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Ksenia, 31, Greek fan of marvel, Queen,  dc, got, hp, lotr, star trek,  star wars, fob and many more

[castielscaplan]

All of these challenges are ongoing, no deadlines. So feel free to join and post whatever you fancy! (just make sure you tag me & read the rules of all the challenges!!)

Updated August 23 2024 - added masterlist w/ entries of old challenges from an older blog I had that was since deleted.

CappysForeverChallenge (Masterlist of entries) (Started June 18 2020)

CappysDecadesChallenge (Masterlist of entries) (Started June 11, 2022)

CappysSummaryChallenge (Masterlist of Entries) (Started July 7, 2022)

ThreeWordsForCaplanChallenge (Masterlist of Entries) (Started February 24 2023)

Songs4Cappy (Masterlist) (Started September 14, 2023)

CaplansDisneyCelebration (Mssterlist) (Started March 24, 2024)

BrokenHearts4Caplan (Masterlist) (Started April 6 2023 2024)

Weekly Writing Mini Challenge #1

Weekly Writing Mini Challenge #2

Weekly Writing Mini Challenge #3

Weekly Writing Mini Challenge #4

WeeklyWritingChallenges Full Masterlist

Title For Caplan Challenge (Masterlist) (Started May 10 2024)

Writing Challenges From an Old Blog Masterlist

Taylor Swift Playlist Challenge

ClichesForCaplan Challenge (Masterlist) (Writing Cliches)

POC FUN Challenge (masterlist) (Only POC characters)

Emo Night Challenge (Masterlist) (Emo/punk rock/metal songs/band prompts)

Dark Nights Au Challenge (Masterlist) (Angst/horror/noncon/dark elements/creature fics)

LoveStory Challenge (Masterlist) (Fluff, love prompts)

OneSentenceToGo (Masterlist) (only one sentence for a prompt)

100WordsForCaplan (Masterlist) (a fictlet with exactly 100 words)

TableForOnePlease (Masterlist) (one charcter only)

500 or Less (Masterlist) (write 500 or less for a challenge)

[kjs-s]

Reblogging this to help me figure out which fics i haven't written yet.

[castielscaplan]

Tears Against Lawyers

Summary: you'd gone to the new lawyers in the city, never expecting much to come from it. [wc 416] [ao3]

Warnings: flirting, a smidge of angst

Request: Fluffy Foggy Nelson with a former client he helped out? -Zombie @thezombieprostitute

Foggy first met you on one of the worst days of your life. You’d come into Nelson & Murdock pale, furious, clutching a folder so tightly the edges bent in your hands. Landlord harassment, illegal lock changes, threats, missing property—the kind of mess designed to make someone too exhausted to fight back. You'd dealt with it for far too long.

Foggy had taken one look at your face and said, “Okay, first of all? Whoever made you cry is now my enemy.”

You hadn’t cried.

“Your eyes were shiny,” he defended.

“That was rage.”

“Honestly, hotter.”

Matt had coughed somewhere behind him. “Foggy.”

Foggy grinned, completely unashamed.

He handled your case with the kind of warmth people didn’t expect from lawyers in movies. He explained everything in plain English, never talked down to you, and somehow made court deadlines sound like mildly annoying brunch reservations.

When the case was finally settled in your favor a few weeks later, you’d shaken his hand across his desk.

“Thank you, Foggy.”

“Please,” he said, hand lingering just a second too long. “Call me if you ever need legal help again.”

You tilted your head. “What if I need help carrying groceries?”

His mouth opened. Closed.

Matt, from the other office: “She’s flirting with you, Fog.”

“I KNOW THAT NOW,” he yelled back.

Three months later, you were standing in your kitchen while Foggy wrestled with a jar of pasta sauce. “You told me this was a simple dinner,” he accused.

“It is simple. You open things, I’m pretty.”

“You weaponized my feelings.”

He finally got the lid off with a triumphant gasp, nearly throwing himself backward. You caught his arm, laughing. Foggy looked at your hand on him like it was something precious. That was the thing about him. Under all the jokes and noise and charming nonsense, he looked at you like you mattered. Like every small thing you did was worth noticing.

“You’re staring,” you said softly.

“I’m allowed,” he replied. “You’re in my top three favorite views.”

“There are other views?”

“Yeah. You, from the left side. You, from the right side. Then you holding bread.”

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the counter.

He moved closer, smile gentling. “Can I kiss my former client, or is that professionally unethical?”

“The case is closed.”

“Great,” he murmured, kissing you slow and sweet. “Because I’ve been wanting to appeal for months.”

You kissed him again before he could admire his own joke too much.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

EVERYTHING @nekoannie-chan @castielshugs @death-in-a-tar0t-card @wildcat116 @bluecreationshark @kjs-s

MCU @saiilorstars @nikkitabarnes @stellar-solar-flare @late-to-the-party-81

Steve Rogers @saiyanprincessswanie @mickimoo1409 @galactusdevourerofworlds @mellarkslovergirl @0ccvltism @thezombieprostitute @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @phoenix-rising-starbird-1-reads @luvrs-posts @prettybubblesintheair87 @divadinag @holylulusworld

[kjs-s]

I love this so much. He is one of my favorite characters and i alsolutely adore the interactions you wrote because it's so i beleive he woould react to being flitred with and how he made the whole process easy for the reader.

[castielscaplan]

Funny Accents and Soft Kisses

Request: @highchan I see your requests are open, sorry for bothering you bc you might be busy... I has a request Arthur Ketch x reader enemies to lovers story. Where the reader is associated with the Winchesters, a fellow hunter to the Winchester brothers and obviously Ketch hates the readers guts. Hates it when the reader is always sassy and does British accent to Ketch to piss him off, mostly because Ketch is completely adorable when they get all riled up when they get all riled up. I let you decide how Ketch and reader get to the lovers 😘💞

Summary: you've always mocked Arthur to get on his nerves. He always acted annoyed. But then… [wc 850] [ao3]

Arthur Ketch hated many things with admirable consistency. He hated cheap whiskey, blunt weapons, slow drivers, unpolished shoes, and American motels with floral bedspreads that looked like they’d survived three wars. Lately, however, one thing had climbed steadily to the top of the list. You.

“You’ve got that twitch again,” you said from the passenger seat of the stolen sedan.

Ketch kept his eyes on the road. “What twitch?”

“The one near your eye. Means you’re thinking murderous thoughts.”

“I’m driving with you in my vehicle. Murderous thoughts are natural.”

“It’s not your vehicle. Dean stole it.”

“Borrowed,” Dean called from the backseat.

“Grand theft auto with confidence is still theft,” Sam muttered beside him.

You turned in your seat, lowering your voice into an atrocious imitation of a posh accent. “Arthur, darling, perhaps unclench. You’ll wrinkle prematurely.”

Dean barked a laugh.

Ketch’s jaw flexed. “That accent is offensive on multiple levels.”

“Cor blimey,” you said solemnly. “The poor bloke’s upset.”

“I’m going to leave you on the roadside.”

“You’d miss me.”

“I assure you, I would not.”

You grinned and kicked your boots up on the dash.

He hated that grin most of all. Because it made him want to smile back.

The case was in rural Ohio: a string of disappearances, livestock drained of blood, locals whispering vampire.

It wasn’t vampires. It was worse. A nest of ghouls had moved into an abandoned cannery outside town, and by nightfall everyone was bruised, irritated, and covered in something foul.

Dean and Sam went around back. You and Ketch were sent through the front.

“Try not to stab me by accident,” you whispered as you moved through the dark corridor.

“I’d never do it by accident.”

“Aw. You do care.”

“Quiet.”

You flashed your light over rusted hooks and broken machinery. “You know, for a trained assassin, you’re very grumpy.”

“For a hunter, you’re shockingly unserious.”

“Humor keeps me young.”

“Your impulse control keeps me aged.”

You snickered, then something moved above you. Ketch shoved you hard. A ghoul dropped from the rafters where you’d been standing, claws slicing through empty air. You hit the floor hard, breath knocked out of you. Ketch had his blade out before you’d blinked. Efficient. Brutal. Three clean strikes and the creature collapsed twitching.

You stared.

He offered you a hand up like nothing had happened. “Well?” he said.

“You pushed me.”

“To save your life.”

“You do care.”

His ears went pink. “No,” he snapped. “I care about mission success.”

“Mhm.”

He turned away so quickly he nearly tripped over the corpse.

Later, in the motel room, you found him in the bathroom cleaning blood from a cut on his cheek. The fluorescent light was cruel. He still looked unfairly handsome.

“You’re bleeding,” you said.

“I’m aware.”

“Sit.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sit down before I manhandle you.”

He looked scandalized. “You couldn’t.”

You raised a brow. He sat. You wet a towel and stepped between his knees. He went very still as you tilted his chin toward the light.

“This from the ghoul?” you asked softly.

“Yes.”

“You should’ve let me handle it.”

“You didn’t see it.”

“I usually see everything.”

“Clearly not.”

You dabbed the cut harder than necessary.

He hissed. “Vindictive.”

“You love it.”

“I assure you, I do not love anything about you.”

“Liar.”

His gaze lifted to yours. For once, there was no sharp remark waiting there. No smirk. No polished disdain. Just something quieter. More dangerous.

Your hand slowed.

The room seemed suddenly smaller.

“You infuriate me,” he said, voice low.

“I know.”

“You’re reckless.”

“I know.”

“You mock me constantly.”

“You make it easy.”

“And yet,” he murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth, “I look for you whenever you leave a room.”

Your breath caught. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is.”

You should have stepped back. Instead, you leaned in slightly. “You’re not nearly as charming when you’re honest.”

“And you’re not nearly as insufferable when you stop speaking.”

“Rude.”

Then he kissed you. No warning. No hesitation. One hand braced on your hip, the other cupping the back of your neck as if he’d been restraining himself for months and finally decided restraint was overrated. You made a startled noise against his mouth. Then kissed him back harder.

The towel dropped to the floor.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathing unevenly, he looked almost annoyed by it. “Well,” he said stiffly.

You laughed. “Did you just well me after that?”

“I’m regrouping.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are. It’s adorable.”

“Don’t say adorable.”

“Sorry.” You kissed him again, quick and wicked. “Devastatingly adorable.”

He groaned and hauled you back in by the waist.

—

The next morning, Dean walked into the motel room and froze. You were wearing Ketch’s shirt. Ketch was making tea.

Sam slowly backed out into the hallway.

Dean pointed between the two of you. “No.”

“Yes,” you said cheerfully.

“No.”

Ketch sipped from his mug. “Terribly sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“Not remotely.”

Dean looked personally betrayed. “I leave for eight hours.”

You grinned. “Cor blimey, mate.”

[caplanbuckybarnes]

EVERYTHING @nekoannie-chan @castielshugs @death-in-a-tar0t-card @wildcat116 @bluecreationshark @kjs-s

SPN @galactusdevourerofworlds @multiversefanfics @thoughtfullyfurryangel @fandomloverangel @nikkitabarnes @sourgummieworm @0ccvltism

Arthur Ketch @samanddeansannoyingsis @0ccvltism @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @divadinag @phoenix-rising-starbird-1-reads

[kjs-s]

That was so cute. I love that he reascued the reader and the hate part in the beginning was more like him being annoyed the reader was having fun

[castielscaplan]

We love grumpy men in this house 🤣

[kjs-s]

and the grumpy protective is always a good combination, but the grumpy that find others annoying enough to eye roll mot the yelling kind.

[castielscaplan]

The Pop-Tart King

Summary: thor discovers the joy of Pop-Tarts. [wc 448] [ao3]

Warnings: OG Avengers Tower, Thor's Pop Tart Obsession, Fluff

Thor had faced frost giants, dark elves, and the vacuum of space itself. None of it prepared him for a Pop-Tart.

You hadn’t meant for it to become a whole event. You were just half-awake in the Avengers kitchen, hair a mess, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, when Thor wandered in at six in the morning looking entirely too majestic for that hour.

“Good morrow,” he boomed.

“It is not a good morrow,” you muttered, shoving two strawberry Pop-Tarts into the toaster.

His blue eyes narrowed. “What manner of Midgardian ritual is this?”

“Breakfast.”

“That?” He pointed as if insulted on behalf of all cuisine.

You pulled the pastries out, slid one onto a plate, and handed it over. “Try it before you judge.”

Thor took it delicately between two fingers like it might explode. He examined the frosting. The rainbow sprinkles. The suspiciously artificial scent of strawberries.

“This food is… flat.”

“Just eat it.”

He took one bite. Then another. Then a third so large half the pastry vanished.

The silence that followed was terrifying.

“Well?” you asked.

Thor slowly lowered the Pop-Tart and stared at it like it had revealed the secrets of the cosmos. “This,” he said hoarsely, “is glorious.”

You snorted. “It’s processed sugar.”

“It is art.” He devoured the rest in two bites, crumbs scattering into his beard. “Another.”

You laughed. “Absolutely not. You need water first.”

“Another,” he repeated, louder.

By the time Tony walked in twenty minutes later, Thor had discovered brown sugar cinnamon, wild berry, and cookies & cream. There were wrappers everywhere. Thor stood on a chair, one foot planted dramatically on the counter, holding a foil packet aloft.

“STARK!” he thundered.

Tony blinked. “Why is there frosting on your hammer?”

“Because your realm has hidden treasures from me!”

Tony glanced at you. “What did you do?”

You grinned sheepishly at him. “I created a monster.”

Thor jumped down, grabbing Tony by the shoulders with alarming enthusiasm. “Bring forth more of the pastries!”

“They’re Pop-Tarts, Point Break.”

“POP-TARTS!” Thor roared to the heavens. “I SHALL HAVE THEM STOCKED IN EVERY CHAMBER!”

Bruce entered next, froze at the chaos, and quietly backed out. Too late.

“Banner!” Thor shouted. “Come partake of the strawberry rectangles!”

Natasha walked in, surveyed the wrappers, and deadpanned, “He found junk food.”

“Worse,” you said. “He likes it.”

Thor turned to you with crumbs on his mouth and genuine wonder in his eyes. “You knew of these delights… and did not tell me sooner?”

You shrugged. “You never asked.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “The betrayal cuts deep.” Then he grabbed another pack, ripped it open with his teeth, and grinned. “Yet I forgive you.”

[kjs-s]

that was so funny, i haven't tried them so i will think of other equivalents from my country but it's still hilarious

[castielscaplan]

These flavor are probably my fave tbh

[kjs-s]

I will remember it if i ever find any in my country

[castielscaplan]

The Pop-Tart King

Summary: thor discovers the joy of Pop-Tarts. [wc 448] [ao3]

Warnings: OG Avengers Tower, Thor's Pop Tart Obsession, Fluff

Thor had faced frost giants, dark elves, and the vacuum of space itself. None of it prepared him for a Pop-Tart.

You hadn’t meant for it to become a whole event. You were just half-awake in the Avengers kitchen, hair a mess, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, when Thor wandered in at six in the morning looking entirely too majestic for that hour.

“Good morrow,” he boomed.

“It is not a good morrow,” you muttered, shoving two strawberry Pop-Tarts into the toaster.

His blue eyes narrowed. “What manner of Midgardian ritual is this?”

“Breakfast.”

“That?” He pointed as if insulted on behalf of all cuisine.

You pulled the pastries out, slid one onto a plate, and handed it over. “Try it before you judge.”

Thor took it delicately between two fingers like it might explode. He examined the frosting. The rainbow sprinkles. The suspiciously artificial scent of strawberries.

“This food is… flat.”

“Just eat it.”

He took one bite. Then another. Then a third so large half the pastry vanished.

The silence that followed was terrifying.

“Well?” you asked.

Thor slowly lowered the Pop-Tart and stared at it like it had revealed the secrets of the cosmos. “This,” he said hoarsely, “is glorious.”

You snorted. “It’s processed sugar.”

“It is art.” He devoured the rest in two bites, crumbs scattering into his beard. “Another.”

You laughed. “Absolutely not. You need water first.”

“Another,” he repeated, louder.

By the time Tony walked in twenty minutes later, Thor had discovered brown sugar cinnamon, wild berry, and cookies & cream. There were wrappers everywhere. Thor stood on a chair, one foot planted dramatically on the counter, holding a foil packet aloft.

“STARK!” he thundered.

Tony blinked. “Why is there frosting on your hammer?”

“Because your realm has hidden treasures from me!”

Tony glanced at you. “What did you do?”

You grinned sheepishly at him. “I created a monster.”

Thor jumped down, grabbing Tony by the shoulders with alarming enthusiasm. “Bring forth more of the pastries!”

“They’re Pop-Tarts, Point Break.”

“POP-TARTS!” Thor roared to the heavens. “I SHALL HAVE THEM STOCKED IN EVERY CHAMBER!”

Bruce entered next, froze at the chaos, and quietly backed out. Too late.

“Banner!” Thor shouted. “Come partake of the strawberry rectangles!”

Natasha walked in, surveyed the wrappers, and deadpanned, “He found junk food.”

“Worse,” you said. “He likes it.”

Thor turned to you with crumbs on his mouth and genuine wonder in his eyes. “You knew of these delights… and did not tell me sooner?”

You shrugged. “You never asked.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “The betrayal cuts deep.” Then he grabbed another pack, ripped it open with his teeth, and grinned. “Yet I forgive you.”

[kjs-s]

that was so funny, i haven't tried them so i will think of other equivalents from my country but it's still hilarious

[castielscaplan]

Funny Accents and Soft Kisses

Request: @highchan I see your requests are open, sorry for bothering you bc you might be busy... I has a request Arthur Ketch x reader enemies to lovers story. Where the reader is associated with the Winchesters, a fellow hunter to the Winchester brothers and obviously Ketch hates the readers guts. Hates it when the reader is always sassy and does British accent to Ketch to piss him off, mostly because Ketch is completely adorable when they get all riled up when they get all riled up. I let you decide how Ketch and reader get to the lovers 😘💞

Summary: you've always mocked Arthur to get on his nerves. He always acted annoyed. But then… [wc 850] [ao3]

Arthur Ketch hated many things with admirable consistency. He hated cheap whiskey, blunt weapons, slow drivers, unpolished shoes, and American motels with floral bedspreads that looked like they’d survived three wars. Lately, however, one thing had climbed steadily to the top of the list. You.

“You’ve got that twitch again,” you said from the passenger seat of the stolen sedan.

Ketch kept his eyes on the road. “What twitch?”

“The one near your eye. Means you’re thinking murderous thoughts.”

“I’m driving with you in my vehicle. Murderous thoughts are natural.”

“It’s not your vehicle. Dean stole it.”

“Borrowed,” Dean called from the backseat.

“Grand theft auto with confidence is still theft,” Sam muttered beside him.

You turned in your seat, lowering your voice into an atrocious imitation of a posh accent. “Arthur, darling, perhaps unclench. You’ll wrinkle prematurely.”

Dean barked a laugh.

Ketch’s jaw flexed. “That accent is offensive on multiple levels.”

“Cor blimey,” you said solemnly. “The poor bloke’s upset.”

“I’m going to leave you on the roadside.”

“You’d miss me.”

“I assure you, I would not.”

You grinned and kicked your boots up on the dash.

He hated that grin most of all. Because it made him want to smile back.

The case was in rural Ohio: a string of disappearances, livestock drained of blood, locals whispering vampire.

It wasn’t vampires. It was worse. A nest of ghouls had moved into an abandoned cannery outside town, and by nightfall everyone was bruised, irritated, and covered in something foul.

Dean and Sam went around back. You and Ketch were sent through the front.

“Try not to stab me by accident,” you whispered as you moved through the dark corridor.

“I’d never do it by accident.”

“Aw. You do care.”

“Quiet.”

You flashed your light over rusted hooks and broken machinery. “You know, for a trained assassin, you’re very grumpy.”

“For a hunter, you’re shockingly unserious.”

“Humor keeps me young.”

“Your impulse control keeps me aged.”

You snickered, then something moved above you. Ketch shoved you hard. A ghoul dropped from the rafters where you’d been standing, claws slicing through empty air. You hit the floor hard, breath knocked out of you. Ketch had his blade out before you’d blinked. Efficient. Brutal. Three clean strikes and the creature collapsed twitching.

You stared.

He offered you a hand up like nothing had happened. “Well?” he said.

“You pushed me.”

“To save your life.”

“You do care.”

His ears went pink. “No,” he snapped. “I care about mission success.”

“Mhm.”

He turned away so quickly he nearly tripped over the corpse.

Later, in the motel room, you found him in the bathroom cleaning blood from a cut on his cheek. The fluorescent light was cruel. He still looked unfairly handsome.

“You’re bleeding,” you said.

“I’m aware.”

“Sit.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sit down before I manhandle you.”

He looked scandalized. “You couldn’t.”

You raised a brow. He sat. You wet a towel and stepped between his knees. He went very still as you tilted his chin toward the light.

“This from the ghoul?” you asked softly.

“Yes.”

“You should’ve let me handle it.”

“You didn’t see it.”

“I usually see everything.”

“Clearly not.”

You dabbed the cut harder than necessary.

He hissed. “Vindictive.”

“You love it.”

“I assure you, I do not love anything about you.”

“Liar.”

His gaze lifted to yours. For once, there was no sharp remark waiting there. No smirk. No polished disdain. Just something quieter. More dangerous.

Your hand slowed.

The room seemed suddenly smaller.

“You infuriate me,” he said, voice low.

“I know.”

“You’re reckless.”

“I know.”

“You mock me constantly.”

“You make it easy.”

“And yet,” he murmured, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth, “I look for you whenever you leave a room.”

Your breath caught. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is.”

You should have stepped back. Instead, you leaned in slightly. “You’re not nearly as charming when you’re honest.”

“And you’re not nearly as insufferable when you stop speaking.”

“Rude.”

Then he kissed you. No warning. No hesitation. One hand braced on your hip, the other cupping the back of your neck as if he’d been restraining himself for months and finally decided restraint was overrated. You made a startled noise against his mouth. Then kissed him back harder.

The towel dropped to the floor.

When you finally pulled apart, both breathing unevenly, he looked almost annoyed by it. “Well,” he said stiffly.

You laughed. “Did you just well me after that?”

“I’m regrouping.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are. It’s adorable.”

“Don’t say adorable.”

“Sorry.” You kissed him again, quick and wicked. “Devastatingly adorable.”

He groaned and hauled you back in by the waist.

—

The next morning, Dean walked into the motel room and froze. You were wearing Ketch’s shirt. Ketch was making tea.

Sam slowly backed out into the hallway.

Dean pointed between the two of you. “No.”

“Yes,” you said cheerfully.

“No.”

Ketch sipped from his mug. “Terribly sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all.”

“Not remotely.”

Dean looked personally betrayed. “I leave for eight hours.”

You grinned. “Cor blimey, mate.”

[caplanbuckybarnes]

EVERYTHING @nekoannie-chan @castielshugs @death-in-a-tar0t-card @wildcat116 @bluecreationshark @kjs-s

SPN @galactusdevourerofworlds @multiversefanfics @thoughtfullyfurryangel @fandomloverangel @nikkitabarnes @sourgummieworm @0ccvltism

Arthur Ketch @samanddeansannoyingsis @0ccvltism @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @divadinag @phoenix-rising-starbird-1-reads

[kjs-s]

That was so cute. I love that he reascued the reader and the hate part in the beginning was more like him being annoyed the reader was having fun

[castielscaplan]

Late Confessions

Anonymous asked: Maybe fluff with a hint of angst? The reader and Steve could be childhood best friends and he’s had a crush on her for ages and Natasha finally manages to convince Steve to tell the reader how he feels and the reader freezes up when he tells her and he thinks it’s because she doesn’t feel the same way? or something along those lines?

Summary: Steve finally gathers the courage to confess his feelings. [wc 877] [ao3]

Warnings: love confessions, fluff

Steve Rogers had faced alien invasions, HYDRA ambushes, collapsing helicarriers, and Tony Stark on three hours of sleep. None of it compared to standing outside your apartment door with a bouquet of grocery store flowers slowly wilting in his hand.

“You’re pacing grooves into the floor,” Natasha said through his earpiece.

Steve muttered under his breath, “I’m not wearing the comm anymore.”

“You said that ten minutes ago and still haven’t taken it out.”

“I might need tactical support.”

Natasha’s laugh crackled in his ear. “For confessing feelings to your best friend of twenty years?”

“Seventeen,” Steve corrected automatically.

“Cute that you know the exact number.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “This was a mistake.”

“It was a mistake when you let yourself pine for nearly two decades,” Natasha said. “Knock on the damn door, Rogers.”

He stared at the wood like it had personally insulted him. Then he knocked.

A few seconds later, the door swung open. You stood there in socks and one of those oversized sweaters you always stole from thrift stores, hair messy, face bare, and somehow you looked exactly the same as the girl who used to split her lunch with him in Brooklyn and nothing like her at all.

“Steve?” you blinked. “Why do you look like you’re about to deliver bad news? What's with the flowers?”

He glanced at the flowers. “That obvious?”

“Very.” You stepped aside. “Come in.” Your apartment smelled like cinnamon candles and coffee. There were books stacked on every surface and a blanket tossed over the couch. Homey. Warm. You.

Steve stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room while you eyed him.

“You’re sweating,” you said.

“I don’t sweat much.”

“You are now.”

Natasha snorted in his ear.

Steve yanked the comm out and shoved it in his pocket.

You frowned. “Were you talking to yourself?”

“No.”

“Interesting answer.”

He handed you the flowers like a shield. “These are for you.”

Your expression softened immediately. “Steve…”

“I know they’re not great flowers. The guy at the store said they were cheerful.”

“They are cheerful.” You smiled, and it hit him straight in the chest. “Thank you.”

You set them down carefully and turned back to him. “So,” you said slowly. “What’s going on?”

This was it. He had rehearsed speeches. Thoughtful speeches. Charming speeches. A few dignified speeches. Instead, what came out was, “I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Your face went blank. Then your eyes widened. Then you froze completely.

Steve felt every bit of confidence leave his body in one violent rush. “Oh,” he said quietly.

You still didn’t move.

He took a step back. “Right. Okay. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you.” Still nothing. His chest ached. “I just thought… Nat said I should stop waiting for the perfect time and I guess she was right, but maybe this was the wrong time and—”

“Steve—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He was already backing toward the door now, panic making him ramble. “Really. Forget I said it. We’re fine. We’re still us.”

“Steve.”

“You don’t feel the same, and that’s okay, I just—”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” That stopped him dead. You were staring at him now like you wanted to shake him. “I froze because I’ve imagined you saying that to me since I was sixteen,” you said.

He blinked. “What?”

You crossed your arms, cheeks pink. “I froze because I thought I was hallucinating. Or having some kind of stress-induced episode.”

Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. “You…” He swallowed. “You imagined me saying it?”

“For years,” you said. “Which is humiliating now, so thanks for that.”

“I thought you didn’t—”

“I thought you didn’t.”

“I’ve been in love with you since you punched Tommy Garrison for calling me shrimp.”

You gasped. “I was nine!”

“It was very romantic.”

“I chipped a tooth.”

“You were magnificent.”

You made a strangled laugh and covered your face with your hands.

Steve was still staring at you like the world had tilted. “So…” he said carefully. “You feel the same?”

You peeked through your fingers. “Unfortunately, yes.”

He crossed the room in three strides. “Unfortunately?”

“Well, now I have to deal with the fact that my best friend is Captain America and annoyingly handsome.”

He smiled so hard it almost hurt. “Sounds difficult.”

“It’s a burden.”

Then his expression softened. “Can I kiss you?”

You dropped your hands. “Took you long enough.”

The kiss was warm and careful at first—years of friendship handled like something precious. Then you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He made a surprised sound against your mouth. When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, you pressed your forehead to his.

“You know,” you murmured, “Natasha absolutely knows about this already, doesn’t she?”

Steve sighed. “Probably.”

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. You picked it up and snorted. “What?”

You turned the screen toward him.

Natasha: Finally. He owes me twenty bucks.

Steve groaned. You laughed, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the couch. “Come on, Rogers.”

“What now?”

“Now,” you said, curling into his side like you’d always belonged there, “you tell me why it took you seventeen years.”

[caplanbuckybarnes]

EVERYTHING @nekoannie-chan @castielshugs @death-in-a-tar0t-card @wildcat116 @bluecreationshark @kjs-s

MCU @saiilorstars @nikkitabarnes @stellar-solar-flare @late-to-the-party-81

Steve Rogers @saiyanprincessswanie @mickimoo1409 @galactusdevourerofworlds @mellarkslovergirl @0ccvltism @thezombieprostitute @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @phoenix-rising-starbird-1-reads @luvrs-posts @prettybubblesintheair87 @divadinag @holylulusworld

[kjs-s]

I don;t know what my favorite part of this one is. The way he has worried when the reader didn't respond to his confession, the way she thought he was talking to himself or the it;s a burden about being in a relationship with a superhero. Loved Nat in this because you always make her so supportive and give her funny lines, loved that they had a bet going on. Also i doujnd the ehole converation about him falling in love after she punched someone and chipped a tooth hilarious.

[castielscaplan]

Not Meant To See This

Request: Anonymous asked: Hey !! I just had a request for a Steve Rogers x reader fic Steve and the rest of the team noticed a change in the reader over the last few months, and Steve decides to go and talk to the reader in their room. Instead of finding the reader inside, he finds six suicide letters addressed to the team. Confused, he reads all of them. When the reader returns to the tower, Steve confronts them, hurt and angry. The reader gets defensive and furious first but eventually talks to Steve properly and cries in his arms. Thank you !!

Summary: The team begins to worry when they notice you get more quiet. [wc 1.4K] [ao3]

Warnings: suicidal reader, hurt/comfort,angst

Steve noticed the change long before anyone said it aloud. At first, it was small enough to excuse. You stopped joining them for breakfast. Then you started claiming headaches whenever movie nights were planned. You’d smile faintly in apology, say maybe next time, then disappear down the hall before anyone could protest. Training sessions became rare. You missed one, then two, then nearly all of them. When you did show up, you moved like your body was there and the rest of you was somewhere far away.

Steve told himself everyone went through rough patches. He told himself not to crowd you. He told himself you’d come to someone when you were ready.

Then one night he passed the common room and saw Sam, Natasha, and Bruce sitting in unusual silence. No banter. No TV noise. Just concern.

“She barely touched dinner,” Bruce murmured.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “She flinched when I asked if she was okay.”

Sam sighed. “I tried joking with her. Nothing.”

Steve stood in the doorway, unease settling deep in his chest.

Natasha looked at him. “You’ve noticed too.”

It wasn’t a question.

Steve nodded once.

“She’s withdrawing,” Bruce said carefully. “That kind of isolation can get dangerous.”

Steve hated how fast the word dangerous made his mind race.

The next morning, you were gone before sunrise. Friday informed him you’d left for a supply run downtown. He stood in the kitchen for several minutes, coffee untouched in his hand, staring at nothing. Then he set the mug down and walked to your room.

He knocked first. Once. Twice. No answer. “Y/N?” he called. Silence. He should have turned around. He knew that. But something in his gut—something old and sharp and soldier-instinctive—kept him rooted there.

“Friday, unlock the door.”

“Access granted, Captain Rogers.”

The room beyond was neat in the deliberate way messy people cleaned when they were trying to feel in control. Your bed was made too tightly. Books stacked in perfect lines. Laundry folded. Desk cleared except for six envelopes laid carefully side by side.

Steve’s pulse stuttered.

Each envelope had a name written in your handwriting. Tony. Natasha. Bruce. Clint. Thor. Steve. He crossed the room in three strides and stopped short at the desk, suddenly afraid to touch anything.

“No,” he whispered to the empty room. His own name stared back at him. With fingers that felt clumsy and numb, he opened the envelope. Inside was a folded letter.He recognized the tremor in the pen strokes immediately.

Steve,

If you’re reading this, then I couldn’t figure out how to stay.

His vision blurred. He sat heavily in your desk chair and kept reading.

You wrote about exhaustion so deep sleep no longer touched it. About smiling because people worried less when you smiled. About standing in rooms full of heroes and feeling invisible anyway. About shame. About loneliness. About not wanting to be another burden added to shoulders already carrying the world.

You apologized for things no one had ever asked you to apologize for. You thanked him for kindnesses he barely remembered doing. You said he made people feel safe.

And then, at the bottom:

I just didn’t know how to save myself.

Steve pressed a hand over his mouth. He reached for Natasha’s next. Then Sam’s wasn’t there—no, Sam wasn’t one of the six. Tony’s. Bruce’s. Each one different. Each one carrying the same ache.

By the time he finished, his breathing was uneven and anger had begun to mix with the fear. Anger at himself. At the team. At you. At the fact that you had been suffering close enough to touch and none of them had broken through.

He was still standing there, letters clenched in his fist, when the bedroom door opened. You stepped inside carrying two grocery bags. You froze. Your eyes moved from Steve—to the open envelopes—to the letters in his hand.

The bags slipped from your fingers. A jar shattered on the floor. For one long second, the room was silent except for rolling glass.

Then your face hardened. “You went through my things?”

Steve took one step forward. “What the hell are these?”

“My room,” you snapped. “My desk. My business.”

“Your business?” His voice rose despite himself. “You write goodbye letters to everyone you care about and call it your business?”

“Give them back.”

“No.”

Your jaw clenched. “I said give them back.”

“And I said no.”

You stormed forward, trying to snatch them from his hand. Steve lifted them out of reach on instinct. The movement humiliated you. Your eyes flashed with fury. “Of course,” you said bitterly. “Captain America decides what’s best for everyone.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” you shouted. “Concern? Guilt? Some noble rescue mission because you finally noticed I exist?”

The words struck hard.

Steve’s expression changed. Hurt, immediate and raw. “You think I only just noticed?”

“Yes!” you yelled back. “Because nobody noticed until now!” Your voice cracked on the last word.

The anger in the room turned suddenly thin and brittle. You were trembling.

Steve lowered his arm slowly. “I noticed,” he said quietly. “I noticed you stopped laughing. I noticed you stopped eating with us. I noticed you looked tired all the time. I noticed you kept saying you were fine when you weren’t.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?”

Because he hadn’t known how to help without pushing. Because he’d been afraid of making it worse. Because sometimes even good people wait too long. His silence answered for him.

You laughed once—a broken, ugly sound. “Exactly.”

You turned away, scrubbing at your eyes with the heel of your palm. “I’m tired, Steve.”

The fight drained out of him at once. He set the letters down on the desk and crossed the room slowly. “Tired of what?” he asked gently.

“Everything.” Your shoulders shook. “Waking up tired. Pretending I’m okay. Feeling guilty for not being okay. Watching all of you save strangers while I can’t even manage myself.”

“You are not failing because you’re hurting.”

“It feels like failure.”

“It isn’t.”

You spun back toward him, tears spilling now despite your obvious hatred of them. “I didn’t want to be one more thing wrong in this tower!”

The confession echoed between you.

Steve’s face crumpled. He reached for you carefully, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. The second his hands touched your arms, you broke. All the rage, all the pride, all the frantic defensiveness collapsed at once. You folded into him with a choking sob, clutching the front of his shirt like it was the only solid thing left.

Steve caught you instantly. One arm wrapped around your back. The other cradled the back of your head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, though his own voice shook. “You don’t have to hold it together right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He held you tighter. “No apologizing for pain.”

You wept hard enough your knees gave out. He guided you both down to the floor amid spilled groceries and broken glass, sitting with you curled against him.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. He stayed quiet except for the occasional soft reassurance, hand moving slowly over your hair and back.

When your crying finally eased into shaky breaths, Steve tilted his head down. “Look at me.”

You did, reluctantly. Eyes swollen. Face wet. Exhausted beyond words.

“We’re going to get help,” he said, steady and certain. “Today. Not tomorrow. Not eventually. Today.”

You swallowed. “What if I’m too much?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Then we carry it together.”

Fresh tears welled in your eyes.

“I’m angry with you,” he admitted softly. “Because this scared me. Because I hate that you were alone with this.”

“I know.”

“I’m angrier at myself.”

You shook your head weakly. “You don’t get all the blame.”

A small, sad smile touched his mouth. “Fair enough.” He stood, then offered you his hand.

When you took it, he pulled you gently to your feet. “Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“Kitchen first. You still need groceries.” He glanced at the broken jar and sighed. “Then we talk to the team. Then we make a plan.”

You hesitated. “You’re staying?”

Steve squeezed your hand once. “As long as it takes.”

And for the first time in months, when he led you out of that room, you let someone help carry the weight.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Steve Rogers @saiyanprincessswanie @mickimoo1409 @galactusdevourerofworlds @mellarkslovergirl @0ccvltism @thezombieprostitute @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @phoenix-rising-starbird-1-reads @luvrs-posts @prettybubblesintheair87 @divadinag @holylulusworld

MCU @saiilorstars @nikkitabarnes @stellar-solar-flare @late-to-the-party-81

EVERYTHING @nekoannie-chan @castielshugs @death-in-a-tar0t-card @wildcat116 @bluecreationshark @kjs-s

[kjs-s]

That was heartbreaking because i i can tell the reader wanted someone to notice at first but when it didn;t happen all they could think was that the others didn't care. I love that Steve was sad to realise that waiting for the reader to reach out for help was the thing that made them believe that and that they will try to get back to sow htings were together.

[dickymoser]

Matt Murdock "Playing" Blind vs. Being Blind

[castielscaplan]

Baby Bottoms

Summary: Lance is just amazed at your belly and the fact you're growing an entire human inside of you. [wc 758] [ao3]

warnings: pregnant fem reader, fluff

The room is quiet in that soft, late-night way—where everything feels a little more fragile, a little more real. Lance is unusually still. Which, honestly, should’ve tipped you off immediately that something was up.

“You’re staring again,” you mumble, eyes still closed, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m not,” Lance lies immediately.

You crack one eye open. He’s propped up on his elbow beside you, hair a mess, face softer than you’ve maybe ever seen it. And yeah—he’s absolutely staring. Not at your face, though.

Lower.

Your hand drifts down instinctively, resting over the gentle curve of your stomach beneath the blanket.

“…okay, maybe I am,” he admits, quieter this time.

You huff out a tired laugh. “You’ve been doing that all night.”

“I can’t help it.” His hand slides over yours, big and warm, fingers spreading carefully like he’s afraid of doing it wrong. Like this is something sacred. Like you are.

You tilt your head toward him, studying him now. “You’ve touched my stomach approximately a thousand times today.”

“Low estimate,” he says.

“Lance.”

“What?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” he insists, then pauses. “…Okay, I’m being a little weird.”

You smile, softer now. “A little?”

His thumb traces slow circles over your belly, almost absentminded—but there’s nothing absent about the way his eyes stay locked there, full of something you can’t quite name. Wonder, maybe. Or fear. Or both.

“There’s a baby in there,” he says suddenly, like the thought just hit him all over again.

You snort. “That’s how anatomy works, Lance.”

“Yeah, but…” His voice dips, quieter, almost reverent. His hand presses just a little more firmly, like he’s trying to feel something deeper than skin. “It’s my baby in there.”

That does something to you.

You feel it low in your chest, warm and heavy all at once.

“Yeah,” you say, softer now. “It is.”

He looks up at you then, really looks—eyes a little wide, a little overwhelmed. “That’s insane.”

“You helped,” you tease.

“I know I helped,” he says quickly, then flushes, dragging a hand over his face. “That’s not what I meant—God, I’m bad at this.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m not, I—” He exhales hard, then drops back onto the pillow beside you, staring at the ceiling for a second like he’s trying to collect himself.

You turn onto your side to face him, your hand finding his again and guiding it back to your stomach.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. His palm settles there like it belongs.

“…Are you scared?” you ask quietly.

There’s a pause.

“Yeah,” he admits.

You nod, even though he’s not looking at you. “Me too.”

Another pause.

Then he turns his head, eyes softer now, something steadier in them. “But also… not?”

“Not?”

“I don’t know,” he says, huffing a quiet laugh. “It’s like—yeah, this is terrifying. But it’s you. And it’s me. And… we made something.”

Your chest tightens at that.

“Something good,” he adds quickly, like it matters that you know that.

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah. Something good.”

His thumb starts tracing those slow circles again, more deliberate now. “Do you think they’ll have your attitude?” he asks.

“Excuse you?”

“I’m just saying—if we get a tiny version of you with zero patience—”

“Oh, like you’re not dramatic?” you cut in.

“I am not—”

You raise an eyebrow.

He falters. “…Okay, maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” he concedes, grinning now.

You laugh, the sound soft in the dark, and he watches you like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

“…I hope they laugh like you,” he says suddenly.

The playfulness slips from your face, replaced by something gentler. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “I like that sound.”

Your throat tightens. You shift closer, pressing into his side, and his arm comes around you automatically—careful, always careful now.

His hand doesn’t leave your stomach. It never really does anymore. “Hey,” he murmurs after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“…We’ve got this, right?”

You tilt your head up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Yeah, Lance. We’ve got this.”

He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath for a while. “…There’s really a baby in there,” he whispers again, almost to himself.

You laugh under your breath, tucking your face into his shoulder. “Yeah,” you say. “There really is.”

And this time, when his hand moves, it’s not tentative. It’s certain. Like he’s already learning how to hold something precious—and not let go.

[kjs-s]

that's so sweet, all his movement and being afraid to do something wrong is so cute. I loved how they are both a little scared but ready for what will happen and I am suture when the baby comes they will be even mor3 worried but also prepare like crazy

[castielscaplan]

Isn't That Mine?

Summary: bucky comes home to seeing you in one of his oversized shirts [wc 666] [ao3]

The apartment door clicks shut a little louder than usual.

Heavy footsteps. Boots, not bothering to be quiet. The kind of entrance that says he’s tired, wired, and probably had a long day trying not to break something—or someone.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky calls out, voice rough, low.

You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, halfway through making something you’ve already forgotten about. “Yeah, I’m here—”

You turn. And that’s it. That’s the moment everything shifts. Because he sees you. Sees you in his clothes.

Not just anything—that red henley. Worn soft with age, stretched just enough to fit him perfectly… and now hanging looser on you, sleeves pushed up, the neckline dipping just slightly off one shoulder.

For a second, he just… stops. Actually stops. Like someone hit pause.

“…Hi,” you say slowly, immediately aware of the way his eyes drag over you—top to bottom, then back up again, slower this time.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just drops his keys onto the table without looking, the metallic clink loud in the quiet.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, voice quieter now. Focused.

You glance down at yourself, like you’ve forgotten. “Uh—your drawer? The one you said I could take from?”

He exhales through his nose, something sharp and almost amused slipping through. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Didn’t think you’d take that one.”

You shrug, suddenly feeling very aware of the fabric against your skin. “It was comfortable.”

He steps closer. Slow. Measured. The kind of movement that makes your pulse pick up before he even touches you. “Comfortable,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word.

You nod. “Mhm.”

He’s right in front of you now. Close enough that you can see the shift in his expression—something darker, something softer, something that sits right in between.

His metal hand lifts first, hesitating just a fraction before brushing against the sleeve of the henley. Fingers tracing the seam like he’s checking if it’s real. “You know,” he says quietly, “I used to wear this all the time.”

“I figured.”

“Didn’t think I’d walk in and see you in it.” His other hand comes up to your waist, pulling you in just a little closer.

You don’t resist. “Is that a problem?” you ask, softer now.

His eyes flick up to yours. “…No,” he says, and there’s something almost dangerous in the way he smiles. “It’s not a problem.” His thumb hooks lightly into the neckline, tugging it just enough to straighten it—except he doesn’t let go right away. His gaze follows the movement. Then lingers.

“You stretch it out?” he murmurs.

“Bucky—”

“I’m asking.”

You huff, half flustered, half amused. “No, I didn’t stretch it out.”

He hums, unconvinced. His forehead dips until it nearly touches yours, voice dropping lower. “Looks better on you.”

Your breath catches. “That’s a lie,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“Not really.” His grip tightens slightly at your waist, pulling you flush against him now, like he can’t quite help himself.

There’s something possessive in it—but not in a way that traps. More like… he’s grounding himself. Like this—you—is what he comes home to. “…Keep it,” he adds after a second, quieter.

You blink. “What?”

“The shirt.” His thumb brushes absently along your side. “Keep it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You sure? It’s your favorite.”

“Was,” he corrects, eyes still locked on yours. “Think I’ve got a new favorite now.”

You laugh softly, resting your hands against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips—one hand still fisted gently in the fabric of that red henley like he needs the reminder it’s real. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “…Don’t wear it out,” he mutters.

You smile. “Why not?”

His lips twitch. “Because I don’t feel like dealing with people staring.”

“Jealous, Barnes?”

A beat.

“…Yeah,” he admits, without hesitation. And somehow, that feels warmer than anything else.

[kjs-s]

I love that he didn't expect to see the reader wearing his favorite shirt and his reaction was perfect. the keep it part was lovely and I get a feeling he we let the reader keep everything he owns

[cryskir]

Reasons Foggy Hates Daredevil

a @marveltrumpshate auction win for @pomegranate-belle 💖 Thank you so much for your donation!! And for asking me to draw these guys 🥺

[kjs-s]

Thank you for the tag @castielscaplan

Last song: bones- imagine dragons

Favourite colour: Purple

Currently watching: 911, high potential and taskmaster

Currently reading: the chestnut man I believe would be the translation I'm reading it in Greek

Current obsession: free online seminars

Currently working on: reading first on Ao3 and planning to start writing again

Last google: if a text my mom got was a scam, turned out my sister logged in from her work computer to issue her a document

i am not sure who to tag

[kjs-s]

YOURE BACK!!!!!!

I hope all has been well!!

Hi thanks for remembering me and I hope to catch up with everything you have written.

[castielscaplan]

Troupe Roulette Challenge

Wanted to do this challenge for a hot minute!

This one's going to be a tadbit different than my usual challenges. I'm using a SPIN THE WHEEL to decide *YOUR* prompt to use.

Rules:

Any Character/Pairing of your choice. (Fandom, canon, OCs, whatever, its all good.)

It'd be awesome if you followed (but totally respectable if you dont)

No limit of word count; write however long or short you'd like! (If it’s more than 450 words PLEASE use the keep reading feature.)

NO due dates!

Tag your fics as CappysWheelSpins so I can keep track of fics that you guys write! Also tag me in the authors notes

Please tag the proper warnings before the fic

Please include a summary of your fic, along with fandom/pairings!

You can write multiple fics, but only one trope per fic.

Send me an ask or a DM with your prompt and the character you’re writing for

Prompts are on the link above! (click the link and spin the wheel. It may take a moment to appear)

Inbox with any questions you may have <3

[kjs-s]

I know i haven;t been on here for a while and I still have a ton to write but I;m using this as a change to get back during the summer. Hope i can commit to it.

[castielscaplan]

Troupe Roulette Challenge

Wanted to do this challenge for a hot minute!

This one's going to be a tadbit different than my usual challenges. I'm using a SPIN THE WHEEL to decide *YOUR* prompt to use.

Rules:

Any Character/Pairing of your choice. (Fandom, canon, OCs, whatever, its all good.)

It'd be awesome if you followed (but totally respectable if you dont)

No limit of word count; write however long or short you'd like! (If it’s more than 450 words PLEASE use the keep reading feature.)

NO due dates!

Tag your fics as CappysWheelSpins so I can keep track of fics that you guys write! Also tag me in the authors notes

Please tag the proper warnings before the fic

Please include a summary of your fic, along with fandom/pairings!

You can write multiple fics, but only one trope per fic.

Send me an ask or a DM with your prompt and the character you’re writing for

Prompts are on the link above! (click the link and spin the wheel. It may take a moment to appear)

Inbox with any questions you may have <3

[castielscaplan]

Hi darling I am done with the fics for your challenges and I will start posted them next week. And send you the links of each. I am sending you a list of all the things I wrote for you.

For the decades chalenge: I wrote I can see clearly now with Sam Wilson and

Treat You Better with Matt Murdock

For the summary challenge:  falling in love at the supermarket wasn’t on you to-do list today, yet here you were snatching looks at a cute stranger. with Wanda Maximoff and

a grocery store trip ends up as a date when you catch an older flame looking absolutely stunning. with Monica Rambeau

For the foreverwriting challenge: I used “I used to babysit his kids.” and “My friend thinks you’re cute.” with Yelena Belova and

“You weren’t supposed to survive this heist.” with Frank Castle and

“Are we still friends?” with Marc Spector and Steven Grant I made the reader being old friends with Marc and running into Steven.

That's all. If there is ay issue with those just let me know. Thank you and I hope you are having a good time during the holidays.

I haven’t been on here in forever and I’m going through messages and asks.

Yes, these are definitely more than okay and I cannot wait to read all of them!!!

Thank you ♥️

[kjs-s]

I am trying to arrange all the fics i hace written and still nee dot write, and all the fics i have yet to read also.

I promise you they will be done eventually I am so sorry it;s taking me do long I promise you i haven't fotgotten about them.