Hello! Welcome to my little corner of this hellscape of a website.
I don't have a lot of works posted yet, but the number is slowly rising and I do have quite a few WIPs, so I thought I'd try to organize them! I'll also work on making these lists prettier. 🤣
The majority of what I read, write, and reblog is 18+/adult content. Minors, please DO NOT INTERACT.
So far, I've only written for Chris Evans' characters. I occasionally read RPF, but I'm not sure I'd be comfortable writing it. I have only written characters x fem!reader at this point, but I'll be sure to update if anything changes.
Requests are open! I would love to take them!
Please let me know what you think. Likes are appreciated, but reblogs and comments make my heart sing!
P.S. If you'd like to filter some of my posts, here are some tags I use! I'll update if I can think of anything else that there may be a lot of.
If my writing makes a difference in your life, I hope you'll consider buying me a ko-fi! Ya girl is currently a frequent passenger on the struggle bus and could use the help.
I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click
And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”
So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is
“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”
I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:
“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”
I accidentally called the director of the FBI.
My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.
When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.
There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.
The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.
During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”
So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.
I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.
So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…
“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”
It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.
There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.
The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.
Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.
But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.
Seriously, this is legit.
In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline. Here’s the ad they posted.
Only problem is, they misprinted the number. And the number they printed? It went straight through to fucking NORAD. This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay. NORAD was the front line.
And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD. Oh no no no.
Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says.
“This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says.
The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ”
His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying.
“And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.”
“It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says.
And then, it got better.
“The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says.
“And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says.
“Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says.
For real.
“And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.”
“Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.”
So yeah. I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.
I am so sorry I haven’t submitted anything for a while - school started up again and I swear everything is just flying by at this point 😅
But congratulations on your follower milestone!! You deserve every good thing that comes your way ☺️ And your most recent story was soo cute to read!! It definitely put a big smile on my face
💕 anon
(I’m sorry that this is a little short but I’m running on too much caffeine and too little sleep so I’m gonna be crashing soon 😂)
HELLO, SWEET ANGEL!!!! omg I’m so happy you’re still here!! 🥺🥺🥺
You don’t have to apologize AT ALL! I was away for quite some time, so please don’t worry. I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. 🥰
How is school going? May I ask what you’re studying?! I hope it’s going well. 😊
Thank you so much 🥺 It blows my mind that so many people like my stories (and maybe even me 😂) this much. I never thought I’d get to this point! And I’m so, so happy you liked it. Steve is my greatest love, and I love a good fluffy prompt hehe
Don’t ever be sorry! I’m just so happy to hear from you. I’m sorry I was away for so long. I hope you got some sleep 💕
Is it the glasses? Probably. Is it the 90s boyband hair? Could be. Is it the shoulders? Most definitely. All of the above? You bet I’d ride the shit out of him today
He is the most lovable dork on the planet and beautiful and 100% a massive simp for his girl. Definitely the best boyfriend. Has a giant cock but is so shy about it and prefers eating out. Would let you step on him if he knew it would make you smile.
He also 1000% insists on laying his head on your chest every time you nap together!!! And should your nipple end up between his pretty pink lips, who are you to complain? 🥴
Summary: Jake has been your best friend since first grade, and as is tradition, you're spending New Year’s Eve together. This time, Jake’s throwing a party at his new apartment. You share feelings, but not timing.
Warnings: straight-up angst, hints of fluff to ease the pain, mentions of legal alcohol consumption
Author’s note: This is a little bit of backstory for Hack the Halls, what I thought would be a one-shot. I received some amazing feedback on it, though, and I want to try my hand at a series if folks are interested and I feel inspired. I think this can be read as a standalone, but if you’re reading it alongside HTH, this takes place one year before. Thank you (again) to Iva (@beefybuckrrito) for beta-reading this for me, helping me make decisions when I stalled myself, and getting me through the blocks I had along the way. 🥰
The title and some story elements are from “New Year’s Day” by Taylor Swift (lyrics | song), one of my all-time favorite songs. This time of year is always difficult for me for a number of reasons, so channeling some of those emotions into this story was extremely cathartic and served to help me begin building a world for these two cuties.
As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this and to know if you’d like to see more of them!
I hope everyone has a happy, healthy, safe, and UNEVENTFUL (lol) 2022! Happy New Year, friends. 💙
This is dedicated to @syntheticavenger, the shining star whose amazing work and 5K Challenge played such a major role in getting me to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard lol) again. Taking the leap and writing/sharing stories again changed my life immensely, and I look forward to what this year will bring. I hope you’ll check out Synth’s work immediately.
Around 5 AM, you thought you’d scraped the last of the candle wax off of the floor, ready to take a nap before heading to Jake’s sister Franny’s house for New Year’s brunch. Why Jake thought trusting a bunch of inebriated adults with lit candles and sparklers inside his new apartment was a good idea, you could never be sure. But he did, and now here you were, cleaning up the mess from his first-ever “Petun-Year’s Eve” party while he took a quick shower to rinse off the glitter and champagne.
-
Yes, your grown-ass best friend of over 20 years threw a holiday soirée with a theme honoring his niece Rebecca’s pee-wee soccer team, even though she wasn’t invited herself. Guests were required to wear something pink, or else they would be “denied access”... That didn’t stop Pooch, Clay, and Cougar from walking right past Jake at the door. Aisha conceded to Jake’s rule in her own way, opting to wear a deep shade of pink lipstick with her all-black clothing. Even though you had a perfectly nice outfit picked out, Jake pleasepleasepleased until you agreed to wear a Petunias home jersey, matching with him in dark jeans and the new sneakers he bought you for Christmas.
The new year’s celebration looked more like a little girl’s birthday party, the living and dining rooms decked out in sparkly pink and purple decorations and dinnerware. Your best friend was silly and a little too carefree sometimes, but those were some things you loved most about him. He didn’t care about conventional ideas of fun, unashamedly and wholeheartedly liking what he liked and not letting anyone tell him he couldn’t.
Unfortunately for you, these qualities (and his biceps) also caught the eye of his neighbor, Ally. He invited her at the last minute while making small talk in the elevator, and though you would never admit it, it made you see green. She didn’t show up when the party started at 7, so you enjoyed yourself with Jake and his coworkers, making use of the Polaroid camera you’d gifted him and playing amateur bartender.
You’d spent New Year’s Eve with Jake and his family since you were kids, and it became tradition that you kissed each other on the cheek at midnight, even though you eventually found yourself wishing one of you would “accidentally” not turn your head. The thought of telling him briefly crossed your mind, but was interrupted by the tiny blonde from the sixth floor arriving at 11 PM.
She seemed nice enough, but after introducing herself to the other guests, she immediately clung to Jake, flipping her hair and laughing a little too much when he spoke. He didn’t seem any more or less interested in her than anyone else, ever the crowd-pleaser as he explained the theme of the party and gushed about his niece. You couldn’t blame her, could you? He wasn’t yours and you weren’t his, and this was another ill-timed reminder.
You maintained conversation, laughing when appropriate and asking about her life. If your stomach weren’t turning at the innocent smile Jake gave her, you might have even liked her. Might.
At 11:59 PM, your friends lit sparklers (idiots) and began counting down. You walked across the room towards Jake, having wiped off your lip gloss because he disliked the feel of it on his skin.
3… 2… 1…
You froze in place when Ally lifted the Polaroid camera, snapping what would’ve been a cute selfie of her kissing Jake if seeing it didn’t make your bottom lip quiver. You shook your head and rolled your shoulders, backing away so you could get a grip and grab one of the mini bottles of champagne from the ice bucket. Noisemakers went off entirely too close to your ears as you walked down the hallway, ducking into Jake’s bedroom and climbing out onto the fire escape for fresh air, half-empty bottle in hand.
When Ally pulled away from him, you were the first person Jake searched for, his eyes landing on the back of your jersey as you tried to slink away unnoticed. Shit, he thought, knowing he had to fix this somehow and fast.
“Thank you so much for coming, Ally! It’s actually past my bedtime, so I’m gonna go and put pajamas on… Yeah, um… I’ll see you around.” Jake pointed finger guns at her before vaulting over the back of the couch to chase after you, leaving Ally confused as all hell until Aisha pulled her up to dance.
Jake found you on the fire escape, legs dangling over the edge and sipping your champagne while you watched the fireworks display over the Harbor.
“Bub, did you forget something?” He smiled, sitting down next to you.
“I remembered just fine, Jensen. You were preoccupied.” You took another swig from the bottle.
Jake frowned when you called him by his last name, something you only did when you were fed up with his shit. “It’s only 12:03. Can we institute a five-minute rule?”
You exhaled, knowing you couldn’t argue with him without making your jealousy and possessiveness painfully clear. He was looking at you like a kicked puppy, and you knew your therapist was not going to love hearing about how quickly you caved… if you decided to tell her.
“How about instead of a rule, we just make up for it now and try not to miss it again?” You held out your hand to shake on it, but he grabbed your shoulders turning you to face him, promptly kissing each cheek twice.
“One for the original, plus one for each minute I was late. Happy New Year, Y/N.” He smiled at you and your heart clenched, but you knew you had to play it cool, as if he weren’t the most adorable being you’d ever come into contact with. You brushed your lips softly against his cheek before standing up, downing the rest of your champagne, and climbing back into the bedroom.
“I’m gonna start putting the leftovers away, okay? I’ll see ya out there.”
Jake stared after you, wondering if he was imagining the tinge of envy to your tone, unsure if there was anything he could do to make things right when he wasn’t quite sure where he went wrong.
-
You heard the shower turn off and pinched your cheeks, trying and failing to snap yourself out of the funk you’d let yourself sink into. You didn’t know it, but Jake was doing the same in front of his fogged-up bathroom mirror, working a small amount of gel into his hair as he reviewed the events of the night.
Franny asked you to take a picture of the two of them together, giggling and nearly spilling her vodka soda as she played with your hair and said she only trusted you to get the best angle. He smiled to himself, watching you fix his sister’s hair for her before allowing them to pose. He picked her up, squeezing her tight as she laughed and begged to be put down.
After the three of you took a group picture, Clay called Jake over to make a call for the seemingly never-ending game of Uno. As his guests argued the rules about the +4 card, he zoned out, making heart eyes at you across the room while you laughed with Franny as you contemplated your poses.
“Dude, are you listening?” Clay plucked Jake’s glasses off of his face when he still didn’t respond.
“Come on, I’m busy,” Jake whined, snatching his glasses back and putting them on in time to see you smile wide, eyes closed and fingers held up in a peace sign.
Clay threw his arm around Jake’s shoulder, walking him over to the far corner of the room. “Will you just tell her, Jensen? This is becoming painful to watch. Kiss her at midnight. If she reciprocates, great. If she doesn’t, say you’re drunk and I dared you.”
Jake’s eyes widened, weighing his options. “Do you think that’ll work? God, yeah, okay. I think it’ll be fine.”
But when the countdown started, he couldn’t find you in the packed apartment, and he only caught sight of you right before Ally crashed her lips to his, ruining his plan.
Maybe next year.
-
The only thing left to do was sort the Polaroids since Jake decided the glitter was now simply a part of the hardwood, always popping up again “like a cold sore,” never fully gone. You flipped through the photos, making piles so you could give everyone copies. You smiled at all the group shots of Jake and “The Losers,” as they called themselves, choosing to let them each pick the ones they wanted. There were several pictures of Jake and his sister, you and his sister, and the three of you together. You outright laughed at some photos of your work friends, evidently out of their minds during a game of Uno with the other guests.
As if confirming your life was just a sitcom for whatever being was watching the big TV in the sky, the last two photos were of you and Jake… and then Ally and Jake. They do look cute together, you thought to yourself, tossing both photos on the table and calling it quits.
You were in the middle of making a pot of coffee when Jake emerged from the bedroom in yet another Petunias shirt (the away jersey now) and a pair of joggers. He took over, pouring two small cups and fixing yours exactly how you liked it before handing it to you and taking a seat at the table where the snapshots lay.
“That’s a cute picture of you, and um, Ally. Good idea.” You took a sip from your mug, internally smacking yourself. Idiot.
He choked a little, wiping his mouth with a purple paper napkin. “Eh. I guess it’d be cute if I liked her like that. I was just trying to make a new friend.” He shrugged, picking the picture up and folding it into a grossly disproportionate plane before aiming for the trash can in the corner, narrowly missing. “This is why I stick to computers.”
He stood and walked over to pick up the little plane and place it in the trash can, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek on the way back to his seat. “Did you change your face wipes?:
Your face warmed at his questions. “Uh, yeah. You said the other ones made my face ‘taste funny,’ so…” You hid your grimace behind your mug.
He hummed, sounding pleased. “Well, thank you for helping me with the party, I always wanted to do something like that, and I couldn’t have done it without you.” He grinned when the Polaroid of the two of you caught his eye, your arms wrapped around him from behind, kissing his cheek as he laughed, his glasses slightly crooked. “This might be my favorite picture of us we’ve ever taken, bubba.”
You gave him a soft smile in return. “You’ll have to make a copy for me. I like that one, too.”
“I know exactly where this is going.” He ran to his bedroom, placing a small piece of double-sided tape on the back and leaning it against the lamp on his nightstand, facing his preferred side.
I wish I knew where this was going, you thought to yourself, deciding your New Year’s resolution might just have to be finally letting go of your feelings for your best friend.
Taylor Swift should be the patron saint of fic writers. I swear, like sooo many of my fav pieces have a little note about her song lyrics being an inspiration haha
And this is no exception!! Ok first of all, the right person/wrong time trope is GOLD. Sliding Doors anyone? (pre-GOOP Gwyneth Paltrow just hits different)
Ngl, 2 idiots in love is not my fav bc sometimes the characters are literally idiots lacking basic communication skills lmao but it’s set up really perfectly here.
The characters spoke to each other about the issue in a timely fashion (lol why does this sound so formal), and both admitted that the night didn’t go exactly as planned
They didn’t spill their guts about how they feel, so there is still that lingering tension, but it’s not like they just pretended like nothing happened and then 5 years later are like “omg remember that NYE party??”
I think it’s actually really difficult to pull this off from a storytelling perspective bc u want to show that the characters are somewhat in sync with each other, but like the smallest moment was off, so it’s kind of a delicate (another tswift song that lives rent free in my head) situation.
New Year’s Eve is literally the perfect thing for this AND the Polaroids being used as a flashback device is low key genius tbh. Stuff like this makes me momentarily glad to be a human being with a brain that can appreciate good storytelling. I was actually sad when it ended bc I was like welp guess I’ll just go back to wishing I was the rock from that iconic Simon & Garfunkel song lmao. (U know, the rock that lives on an island reading poetry in a fortress or something?)
Anyway, love this story, love the author, love tswift 🫶
I actually cried reading your comment. I’ve never had any choice I’ve made described as any degree of genius 😭
Taylor really is such an inspiration to me, and her music really helps me tap into my emotions, even the ones I don’t wanna feel. (Delicate is also a fave of mine 😂)
I’m truly so happy you enjoyed this and found so much meaning in it. This fic came from a really personal place of yearning and sadness, and I’ve also been in quite a slump with my writing, so it means the world to me that you cared this much and left me such a beautiful comment on a piece that means so much to me.
You sincerely have made my day/night/week and more! I really hope to get back to these two someday soon. Their story isn’t over.
I want Ari to empty his balls inside me over and over again. And then when he's finally drained, to slowly pull his cock from the gooey, creamy mess he's made my pussy, watching how his fat head emerges all milky white until it slides down my crack to rest completely spent between his thighs. Then I want him to spread my lips with his strong and agile fingers, humming in approval as his multiple releases slip from my core, quietly whispering in awe, "so fucking beautiful" just before he swoops down and seals his lips around me, slurping up his mess noisily, like milk from a bowl. And when the job is complete, when his tongue and mouth and fingers have cleaned me up so well, his head will rise from between my thighs with the most heated and satisfied of looks upon his face as the whimpers and cries from my own climax soften and drift up to the stars. And I know he'll sleep well that night with a belly full of our love and me in his arms.
Summary: Newly dumped and freshly fucked by a handsome stranger you met at a bar, you start your final year at college in high spirits. Only to realize that your new teacher in your Diplomatic Negotiations class, is none other than the guy you had an amazing one night stand with.
Series warnings: Fluff, smut, angst. Large age gap (Ari is late thirties, reader is in her early twenties). College AU, secret relationship, teacher/student relationships, shitty exes, alcohol consumption, swearing, mentions of being hungover.
Smut warnings for this series (more will be added accordingly): Daddy kink, dom/sub dynamics, mentions of sub space, size kink, spitting kink, praise, dumbification, degradation, public, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, thigh riding, choking, spanking, anal.
This series is SO incredible!!!! I have to go back and reblog the individual chapters with my comments, but I am absolutely obsessed with this story and Ari's character and the smut... WHEW. You spoil us! Your writing has me hooked. 😍😍😍
if ur feeling so inclined i'd love to read something with our bestest boy steve rogers, maybe fall-themed? maybe you're making hot chocolate or carving pumpkins or something 🥹 of course no pressure. congrats again my love!!!
AM I EVER!!!! Thank you so much for this sweet prompt and for being an even sweeter friend. I adore you 🥺💜 I guess I’ll call this a ficlet because it’s almost 1000 words. Oops!
A Whittle More Practice
Steve Rogers x gn!reader
Word count: 876
Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff hehehe
A/N: Special shout-out to @the-sal-del-mar for the pun/title 😉 Sweet divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics!
“Steeeeeeeeeve, we have to grab some pumpkins! Pretty please?” Before he had a chance to respond, you were already walking over to the wooden pallet where pumpkins of all shapes and sizes were stacked for purchase. You were on the checkout line at the apple orchard after spending most of the morning on your boyfriend’s shoulders, picking the most perfect, unblemished apples from the tops of the trees. He even helped out a few families whose little ones insisted on using the former Captain America as a human elevator.
As you scrutinized the selection in front of you, Steve grabbed a pumpkin-carving kit at the register while a teenager weighed your basket of apples. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he called to you, smiling and running over to help you since you were struggling to carry four medium-sized pumpkins on your own. He handed his debit card to the boy ringing you up before you even had a chance to take out your wallet, earning a huff from you. He leaned down to sign the receipt, tutting at you. “None of that. This was my idea. My treat.”
You pressed a kiss to his flannel-covered bicep before he placed the pumpkins and apples in the complimentary wagon from the orchard. With the handle in one hand and your hand in the other, he wheeled your purchases back to the car, loading the trunk swiftly as you climbed in and started the engine, turning up the heat just a little bit.
A little less than an hour later, you made it back to your shared apartment. “Hey, why don’t you go up and clear the table for the pumpkins? I’ll carry everything,” Steve ordered gently, squeezing your hand in his before getting out of the car. To Steve’s dismay, you took two of the pumpkins and the gallon of fresh apple cider and climbed the two flights of stairs, awkwardly maneuvering to get the door unlocked with your hands so full.
Once inside, you poured some of the cider into a pot and turned on the stove, warming the sweet and spiced drink to enjoy while you kicked off fall festivities. You set to work clearing off the kitchen table and set down some newspapers and plastic bags to aid in cleaning up the inevitable mess. Finally, you changed into your stained, designated crafting t-shirt so you wouldn’t ruin your new sweater you’d picked out just for this morning’s activities.
“Sweetheart, can you come open the door for me?” Steve called from the hall, arms full of all sorts of farm-fresh goodies, plus the other two pumpkins. You let him in and helped carry everything to the kitchen counter, then stopped to pour the two mugs of cider and brought them to the table. “That smells amazing.” He smiled softly and his eyes closed on instinct as he inhaled the scent of the drink, his face so innocent, reminding you that there was so much he never got to experience as a kid and before going into the ice.
“I can’t believe my boyfriend is the most beautiful man in the world,” you cooed, cupping his cheek in your hand before kissing him, making him blush all rosy and warm. You peppered kisses across his face, making sure not to miss any freckles, until he was laughing so hard you had to stop.
“All right, all right. I give.” He kissed your cheek, mouthing a thank you against your skin. He grabbed his laptop from the bedroom, placing it on the kitchen counter and playing Hocus Pocus, which you’d introduced to him this time last year. “Let’s do this.” Steve rubbed his hands together in determination before tearing open the carving kit. He’d never done this before, but how hard could it really be?
You set to work on your first pumpkin, cutting out a standard jack-o’-lantern face with ease. As you started on your second, Steve was still struggling with his first. The knives were too small for his hands, and no matter how careful he was, he kept breaking through the rind in places he hadn’t intended. You could tell he was becoming frustrated, so around the time “I Put a Spell on You” finished playing in the background, you slipped away to Steve’s office and returned with some of his paints and brushes.
“Baby?” Steve looked up at you, dejectedly dropping the tiny blade to the table. “Would you rather paint your other pumpkin? I think we can just use this one for pie at this point.” You gave him a small smile, placing the supplies on top of a clean section of newspaper. He tilted his head up to kiss your cheek, then grabbed the bottle of black paint, shaking it vigorously before squeezing some out on the newspaper and dipping a brush into it.
“How do you always know how to fix things? Fix me?” He began by painting the stem black while he thought of his design.
“There was nothing to fix, Steve.” You rubbed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “You just need a whittle more practice.”
Steve snorted, nearly spitting out the sip of cider he’d dared to take. “You’re lucky I love you.”
if ur feeling so inclined i'd love to read something with our bestest boy steve rogers, maybe fall-themed? maybe you're making hot chocolate or carving pumpkins or something 🥹 of course no pressure. congrats again my love!!!
AM I EVER!!!! Thank you so much for this sweet prompt and for being an even sweeter friend. I adore you 🥺💜 I guess I’ll call this a ficlet because it’s almost 1000 words. Oops!
A Whittle More Practice
Steve Rogers x gn!reader
Word count: 876
Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff hehehe
A/N: Special shout-out to @the-sal-del-mar for the pun/title 😉 Sweet divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics!
“Steeeeeeeeeve, we have to grab some pumpkins! Pretty please?” Before he had a chance to respond, you were already walking over to the wooden pallet where pumpkins of all shapes and sizes were stacked for purchase. You were on the checkout line at the apple orchard after spending most of the morning on your boyfriend’s shoulders, picking the most perfect, unblemished apples from the tops of the trees. He even helped out a few families whose little ones insisted on using the former Captain America as a human elevator.
As you scrutinized the selection in front of you, Steve grabbed a pumpkin-carving kit at the register while a teenager weighed your basket of apples. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he called to you, smiling and running over to help you since you were struggling to carry four medium-sized pumpkins on your own. He handed his debit card to the boy ringing you up before you even had a chance to take out your wallet, earning a huff from you. He leaned down to sign the receipt, tutting at you. “None of that. This was my idea. My treat.”
You pressed a kiss to his flannel-covered bicep before he placed the pumpkins and apples in the complimentary wagon from the orchard. With the handle in one hand and your hand in the other, he wheeled your purchases back to the car, loading the trunk swiftly as you climbed in and started the engine, turning up the heat just a little bit.
A little less than an hour later, you made it back to your shared apartment. “Hey, why don’t you go up and clear the table for the pumpkins? I’ll carry everything,” Steve ordered gently, squeezing your hand in his before getting out of the car. To Steve’s dismay, you took two of the pumpkins and the gallon of fresh apple cider and climbed the two flights of stairs, awkwardly maneuvering to get the door unlocked with your hands so full.
Once inside, you poured some of the cider into a pot and turned on the stove, warming the sweet and spiced drink to enjoy while you kicked off fall festivities. You set to work clearing off the kitchen table and set down some newspapers and plastic bags to aid in cleaning up the inevitable mess. Finally, you changed into your stained, designated crafting t-shirt so you wouldn’t ruin your new sweater you’d picked out just for this morning’s activities.
“Sweetheart, can you come open the door for me?” Steve called from the hall, arms full of all sorts of farm-fresh goodies, plus the other two pumpkins. You let him in and helped carry everything to the kitchen counter, then stopped to pour the two mugs of cider and brought them to the table. “That smells amazing.” He smiled softly and his eyes closed on instinct as he inhaled the scent of the drink, his face so innocent, reminding you that there was so much he never got to experience as a kid and before going into the ice.
“I can’t believe my boyfriend is the most beautiful man in the world,” you cooed, cupping his cheek in your hand before kissing him, making him blush all rosy and warm. You peppered kisses across his face, making sure not to miss any freckles, until he was laughing so hard you had to stop.
“All right, all right. I give.” He kissed your cheek, mouthing a thank you against your skin. He grabbed his laptop from the bedroom, placing it on the kitchen counter and playing Hocus Pocus, which you’d introduced to him this time last year. “Let’s do this.” Steve rubbed his hands together in determination before tearing open the carving kit. He’d never done this before, but how hard could it really be?
You set to work on your first pumpkin, cutting out a standard jack-o’-lantern face with ease. As you started on your second, Steve was still struggling with his first. The knives were too small for his hands, and no matter how careful he was, he kept breaking through the rind in places he hadn’t intended. You could tell he was becoming frustrated, so around the time “I Put a Spell on You” finished playing in the background, you slipped away to Steve’s office and returned with some of his paints and brushes.
“Baby?” Steve looked up at you, dejectedly dropping the tiny blade to the table. “Would you rather paint your other pumpkin? I think we can just use this one for pie at this point.” You gave him a small smile, placing the supplies on top of a clean section of newspaper. He tilted his head up to kiss your cheek, then grabbed the bottle of black paint, shaking it vigorously before squeezing some out on the newspaper and dipping a brush into it.
“How do you always know how to fix things? Fix me?” He began by painting the stem black while he thought of his design.
“There was nothing to fix, Steve.” You rubbed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “You just need a whittle more practice.”
Steve snorted, nearly spitting out the sip of cider he’d dared to take. “You’re lucky I love you.”
omg I reached 800 followers today?! Thank you to everyone who continues to read my writing and to put up with me as I try to find the motivation to share my stories again. It means a lot that you're here. 🥺
I might be persuaded to write a few drabbles tonight after work if anyone would be interested!! Drop me an ask with a character and a prompt. It can be related to one of my own fics, if you like!
if ur feeling so inclined i'd love to read something with our bestest boy steve rogers, maybe fall-themed? maybe you're making hot chocolate or carving pumpkins or something 🥹 of course no pressure. congrats again my love!!!
AM I EVER!!!! Thank you so much for this sweet prompt and for being an even sweeter friend. I adore you 🥺💜 I guess I’ll call this a ficlet because it’s almost 1000 words. Oops!
A Whittle More Practice
Steve Rogers x gn!reader
Word count: 876
Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff hehehe
A/N: Special shout-out to @the-sal-del-mar for the pun/title 😉 Sweet divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics!
“Steeeeeeeeeve, we have to grab some pumpkins! Pretty please?” Before he had a chance to respond, you were already walking over to the wooden pallet where pumpkins of all shapes and sizes were stacked for purchase. You were on the checkout line at the apple orchard after spending most of the morning on your boyfriend’s shoulders, picking the most perfect, unblemished apples from the tops of the trees. He even helped out a few families whose little ones insisted on using the former Captain America as a human elevator.
As you scrutinized the selection in front of you, Steve grabbed a pumpkin-carving kit at the register while a teenager weighed your basket of apples. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he called to you, smiling and running over to help you since you were struggling to carry four medium-sized pumpkins on your own. He handed his debit card to the boy ringing you up before you even had a chance to take out your wallet, earning a huff from you. He leaned down to sign the receipt, tutting at you. “None of that. This was my idea. My treat.”
You pressed a kiss to his flannel-covered bicep before he placed the pumpkins and apples in the complimentary wagon from the orchard. With the handle in one hand and your hand in the other, he wheeled your purchases back to the car, loading the trunk swiftly as you climbed in and started the engine, turning up the heat just a little bit.
A little less than an hour later, you made it back to your shared apartment. “Hey, why don’t you go up and clear the table for the pumpkins? I’ll carry everything,” Steve ordered gently, squeezing your hand in his before getting out of the car. To Steve’s dismay, you took two of the pumpkins and the gallon of fresh apple cider and climbed the two flights of stairs, awkwardly maneuvering to get the door unlocked with your hands so full.
Once inside, you poured some of the cider into a pot and turned on the stove, warming the sweet and spiced drink to enjoy while you kicked off fall festivities. You set to work clearing off the kitchen table and set down some newspapers and plastic bags to aid in cleaning up the inevitable mess. Finally, you changed into your stained, designated crafting t-shirt so you wouldn’t ruin your new sweater you’d picked out just for this morning’s activities.
“Sweetheart, can you come open the door for me?” Steve called from the hall, arms full of all sorts of farm-fresh goodies, plus the other two pumpkins. You let him in and helped carry everything to the kitchen counter, then stopped to pour the two mugs of cider and brought them to the table. “That smells amazing.” He smiled softly and his eyes closed on instinct as he inhaled the scent of the drink, his face so innocent, reminding you that there was so much he never got to experience as a kid and before going into the ice.
“I can’t believe my boyfriend is the most beautiful man in the world,” you cooed, cupping his cheek in your hand before kissing him, making him blush all rosy and warm. You peppered kisses across his face, making sure not to miss any freckles, until he was laughing so hard you had to stop.
“All right, all right. I give.” He kissed your cheek, mouthing a thank you against your skin. He grabbed his laptop from the bedroom, placing it on the kitchen counter and playing Hocus Pocus, which you’d introduced to him this time last year. “Let’s do this.” Steve rubbed his hands together in determination before tearing open the carving kit. He’d never done this before, but how hard could it really be?
You set to work on your first pumpkin, cutting out a standard jack-o’-lantern face with ease. As you started on your second, Steve was still struggling with his first. The knives were too small for his hands, and no matter how careful he was, he kept breaking through the rind in places he hadn’t intended. You could tell he was becoming frustrated, so around the time “I Put a Spell on You” finished playing in the background, you slipped away to Steve’s office and returned with some of his paints and brushes.
“Baby?” Steve looked up at you, dejectedly dropping the tiny blade to the table. “Would you rather paint your other pumpkin? I think we can just use this one for pie at this point.” You gave him a small smile, placing the supplies on top of a clean section of newspaper. He tilted his head up to kiss your cheek, then grabbed the bottle of black paint, shaking it vigorously before squeezing some out on the newspaper and dipping a brush into it.
“How do you always know how to fix things? Fix me?” He began by painting the stem black while he thought of his design.
“There was nothing to fix, Steve.” You rubbed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “You just need a whittle more practice.”
Steve snorted, nearly spitting out the sip of cider he’d dared to take. “You’re lucky I love you.”
omg I reached 800 followers today?! Thank you to everyone who continues to read my writing and to put up with me as I try to find the motivation to share my stories again. It means a lot that you're here. 🥺
I might be persuaded to write a few drabbles tonight after work if anyone would be interested!! Drop me an ask with a character and a prompt. It can be related to one of my own fics, if you like!
omg I reached 800 followers today?! Thank you to everyone who continues to read my writing and to put up with me as I try to find the motivation to share my stories again. It means a lot that you're here. 🥺
I might be persuaded to write a few drabbles tonight after work if anyone would be interested!! Drop me an ask with a character and a prompt. It can be related to one of my own fics, if you like!
Sweet Christy!!!! 💗 Thank you so much! I love you and I'm so thankful I stumbled across your page and read your beautiful fics that gave me the inspiration I needed to write my own again. 🥺
