here,” she guided Ava’s hand to where her son was kicking. “He’s right here.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” Ava smiled as she felt the baby kick. “Are you nervous?”

“For the birth, absolutely. For parenthood, no. Not really. With the right partner, you feel like you can take on the world.”

Later that night, Belle wakes up, uncomfortable and heads to her office. She sits at her piano, hoping to sing to her babies and calm them to allow her to sleep.

One look at you My whole life falls in line I prayed for you Before I called you mine

Oh, I can't believe it's true sometimes Oh, I can't believe it's true

I get to love you It's the best thing that I'll ever do I get to love you It's a promise I'm making to you Whatever may come your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours, forever I do I get to love you I get to love you

The way you love It changes who I am I am undone I thank God once again

She looks up and sees Steve, leaning against the doorway. She smiles and nods to the bench, inviting him to sit with her. He strides over and sits as she continues to sing.

Oh, I can't believe it's true sometimes Oh, I can't believe it's true

I get to love you It's the best thing that I'll ever do I get to love you It's a promise I'm making to you Whatever may come your heart I will choose Forever I'm yours, forever I do

I get to love you I get to love you I get to love you I get to love you

And they say love is a journey I promise that I'll never leave When it's too heavy to carry Remember this moment with me

I get to love you I get to love you I get to love you

As she finishes, Steve leans over and kisses her shoulder. “You know I’m the lucky one, right?”

“Now I know you are wrong, sir. I’m most definitely the luckiest one.”

Steve smiles and leans over to place a sweet kiss on his wife’s lips. She smiles into it, loving the softness of his beard on her skin. She cups his cheek and pulls him in as close as she can with her big belly. She feels a twinge and gasps. “Baby?”

“I…umm… I think I just had a contraction.” Belle looked worried at her husband.

“Ok, let’s just time it ok? The doctor said this might happen because its twins. You are at 34 weeks. They will be ok.”

“Stevie…” her eyes begin to fill.

“Oh, baby don’t cry ok? Everything is going to be ok.” He held her hand. “C’mon let’s get you to bed to get you comfy.”

Steve was meticulous in keeping time of her contractions. A couple of hours later, Belle went to use the rest room when she felt wetness run down her leg. “Steve?”

“Ok, you’re ok. Let’s get you cleaned up and then to Lennox Hill.” Steve went to grab new clothes for Belle and helped her change. He grabbed the maternity bag and called Bucky. “It’s time.”

“I’m on my way.”

Steve helped Belle to the elevator as Bucky came barreling out. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine I just…” she grimaced as another contraction took over. “I just want to get to the hospital.”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky grabbed the bag as Steve swept her into his arms. They made it to the car and into the night.

Twelve hours later and Belle’s labor stalled. When they had come into the hospital, she had been 3 centimeters dilated. Now she was only 6 and the doctors were concerned. Her head doctor, Theresa Lee had walked into her room with a look that Steve could just not read. “Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Rogers, we think it’s time to consider a caesarian.”

“No, please, I can do this.”

“Mrs. Rogers, please? We’ve given you Pitocin to help the labor progress forward but it’s becoming dangerous to leave the babies in for so long after your water has broken. This is for the benefit of your children.”

“Please sweet pea, its time,” Steve said with a kiss to her forehead. “This doesn’t mean you are weak, love. Your body is tired, and we need to think of Jamie and Lucy.”

“Don’t leave me, Stevie, promise?”

“I promise love. I’ll be right here. I can be right?” He looked at Dr. Lee.

“Of course. We’ll get you scrubs as we prep Mrs. Rogers for surgery.” A nurse handed off some scrubs and Steve looked back. “I will be right back, sweet pea.”

She nodded as the nurses bustled around and the anesthesiologist adjusted her epidural. Steve came back and took her hand. “We ready?” The doctor asked. “Ok, let’s go.”

The gurney moved and they walked to the operating room. “Steve?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I want the babies to go to a good public school.”

Steve looked down at her concerned. “Isabella…”

“No, listen. I want them to go to a good public school and have Bucky and Clint watch over them. Godfathers watching their god kids is good. And I want MJ and Hope to be their godmothers. You can decide who belongs to whom.”

“Belle, stop please.”

“Remember that Lucy is going to be a young lady so respect her boundaries but don’t shut her out. Let her spread her wings, ok?”

“Belle, why are you saying these things?”

“Because if something happens, you need to know, ok?”

“Nothing is going to happen,” he told her sternly.

“You don’t know that Stevie.” They pulled into the operating room, and they set up the curtain over her chest. Belle could sense them around her but felt nothing. “I need you to promise me.”

“I don’t need to promise because you and our babies will be fine.”

He watched as a tear slid down her face. “Please?”

Steve’s heart clenched. He could read the fear in her eyes, and he just wanted to take it all away. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before he said, “I promise love. I promise that I’ll take good care of our family. But you need to fight and stay strong.”

“I’m scared Stevie.”

“I am too. But they do this every day.” He kissed her hand. “I love you.”

“Ready?” Dr Lee peered over. Belle didn’t stop looking at Steve and she nodded. “Ok let’s begin.”

Belle could feel pressure around her belly, and she closed her eyes tight. “Ok, and baby A is out,” Dr. Lee announced as she held up a baby. “Congratulations, it’s a boy.”

“Jamie,” she gasped as she began to cry. Their son was here. Steve felt his own tears slide as he looked over to see him being cleaned up as he cried. “He’s beautiful love. He’s here.”

Belle felt more pressure and a second later. “It’s a girl.”

“Lucy.” Belle gasped. “My babies.”

Steve tracked his daughter to the second incubator as little Lucy cried for her mother. The nurse cleaned her up and wrapped her with a pink cap, her brother in blue and put them together in one. It was almost instantaneous that they felt each other and stopped. “They’re here. Belle, they are amazing.” Steve watched them for another moment. “Can she see them?”

“Of course.”

A pair of nurses brought the twins over so Belle could see. “Look Belle, you did it. You made them.” Steve looked back at his wife to see her pale and her eyes closed. “Belle? Belle? Isabella, wake up!”

“She’s losing blood! Get him out of here!”

“No! Belle, please! Wake up!” Steve began to fight the nurses as they pushed him out. “No! Belle! Please!”

“BELLE!”

A/N: I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not.

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@kmc1989

@lokislady82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #yours submissively #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers x OFC #Bucky barnes #chris evans #mcu fanfiction #Steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #chris evans au #avengers au #cliffhanger queen

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pillowprincessvarric · 8 months

Note

How did the post breakdown situation of Adrian living with Fenris (iirc) start? who’s. Idea was that. deeply traumatized roomies I’m dying to know more (if you’re comfy w it) -mabari-enthusiast

So the first thing you need to know is that Adrian moving out of the Estate was a very sudden thing and not really like, planned. He stormed out of the house while him & Leandra were arguing (again) (it was bad this time) (Adrian felt like he Had To Get Out Of Here Immediately or else he was going to snap for real) and then realized he was not emotionally capable of going back so he just... didn't.

And on the night he stormed out he happened to bump into Fenris, who was on his way back home from a job. They made some extremely awkward "hi, how are you" conversation (Adrian was visibly distressed and hiding it very poorly) (also they weren't really friends at this point they just sort of knew each other. And Fenris hadn't seen him since before he left for the Deep Roads & still had siblings so it's. Y'know.), which becomes "where are you off to this time of night?" -> Adrian realizes he hasn't thought about it -> "are you okay?" -> I've been better -> "it's not really my business, Hawke, but I think it's a really bad idea for you to be walking around aimlessly, clearly upset, unarmed, in the middle of the night" -> yeah I agree -> "maybe you should go home?" -> Can't -> "okay well that's none of my business. Do you want to come in for a little bit so you can collect yourself?" -> yeah but it won't be for very long I promise. I don't want to put you out. 20 minutes, tops.

Adrian immediately fell asleep on his couch and slept for 10 hours straight. And then after he finally woke up he tried to apologize by cleaning up a little before getting really worried that Fenris would take him doing that as an (*cough* admittedly deserved) criticism of his living space and then freaked himself out and left. It was a deeply mortifying experience for him, but for Fenris it was just kind of a weird thing that happened.

Adrian spent the next couple of weeks like, couch surfing basically. Mostly alternating between crashing at Varric's place and the clinic, but also a couple of night's at Elegant's and a few individual nights on Fenris' couch again, on purpose and prearranged this time because now that Adrian's spending all this time at the Hanged Man they bump into each other a lot more often and Adrian keeps paying for his drinks because he's still embarrassed and wants to apologize. Fenris does think this is weird but he also isn't going to stop him.

Anyways. They kind of hang out now.

Eventually Adrian is like "okay, I can't keep living like this." And he is tentatively working things out with Leandra at this point but also knows that things will just start to deteriorate again if he goes back to living with her rn, so moving back to the Estate is not an option. He feels weird taking advantage of Varric's hospitality any more than he already has (and Varric would never let him pay rent so he would feel bad about it the whole time), Anders isn't an option because again, he would feel bad & weird about it, also they would kill each other. Elegant would absolutely let him rent one of her spare rooms but she lives in kind of an odd out-of-the-way part of Hightown so ye olde commute would suck + there's some other personal baggage in there, so it's not really ideal but he also doesn't know very many people and the other rental opportunities in Hightown are generally kind of, sketch, so it might be his only option.

"Yeah Red, that's rough. Too bad we don't know anyone who lives in a huge mansion all alone, conveniently close to your mother, who you already get along with, and could definitely benefit from a consistent couple of silvers every month but won't take charity. That would just solve all your problems at once." <- quote from Varric Tethras

He has to say that like three times before Adrian completely independently comes up with the idea to ask Fenris if he can rent one of his rooms. An arrangement that Fenris was already primed to be receptive to because Isabela said to him something along the lines of "yeah honestly what would probably improve your situation the most would be a consistent passive income of some sort. It's too bad we don't know any functionally homeless new money guys who come with the added bonus of being someone who cleans when they are upset and is in the middle of a breakdown of some sort so is therefore cleaning all of the time (you live in a hovel btw)"

"The living room is looking nice lately" <- quote from Fenris

(I can neither confirm nor deny whether Varric & Isabela were in cahoots on this. They may or may not have coordinated offscreen. Impossible to say)

So that's how that happened, basically.

#ask #oc: adrian hawke #they were very professional about it for about two weeks & then they were binge drinking and trauma dumping on each other #cutting each other's hair and such. the living space was still completely fucked just in a different. slightly cleaner way.

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ahlovelightaflame · 9 months

Text

10:43 PM ~ *Lee Jihoon*

Summary: You know that when inspiration strikes, Jihoon will stop at nothing to see the project through. However, things take a turn when he starts to neglect his health. You have to do something about this.

Pairing: Painter!Lee Jihoon X G/N!Reader

Genre: Angstyish Drabble

Word Count: 776

Warning: relationship neglect, personal health neglect, hurt to comfort

Masterlist

Taglist: @foxwinter @rai-scutum

Jihoon was obsessed and you were starting to get worried.

Three weeks ago he was struck with inspiration in the middle of the night and left your shared bed to get to work. At first you were happy for him. He had complained to you before that his art was lacking focus and all he needed was a spark of inspiration. Now that he had it, he refused to leave his studio as he carefully sketched, erased, and redrew.

You would visit occasionally with food. You knew he wouldn’t eat otherwise, struck with the insatiable need to get whatever was in his mind onto the canvas. You also knew he didn’t like to show you what he was working on till it was done. So you would wait as patiently as you could, even though you were practically dying of curiosity. Nevertheless, you knocked on his studio door and waited eagerly while he covered his art and had a picnic with you in the studio.

However things were starting to change.

Soon he was just taking the picnic basket from you and kissing your forehead before retreating into his studio. You tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t hear you. He was far too busy with his art to speak with you. So with a heavy heart, you disappeared down the hall and worried about him until the next meal.

A few days after that began, he stopped opening the door, instead asking you to keep the basket at the door. For a week, you were relieved to see he was eating. But soon he left more and more untouched. Now, your worry is increasing tenfold. He needed to eat. He needed to sleep. He needed a break. But you knew he wouldn’t listen to you.

Nevertheless, you knew what you had to do.

So one night you waited outside of the studio, pacing back and forth, listening intently. Eventually you heard his music turn down lower and you made your move. Taking the spare skeleton key that opened every door in the house, you unlocked his studio.

Your heart ached at the sight before you. The studio was a mess of spilled paint and ripped pages. The tarp was half covering his current piece, but you couldn’t make out what it was. Jihoon was dozing on his stool, one hand propping up his chin and drool starting to collect at the corner of his mouth. He looked just as bad as his studio. His hair was a mess, dark bags accentuated by his pale skin, and his frame thinner than the last time you saw him.

Taking one of his thin blankets, you draped it over his shoulders. Then you got to work organizing his utensils and trash. You knew he worked best in organized chaos, but you couldn’t let him work in absolute filth. You filled the garbage can twice and were about to take a third bag out when he woke up.

Before he could speak, you grabbed the picnic basket full of food and water. Taking his hand, you led him to his couch and put a sandwich in his hand. He was about to protest when you fixed him with a sharp, yet loving glare.

“Eat.”

And so he did.

You finished cleaning up the studio and finished eating with him. When you were done, you wrapped him in your arms, holding him tight. He completely unraveled, dropping almost his full weight onto you. This just proved how exhausted he was.

“Thank you.” He murmured in your ear.

“Of course, my love.” You whispered back, kissing his temple. “I hate seeing you do this to yourself. You don’t deserve this. I know you’ve been struck by inspiration but it cannot get in the way of taking care of yourself. I want to eat with you again and I want to sleep next to you again. Can you do that for me?”

He nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thank you.” You smiled and pulled away to press a soft kiss to his lips. You then added, “Also I need you to take off your shirt.”

Jihoon pulled back, confused and slightly suspicious. “What? Right now? Baby, I love you but I’m too tired for anything-”

You smacked his shoulder. “Not like that, you weirdo! You have paint stains all over the sleeves! I need to do some stain removal before it sets.”

“Alright, alright.” As he began unbuttoning his shirt, he added with a sly smirk, “You know, when I’m feeling better, maybe you and I can-”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll cut up your canvas.”

“You’re evil, you know that?”

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driflew · 8 months

Note

for six sentences.... batb au???

hmmmm, the au as a whole? what've i already posted...

this au is back from February! while the scene i posted was written for tbw, cherri and i have a few thousand words from it from several months ago

this scene actually changed a fair bit from the original draft we had of it. in the original version of the scene, Ren finds Martyn skulking around in the castle in the middle of the first night and confronts him. there was more of an actual physical threat w that as well i think, but i had the image of Ren in the garden with the deer and liked that more

we ALSO didnt specify at all about what Martyn actually stole in the OG draft lmfao. we didnt figure it out till we decided to use the crown prompt for this. i think in my head i pictured like. a nice vase

Ren's been cursed for about 4 years. though i dont think they've been mentioned in any of the posted works, but Ren isn't entirely alone in that castle

though it's a beauty and the beast au, we changed the way Ren's curse works quite a bit from the movie curse. he received it differently, it's broken differently (we needed a non-romantic curse lmao), and it has a different effect on his staff (they are not furniture because i did not want them to be furniture)

the horns on ren's design were a last minute addition. up until cherri decided to add them in the tbw sketch basically the week of he was just a normal dog (but large)

thanks for your interest! hope these facts are to your liking!

#ask lew #anonymous #big dog #six sentence sunday

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anonsally · 6 months

Text

Weekend in Chicago

Day 0

Unusually, I didn't feel particularly anxious about this trip, though I still slept badly the night before departure. Although I left slightly ahead of schedule, I had a long wait for BART and then a long wait for the little mini-train to my terminal at the airport, and then the line for security was longer than I expected, so I only just had time to buy food for the flight. When I arrived at my gate, my group was already boarding. Since I’m usually at the airport 2 hours before departure, this came as a bit of a shock! But once I was on the plane, it all went smoothly. Nobody was in the middle seat next to me (I had a window), and I spent the flight reading a novel. I finished it just after we landed! [separate post coming about the book]

I landed at Chicago O’Hare around 8pm. Because it was such a short trip, I hadn’t checked a bag, which is practically unheard-of for me; I was proud of packing so light! Although it’s obvious, I still felt surprised at how quickly I could leave the airport since I didn’t have to wait for checked luggage! Because it was dark (and raining a little), I took a cab to my hotel, where Best Friend had already arrived. We went up to the room to drop off my stuff, then went out for dinner. This was a hip hotel in a hip neighborhood called River North, and we were decidedly not cool enough to stay there! However, we were also old enough not to give a shit!

By then it was 9pm (7pm for my body clock though), and we were very hungry. We had thought we would just go to a little ramen shop nearby, as surely at this hour restaurants would be emptying out, but it turned out to be packed. It was Saturday night, and I guess people in Chicago are back to going out at night. We struggled to find a restaurant that could seat us, but we eventually got a table at Hub 51. Chicago is a foodie town, and we enjoyed our meal, though the portion sizes were enormous.

After that, we returned to our hotel and went to bed soon afterwards.

Day 1

We had a leisurely start before heading out to grab breakfast en route to the Art Institute of Chicago, which was the main purpose of this weekend getaway. They had an exhibition of Remedios Varo, my favorite artist, called Science Fictions. It was fabulous. If you are in or near Chicago, I think you still have a week or two to catch this before it closes! I will be posting photos. I had only seen a few of the paintings in person before, and there were more paintings than I expected, along with a bunch of sketches. As always, seeing the paintings in person brought out details I hadn’t noticed when looking at reproductions of them, and in fact, I think there were some paintings I wasn’t familiar with at all. We spent quite a while in that exhibition before moving on to look at other works in the museum, including some great Georgia O’Keeffe paintings (I loved the landscapes) and quite a few Sargents (many from early in his career), the Chagall window, the Tiffany window, some Frank Lloyd Wright-designed things, and some furniture (some of which was great and some of which was hilariously hideous). We ate a late lunch in a sheltered courtyard café in the museum and then resumed looking at art.

After the museum, we wandered through Maggie Daley Park. It was late afternoon, and I did some birdwatching while Best Friend made a couple of phone calls. I saw a palm warbler! That was a new bird for me, and I also got a good look at a fairly distinctive bird but still couldn’t identify it. I took photos, and was later able to determine that it was an ovenbird, which is also a new one for me! There were lots of white-throated sparrows (uncommon where I live) and yellow-rumped warblers, as well as some northern cardinals (which don’t exist where I live).

We ate dinner at a deep-dish pizza place, which seemed mandatory while in Chicago. It was delicious! This restaurant makes single-person pizzas, which are cute (the fork and pen below are normal-sized and included for scale). I still couldn’t finish mine, so I brought ¼ of it back to the hotel (in a cute box!) to eat for breakfast.

We then returned to the hotel to pack and wind down.

Day 2

I had set my alarm for the ungodly hour of 6:45am, not because either of us had an early flight (we didn’t), but because we wanted to do something fun before heading to the airport. So we checked out of our hotel at 8:30, left our luggage, and took the metro (well, the el) to the 606, a repurposed elevated rail line that is now a sort of park/trail for bikes and pedestrians. Best Friend admired the architecture of the neighborhoods we were walking through, while I did some birdwatching. We then walked through Humboldt Park (more birdwatching, the highlights of which were a golden-crowned kinglet, wood ducks, lots of white-throated sparrows, and more northern cardinals, though there were also about 60 Canada geese, which was slightly terrifying!).

On our way back to the el, we stopped at Typica Café, which turned out to be Venezuelan. Best Friend had to attend a Zoom meeting for a half hour. I ate a delicious guava-cheese puff pastry, which is apparently a Venezuelan thing and which I highly recommend if you get the opportunity to have one! The hot chocolate was also exceptionally good; it was made using Venezuelan cocoa and, I think, a tiny bit of caramel syrup. It was excellent; not too sweet.

We then walked to the el and rode back to our hotel, picked up our luggage, walked to the pizza place so Best Friend could bring two frozen pizzas back for her husband and son, and then rode the el to the airport. We had gotten day passes for the Chicago el, which were a steal at $5.

At the airport we hugged goodbye as we were on different airlines. Going through security was fine, and I got to walk through the colored light underpass that is the only good thing at O'Hare. I bought snacks to eat on the plane. Boarding was a bit of a fiasco (they started boarding group 3 before group 2 for some reason) and very inefficient, but as we all reminded each other and ourselves, the only thing that really mattered was getting to our destination safely and approximately on time.

The flight itself was full and slightly delayed but fairly uneventful, and I got home via BART within 1.5 hours of landing. Yay! Although it was frankly bananas to fly halfway across the country for a 2-night stay, I feel very refreshed and energized by it and am glad I went, and particularly glad that Best Friend joined me. She's a great travel companion (despite her snoring), and I think it's the first trip we've taken together since she had her son nearly 13 (Edit: 14!) years ago.

I plan to post some photos from the trip. (I realise I didn't manage to do that after the Europe trip this summer, but this was only 2 days so it should be more manageable!)

#personal #travel #birdwatching #food #art #remedios varo

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bvannn · 3 months

Text

Weekly Update January 26, 2024

I am still very sick. I just took my second increased dose of the medicine, hoping it will help. Whatever stomach issue I was having a bit ago appears to have returned as well, or it could be more side effects from the surgery. Or something else. I don’t know. I tried fasting on Wednesday and felt physically better but also guilty, and I don’t want to keep doing it because I know it’s dangerous. I’m still a healthy weight for my height so I can probably get away with doing it like, once a week, but I don’t want to accidentally lose too much weight either because I’m already a 22 year old adult who buys clothes in the kids section I don’t need to be any smaller. I’ll figure it out, I’m trying to focus what I am eating on fruits and nuts, hoping it’ll detox me a bit.

I did a couple drawings this week. Kinda. The one I posted was actually sketched back before the surgery I just hadn’t digitized it yet. I only posted the one drawing because I want to hold on to the other for a bit because it’s part of that epithet prompt set I made. I’m fully not expecting to do every one of those prompts, but I figured hey since I missed a few I can do a batch of the missed prompts and release them at once. I sketched the one for this week and planned on finishing it on Wednesday but I got sick again. Once I’m feeling better I’ll try to focus more on drawings. I think I gotta scrap the big animation project I was working on due to circumstances beyond my control, which sucks but theoretically I can try other animation things too. I’ve been sitting on an idea for a short Detective Conan animation, maybe I’ll do that. Or maybe I’ll stay sick. Idk. I kinda want to figure out how I would animate Shaun, since he’s a ghost so I’d have to deal with both transparency and glow effects, plus certain aspects of his design that were meant to be more flowy, like his shirt-tail-thing. I could poke after effects again but it seems a lot more tedious than I had hoped.

I did review over comic stuff this week too, although I haven’t made any progress since I really started getting the surgery after effects. I like how it’s flowing for the most part, but I’m probably going to have to do second drafts of a few pages. Kinda sucks that everything feels so rushed, since I want to fit the whole introductory chapter into ~32 pages, which I’m totally able to do but I have to hold off on some little dialogue exposition conversations that I think people would like. Any story with ghosts is going to have people wanting to fully understand how the ghosts physically work, especially when it becomes relevant, but some of that can be put off until later because character moments are more important. Whatever, I can always keep going.

I feel super bad about not being able to do anything but I’m still so screwed up. I want to take another stab at music, and maybe I will, but I need to sit upright to play piano which screws with my stomach, and in order to pick out VSTs I want on a song I need to be able to have a midi that resembles what the final will sound like and I need to be in the headspace to listen to music without going into sensory overload. I’m pretty sure all of this is sleep related, I have the weekend to hopefully catch up on sleep, but I need to do some homework as well. And I need to stop waking up in the middle of the night. I’m afraid to double dose on sleep medicine because even though I know it’s safe after 6 or so hours, I don’t want to be reliant on sleep medicine because that’s how Michael Jackson died. Might have to wait for my surgery bs to subside before I can try to detox though.

I don’t know what to do with myself right now. I feel awful, I feel like my insides are rotting, but I know they’re not since I’m not in pain from it (or at least not enough pain to really believe that). Plus surgeon looked at me before I moved back to Uni and seemed really impressed with how quickly I was healing. Even though I probably disobeyed her ‘don’t lift more than 20 pounds’ rule. Like a lot. I did feel better this week than I did last, so I’m hoping I can bounce back pretty quick. I’ll give it another week or two before I ask my primary if I need another medicine. I’m hesitant right now because both she and the surgeon seemed to agree beforehand that I wouldn’t, and I want to trust them. I don’t know. Time providing I’ll try to do more drawings this week.

#weekly update

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fantomette22 · 2 years

Text

One shot: Return from the hunting lesson

Alright ! I have written a lil something ! It's actually based on one of the first little funny Bloodborne sketches I've drawn.

I decided to draw it properly as well (A little comic in 4 cases). But it will come a bit later I need to draw it properly x)

It's also supposed to be a part of a bigger story. If I ever managed to really write it down. So I guess it's some kind of preview/beta for you and training for me (I'm sorry I dunno how to write dialogue efficiently or smoothly help). It's a draft so things might change of course (so don't be afraid of the 3 smileys I put XD they will disappear in due time). Apologies for the lack of context as well but it's supposed to be in the middle of a bigger chapter. In the middle of the first fic. But it can work independently too and I've wanted to put it on paper since a while. I still hope you will enjoyed.

Return from the hunting lesson :

Campus of Byrgenwerth, years before the official founding of the Healing Church.

Laurence was pensive. If he couldn’t find them himself, he will just go ask everyone he could came cross. Someone had to know something about it!

After spending sometimes running and asking around the few persons he could find, with no succeed, he noticed two young men walking towards him. Micolash seems to be in the middle of an explanation and Ludwig was listening attentively.

He interpellated them, “Micolash, Ludwig! Would you have a minute?”

“Oh Hello Laurence :D !” said an overjoyed Ludwig.

Then Micolash replied more calmly, “Of course, what do you need Laurence?”

“I wanted to ask if any of you have seen Maria or Gehrman recently?”

Micolash thought a few seconds before answering: “Not since a few days, I think, why?”

Laurence sighed “I fear you would say that…”

Ludwig questioned him : “What do you mean? Is everything alright?”

“Well, the Cainhurst nobles have arrived, so their presence is required. But most importantly, I’m a bit worried because no one seem to have seen any of them since a few days…”

“But aren’t they training in the woods the entire week?” replied a confused Ludwig.

“Yes, they are. They usually go at the first hours of the morning and come back before night. But they didn’t come back yesterday evening and they were supposed to come back today at least. You could think they might have went camping and spend the night in the forest. I wouldn’t be surprised but no one saw them before yesterday as well. Nothing since two days ! A student even claimed to have seen a creature in the forest as well…”

Micolash was left puzzled “Hm… this is concerning. Something would have happened to them? Or to one of them?"

“Oh, I hope they’re ok!” exclaimed a very worried Ludwig.

While they were talking, a figure passed through the bushes with difficulty. They fell silents, looked in its direction and were left completely astonished.

It was Maria.

She seems a bit lost, carrying a big sac and a smaller messenger bag over her shoulder, but it was her appearance that was rather unusual. With leaves in her hair, her clothes were covered in dirt and…could that be blood as well?

“MARIA ?!”

She turned her head toward them a bit confused before answering : “Oh hello! How are you all doing?”

The three came right in front of her, Laurence was the first to questioned her “Maria are you alright? What happened?”

“Yes, I’m alright and what do you mean? We were hunting like you’re aware of”

“We had no news of you both for days! We grew worried… Where’s Gehrman ?!”

“Well… we spend last night in the woods and before yesterday at the village...But we did get back at night to get a few things, and Gehrman-” She looked around. “Didn’t arrived yet…” She then turned toward the forest to shout “Over here!”

A moments later he emerged between the dense leaves and branches. He was too carrying an imposing sac and was covered in a bloody dirt as well. He had a rifle on his back. “Hello everyone.”

Laurence chuckle in relief.

“So… did this hunting lesson worked out?” asked Ludwig.

A big grin appeared on Gehrman’s face. “It did!” He put the sac on the ground and began to open it. At the same time Maria handed a small sac she gets from her bag. “Here Micolash. If I recalled, you and Rom wanted to examine a venomous maggot? Well, we found this dead one”

He took it “Oh thank you very much Maria! That is correct you remember well! I’m sure our dear friend will be very happy.”

From his own, Gehrman pulled out the head of an imposing boar. “Tada!”

The trio was taken aback once again.

“That’s huge! Hold on… there’s things like that in the woods ?!” Ludwig said like he was scared.

“Oh just a few.”

“So, you two hunts down a boar?” questioned Laurence.

“Mostly yes. But it’s not the only thing…” Maria answered. The teacher’s eyes look down at the close sac beside her.

Gehrman cough to get their attention “Well she killed a boar.”

“Yeah i…I killed a boar...”

“That’s quite impressive! All by yourself?”

“Well Gehrman helped me-“

“Oh, I just help to distracted it. You deserve the entire praise on this one.” A big smile appears on the face of the younger hunter.

“Where is the rest of it too?” asked Micolash.

“We couldn’t take all of it with us, so we left the rest to the villagers and the snakes I guess” answered the other hunter.

The student continued : “You two are covered in so much mud! Better jump right now into the sea to wash up x) !

“Thanks, but I think we’re fine. We got time to clean up after all.”

“Well… actually Cainhurst had already arrived.” Laurence informed them.

“What. Oh” Oh no no no ! I’m so screwed I can’t show up like this !

Gehrman noticed her distressed. “Don’t worry- Hm… just go! I got it!”

“Really? Oh, thank you!” She then starts running extremely fast across the campus in direction of her dorm.

“Well, I think we should all get going as well” proposed Laurence.

They began to walk, after saying goodbye, Micolash and Ludwig went in their own direction.

“So, what’s in this one?” Laurence asked, pointing at the smaller sac Maria was caring earlier.

“Something I need to show master Willem…and you.” Laurence looks at him with an interrogating look. “Do you remember the dog lost by the prospectors in the labyrinth a few weeks ago?”

“Hm yes? Oh ! Let me guess… you find his remains at the surface didn’t you?”

“It’s more him who find us...”

“What?”

“Laurence. That thing… whatever it was, it wasn’t the dog we knew. The way he attacked us… We just put an end to his suffering.” He sighed “I will explain more later. Not here...”

“Alright I understand… Do you plan to do that right now?”

“I was thinking of showing the boar head to our noble visitors before. I believe they will appreciate it. As well as to be made aware of the progress of their future knight.’’

“Certainly, let’s get going then.”

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hyperfixationsporfavor · 1 year

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The Kids Are Alright

(This is a prequel to my already existing fic Metropolitan Family Life. This fic is not an x reader and takes place in Suguru Geto's teen years. This will be leading into an x reader concept but if you're not into that you can read it as a one shot. Thank you.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking, swearing, crude behavior/language, 90s teen/young people cynicism (total teenage dirtbags), bad parenting, narcissist parent

The Kids Are Alright

Prequel to Metropolitan Family Life (Suguru in his early years- pre reader, late 90s au)

Suguru leaned back in his chair and shook his long hair out. He yanked the elastic hair tie off his wrist and used it to pull his hair up into a messy bun.

Next to him, Ieiri let out a groan and buried her face into her folded arms. She didn’t have the willpower to lift her head up from her desk.

“Shit, I’m so hungover.”

“Really? Satoru asked. “Here let me get you something.”

In an act of cruel playfulness he rolled up his magazine and slammed it down on the edge of her desk. Ieiri shot up in excruciating pain, clutching her head for dear life.

“Satoru you fucking asshole.”

He keeled over in laughter.

Suguru, who had secured his hair, reached into his backpack and pulled out a water bottle. He leaned forward and handed it to Ieiri.

“Here,” he offered. “Just take a few sips.”

She grabbed the water from him and took a gulp.

“How are you not hungover? You drank more than me last night.”

Suguru just shrugged. “Sheer willpower.”

She kissed her teeth and stood up. “C’mon let’s go. I need a cigarette.”

Satoru checked the clock on the classroom wall. “But lunch ends in five minutes.”

Suguru rolled his eyes and grabbed his backpack. “Then we should get out of here before the teacher comes back.

With the three of them ditching gym class, something they occasionally did, they managed to secure something of a secret hideout.

That was what Satoru insisted on calling it anyway.

On the far end of the campus was an abandoned greenhouse that once was used for botany classes. It was in an ideal location where they never got caught.

Suguru retrieved his lighter from his backpack and lit the cigarette that Ieiri had impatiently placed between her lips. She offered him one which he took. Suguru didn’t smoke as often as she did, but he’d occasionally indulge himself. He’d indulged himself in a few things since entering into this friendship.

When Suguru had met Satoru and Ieiri, he was timid as hell. His shaved head and scrawny build made him an easy target for bullies. But his friends helped him grow more confident in himself, as corny as it sounded.

“How do your ears feel?” Satoru asked him.

“Fine,” he nodded.

Suguru brushed his fingers over one of the studs. Last night, he pierced them on a dare. Granted the bathroom of a club with a heated sewing needle wasn’t exactly safe, but he liked the way it turned out. Of course, that meant he’d have to show his Dad later. He’d definitely be pissed he skipped class again, but he didn’t care. He never cared anymore. He was done hoping one day his old man would give a damn about him.

Suguru pulled out his sketchbook and a charcoal pencil, determined to finish his sketch before they left campus. He planned on painting it this weekend.

Ieiri leaned forward to see. “It’s the ocean.”

Satoru sighed and leaned against the young artist, Ieiri followed suit and did the same, sandwiching Suguru in the middle.

“Shit,” Satoru mumbled. “I can’t believe we only have another three weeks left.”

“I won’t miss this place,” Ieiri mumbled.

The three of them would be graduating soon. With college exams already taken, and finals coming up. The time was quickly approaching to say goodbye.

Suguru put his cigarette out and let it sit beside him. “I don’t hate this place.”

The three of them sat there in silence. The only noise to be heard was the scratching of the charcoal pencil.

Suguru was a curse on his parents. That’s how he saw it. His mother died in childbirth leaving his father to raise him by himself.

His father didn’t like him.

He was too sensitive for a boy. His head was always in the clouds. He was ungrateful. He was lazy.

He existed.

Suguru Sr., his dad, was the phys ed. teacher at his school. He took the job because it came with a coaching position for the school’s soccer team, one of the best in the country.

The players on the team had a fair shot of going pro, something Suguru’s dad had initially hoped for in his youth. But a busted knee had cut his dreams short.

Since he was faculty his son could get free tuition, and fulfill unaccomplished dreams.

But Suguru was far from the ideal son who had been given his father’s name.

They argued practically everyday, and it only got worse the older Suguru got. His dad was a textbook narcissist who would bend over backwards for any random stranger, but couldn’t lift a pinky to help his son.

Suguru was charged with doing all things domestic, from cooking the meals to cleaning the apartment. He also couldn’t blink without his father having an opinion. So he began to avoid him more and more.

He couldn’t even remember the last time the two of them had spoken.

Suguru pushed against his father whenever he could.

He didn’t really like to drink or smoke but he knew his father detested it. So he did it whenever he could, just to defy him. He liked to pissed off his dad, so he stayed out until the early morning out of pure spite. He’d sneak into clubs he had no business in and allow eardrum shattering levels of music to swallow him up and carry him away.

When Suguru got home he was more than displeased to find his dad parked on the couch in front of the television. A soccer game was on, and he couldn’t care less. He detested sports. Did his dad ever imagine himself as one of those players? In a completely different life with a family that made him happy?

“Suguru,” his father barked. “Get in here!”

He stood at the door for a moment, debating if he should just turn around and spend the night at Satoru’s. He decided against it, knowing he’d just have to come home eventually.

He shut the door and dragged himself to where his father stood, standing beside him and waiting for a lecture.

“Why weren’t you in class today?” he asked.

His father’s attempt to look threatening was laughable. Suguru was almost an entire foot taller, another one of the many things the old man resented about him.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” he cooly responded. “So I went to the nurse’s office.”

His father snorted.

“So you’re not man enough to power through it? You’re so weak. But with that stupid haircut you look like a girl so you might as well act like it.”

Suguru clenched his jaw. “Can I go now? I have things to do.”

His father turned away from the television to face his son. He stood up when something caught his eye. “What the hell is that?”

“What?”

“That shit in your ear.”

Suguru smirked. “Do you like it?”

His father’s face started to turn red. “Are you trying to get kicked out? What will the neighbors say? You look like some effeminate punk!”

“It’s better than looking like you,” he shot back. “And maybe you should learn how to cook for yourself before you threaten to kick me out.”

He turned to leave, much to his father’s annoyance.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

“To work at my shit job that you like to pretend you’re so proud of.”

When his father threw away all his art supplies a few years ago he’d gotten a job at the convenience store down the street to fund the recovery of everything he’d lost.

His father scoffed. “Your mother would be so disappointed in you.”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing she’s not here,” Suguru spat.

He went to his room to change for his shift.

“Wow,” Satoru marveled. “That’s such a low blow to use your dead mom like that.”

He stood next to Suguru as he restocked the chips, speaking in between the mouthfuls of Doritos he was eating. He was currently on his second bag.

“Classic Coach Geto bullshit,” he muttered. “And are you planning on paying for those?”

Satoru pondered it for a moment. “I don’t know, wouldn’t I fall into the friends and family discount?”

Suguru stood up and snatched the bag out of his hands. “Sorry, but that only applies to people that don’t have American Express cards.”

Satoru pouted as he followed Suguru to the back where Ieiri was looking at the mini toiletries.

“How much mouthwash should I bring? One of these is enough for two days right?”

“With how much you smoke?” Satoru snorted.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop stuffing your face and start buying some snacks. Will you Captain Dickhead?”

“Excuse me,” a man called from the front of the store. “Can you ring me up?”

“Right away sir,” Suguru replied.

“Speaking of Captain Dickhead,” Satoru snorted under his breath.

He and Ieiri trailed behind their friend to the register. The man handed Suguru his card and looked over to find Satoru, who instantly caught his attention.

“Pardon me, but are those your real eyes?”

“Yeah,” Satoru answered.

“They glow in the dark,” Ieiri added.

The man tilted his head, examining Satoru’s features like he was a pomeranian in a dog show.

“Have you ever considered modeling?”

“You know you’re not the first person who asked me that,” Satoru gloated.

Suguru rolled his eyes as he bagged up the man’s items. “Here you are sir.”

The man took his card back and stuck it into his wallet, then he retrieved another card out of it. “I work for the Vogue offices here, in Tokyo, but I have some contacts in Paris as well. If you're interested you should give us a call. I think you’d make a great fit in our fall lineup.”

After Satoru took the card the man took his shopping bag and left.

“Well look who’s on his way to being the next Kate Moss.” Ieiri mused.

“Charles Bernard,” he read aloud. “That can’t be his real name.”

“Probably not,” Suguru jested. “He definitely just wants to harvest your organs.”

Satoru chuckled and stuck the business card in his wallet. “So do you need to do any shopping for the trip Suguru?”

In two weeks the third years would be taking their class trip to Okinawa, which had brought Satoru and Ieiri into the store in search of supplies.

Suguru sighed. “I don’t know. It’s not like I want to hang out with strangers and I don’t know how to swim.”

“Stop making excuses asshat,” Satoru ordered. “Who said we’re spending time with the class?”

“Well I think the whole concept of a class trip would be lost without the class part,” Ieiri deadpanned.

“Listen,” Satoru proposed. “I think we should fly down with the class. Then when we get there we’ll get a rental car and just do our own thing.”

“Okay now I know you’re completely insane,” Ieiri groaned. “We’ll get in trouble.”

“Only if we get caught,” Satoru argued. “We’ll check in when we get there, and then again when we leave.”

“But seriously, what if we do get caught?” Suguru asked.

“Please my family just gave the school a new library, nothing’s going to happen. Plus if they get really mad we’ll just say we got kidnapped or whatever.”

This was a dumb idea on practically every level, Suguru was incredibly aware of that. But he had stuck with Satoru and Ieiri for a few years now and everything had managed to work out so far.

One last adventure before they’d be pressured into pretending to be adults.

“Fine,” Suguru agreed.

“Whatever,” Ieiri added.

The morning Suguru left he and his dad got into another fight.

“You know,” he started. “When I was your age I didn’t get to go anywhere.”

Whenever his father spoke Suguru had gotten into the habit of holding his breath. He hoped if he’d stopped breathing the old man would stop speaking, but that unfortunately was never the case.

Suguru just grunted as he tied his shoelaces.

“You should be grateful you’ve been given this opportunity.”

Suguru said nothing, he hated it when his dad tried to make him feel guilty for just living his life.

“Okay,” he said as he stood up. “I’m heading out.”

His father scoffed. “I knew it. You get to go have fun and you still have a bad attitude. I’d kill to be your age again.”

“Uh huh.”

Suguru walked towards the front door. His duffel bag felt like a million pounds, but nothing could stop him from getting the hell out of here.

“You don’t like me do you?” his dad asked with an unwarranted exhaustion.

The tone of his delivery made the teen stop in his tracks and turn around.

“Huh?” he asked.

“You don’t appreciate anything I do.”

Suguru said nothing, even if he wanted to scream until his lungs shriveled up.

“Bye Dad.”

He stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

Satoru and Ieiri knew when Suguru was going through it. He slipped in and out of his bad moods like he was speeding through a winding road. They let him sit in silence. This should have been a positive experience for Suguru. He’d never been on a plane before. But of course the old fuck had to rob him of any of the joy he should have been feeling.

“These seats are so cramped.” Satoru whined.

Ieiri rolled her eyes and shoveled peanuts into her mouth.

“We get it, you’ve never traveled in coach before.”

“It must be so hard being you,” Suguru griped next to him.

Satoru exchanged a glance with Ieiri.

“Um Suguru, do you want to switch places? Satoru offered. “You can look out the window and see the ocean.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“But you’ve never been on a plane before and-”

Suguru shot him a look that made him stop.

“I’m fine. I’m not an idiot I know what a fucking cloud looks like,” he spat.

Ieiri narrowed her eyes on him.

“Suguru, I know you're in a bad mood, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to be an asshole.”

He scoffed and put his walkman headphones over his ears. He was pissed but he wasn’t suicidal. Ieiri wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass off the plane and send him plummeting back down to Earth.

By the time the plane had touched down everyone was in desperate need of a little cooling off period. Satoru collected everyone’s baggage with the rest of the class while Ieiri snuck off to the airport smoking lounge with Suguru. Without saying a word, he pulled his lighter out of his coat pocket and she leaned in to light her cigarette. They sat there in silence among the rest of the nicotine addicted individuals.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he finally mumbled.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

He thought back to how Satoru had flinched when he rejected his offer for the window seat.

“Look Suguru,” she continued. “Satoru really wants to have a good time while we’re here. Can’t we just give him?”

He nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I know what it’s like to want to tear everything down but just fake it okay? For him.”

He grinned. “So is this you faking it?”

“Another word and I’ll shove this cigarette up your nose,” she threatened.

He stood up.

“Let’s go. The teachers are going to wonder where we are.”

They met Satoru in front of the shuttle bus their classmates were gathered around. Despite everything that happened on the plane his eyes lit up when he saw them.

“There you guys are!”

“Hey,” Suguru started. “I’m sorry I was being such a dick earlier.”

Satoru just smiled. “You’re always a dick, dick.”

Ieiri snorted.

“So are we all set?” she asked.

He nodded.

“We’re almost in the clear.”

Their homeroom teacher, Mr. Yaga, came up to the group of three with his clipboard.

“Mr. Geto and Ms. Shoko, so good of you to join us.”

He turned to Suguru and handed him a small medication bottle of stool softener.

“Mr. Gojo informed me you were having bathroom issues, so let me know if you need more.”

“I will sir.”

He clenched his teeth as Satoru and Ieiri giggled behind him.

“Alright class,” he announced as he turned to face the others. “Everyone on the bus.”

The three of them waited for the right moment to bolt. Once Mr. Yaga and the others were all safely on the bus they walked back into the airport and went to the rental car station.

The woman behind the desk handed Satoru a pair of keys not even bothering to ask how old he was.

“Have it back on Sunday.”

Once the three of them had loaded their bags into the trunk they were off. They spent the first ten minutes arguing what type of music to listen to.

“Come on,” Satoru groaned. “No one wants to listen to Alanis Morrissette.”

Ieiri guffawed.

“Typical guy response. Worship anything related to Nirvana or Oasis and turn your nose down at anything written by a woman.”

“Are you seriously comparing Nirvana to Alanis Morrissette?”

“If you read the lyrics to ‘You Oughta Know’ even your pea sized brain could figure out how inspired that song is!”

“Inspired my ass!”

Suguru made a vain attempt to break in from his spot in the back seat.

“Can we listen to Queen?”

Ieiri scoffed from the passenger seat. “Suguru, take your old man music on your old man cassette tape and shove it up your ass.”

“Maybe it’ll help with my chronic constipation,” he mused as he read the label on the stool softener. “Thanks again for that Satoru.”

He turned around to glare at him.

“Well you were acting like you were constipated!”

“Satoru!” Ieiri shrieked. “You’re driving! Keep your fucking eyes on the fucking road!”

Suguru smiled to himself.

So much for faking it.

They miraculously arrived at the hotel in one piece. Satoru had driven them further up the coast and found a place right on the beach.

When they got to their room Ieiri collapsed on the bed.

“Okay chuckleheads. I call the bed, you two can bunk on the floor.”

“What do you guys want to do first?” Suguru asked.

“Recover from my near death experience,” Ieiri deadpanned.

Satoru just rolled his eyes. “I got us here alive. And I didn’t even hit that frog.”

He set his bag down and pulled some papers out.

“We should probably leave the room now. I have an entire itinerary planned out.”

They spent Friday just walking around the local shops and sampling all the different foods there were to try. They had dinner at a soba place where Satoru nearly scalded his tongue trying to eat too fast.

“Eat slowly,” Suguru jested. “Or you’ll need these tomorrow morning.”

He pulled the stool softener out of his pocket and placed it next to his friend. Then he flagged down the waitress.

“Excuse me, where’s the nearest pharmacy? My friend needs to stock up on this.”

Instead of getting angry Satoru just started laughing after the waitress left.

“You stupid dick,” he wheezed.

Suguru snorted and tossed the medicine in the trash. Ieiri smiled despite herself and continued to eat her meal.

On Saturday they woke up and drove to The Churaumi Aquarium and worked their way through all three floors. Suguru sat in front of a massive tank that contained a whale shark, stingrays, and a plethora of different fish.

He sketched it so he could paint later. He was getting excited thinking of different techniques to emphasize the light that highlighted the magnificent patterns that decorated the shark's skin. He flipped back a few pages to look at his sketch of the ocean he’d done two weeks ago. It made him a little sad but he couldn’t say why.

When he looked up he spotted a girl in front of him strolling alongside the whale shark. Her braid swung back and forth as she walked. Before he knew it she’d worked her way into his sketch.

“Miss Amanai!” a voice called.

A woman came racing towards her.

“What’s wrong Misato?” she asked.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in an incredulous tone. “ You don’t wander off by yourself. Your parents have been worried sick.”

The girl scoffed. “I’m not a child Misato, I’m fourteen.”

Misato gave the girl a look and she quickly sprinted back the way she came. Her caretaker chased after her, nearly knocking Satoru over in the process.

He and Ieiri walked towards Suguru and sat down beside him.

“Are you almost done? We were gonna hit the beach.”

He nodded. “Yeah let’s go.”

The beach was rejuvenating. Suguru sat in the sand and watched as Satoru tried to chase Ieiri with a sea cucumber. It backfired when a wave knocked him on his ass and the sea cucumber went flying back into the ocean.

While the three of them attempted to build a sandcastle a group of girls approached them. Satoru stood up almost expectantly.

“Can we help you beautiful ladies?” he smoothly asked.

Ieiri made a gagging noise and Suguru chuckled.

“Um,” one of the girls spoke up. “Actually I was wondering if your friend was single.”

Satoru looked over to Suguru with a flabbergasted expression, entirely unfamiliar with not being the center of attention when it came to these types of things.

“Yes,” Suguru answered.

The girl held out a piece of paper. “Here’s my email address. You can send me a message if you want or whatever.”

He smiled and took the paper.

“Thank you.”

“Are you a freaking idiot!” Satoru howled. “What do you mean you’re not going to email her?”

Suguru shrugged. “What’s the point? We’ll never see eachother again.”

“She even saw through that hideous shirt you’re wearing,” Ieiri joked.

“Maybe she’s into Magnum, P.I.,” he snorted.

Apparently girls liked old man hawaiian shirts.

Later that night the three of them shared a small bottle of scotch Satoru had swiped from his dad’s personal collection.

They sat on the beach and passed the bottle around, mindful not to drink too much. In the morning they’d have to drive back to the airport to meet their class.

“Well I think we can mark this trip as a success,” Satoru gloated.

“Yes Satoru, you and your genius brain put this entire plan in motion. Is that what you want to hear?” Ieiri teased.

“Well I had fun,” Suguru admitted.

“Ha! Two against one. You lose!”

“Shut up and pass the scotch dumbass,” Ieiri ordered.

“I’ll miss you guys,” Suguru murmured.

His friends stopped their lively banter and turned their attention to their friend.

“What do you mean? Are you going somewhere?” Satoru asked.

He sighed.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Suguru,” Ieiri prodded. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just…it’s just that sometimes I have a difficult time seeing my own future. Shit that sounds so fucking stupid. I guess…I’m just anxious about the future. Will there ever be a time I don’t feel like shit?”

“Everyone feels like shit sometimes. Especially if they're around bad people,” Satoru said with a knowing look.

They all knew who he was alluding to.

“Yeah,” Suguru cleared his throat. “I guess you’re right.”

“Suguru, you're a stupidly talented artist and you’re a good person,” Ieiri admitted.

“And you’ll never have to face the future alone. We’re best friends,” Satoru assured him.

“But you need to live your own life,” Ieiri reminded him. “Don’t run away from the unknown.”

He smiled and covered his face. “I don’t hate you guys.”

In the early hours of the morning, Suguru woke up shoulder to shoulder between Satoru and Ieiri on the hotel bed. The room was still dark and the only noise was his friend's shallow breathing.

Outside the ocean waves crawled onto the sand, creating a soothing lullaby when gently tapped down.

He took a deep and closed his eyes, imagining his future and discovering a light.

The End.

#suguru geto #geto suguru #satoru gojo #shoko ieiri #vintage 90s #jjk #jjk fic #hyperfixationsporfavor #prequel fic #riko amanai #yaga masamichi #misato kuroi #ao3 fanfic

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