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3pirouette · 1 year

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Fic: In the Bleak Midwinter (1/1)

Title: In the Bleak Midwinter By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: takes place during CA: TFA, but can be considered AU. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Read it on AO3

Story Summary: @steggyfanevents Secret Santa gift for thesokovianaccords. A quiet moment in the snow with Steve and Peggy. Set mid- CA: TFA.

A/N: For the Amazing @thesokovianaccords! I hope this meets your expectations. I got the compass, some dramatics, some mid-mission events, and some good old Steggy snuggling in there… I’m not really sure why it turned so bittersweet, but I hope there’s enough sweet that it makes you feel good. I had hoped to come up with a good Rom Com idea, but I’m just not a Rom Com writer sometimes…

Title is from the poem “In the Bleak Midwinter” by Christina Rossetti.

Please forgive any typos- I'll go back and re-edit, but for now I've looked over it obsessively and can't look at it any more!

~*~

“You should have let them take you in the transport.”

Peggy snuggled closer to Steve. Normally he gave off quite a bit more body heat, but considering the small shed they’d managed to find had little the way in insulation and even less in the way of glass in the windows, he had little to share at the moment. “What, and miss this?”

He clicked his teeth, and she felt more than heard his groan as a rumble in his chest. “Peggy—”

She leaned back, brushing the stray hairs that escaped her chignon out of her face. “I was not, under any circumstances, going to endure a two-hour, bumpy as hell ride sitting on laps.” She shook her head and snuggled back down into him. “And you know as well as I do that the back of that jeep would have been as cold, if not colder, than our current accommodations.”

Steve gently pushed her to the side, standing. “We’re lucky we found these accommodations and you know it.” He started wandering around the small shed that held only the remnants of farm equipment, ticking off a mental list of their current supplies. “You should have—”

“Say that one more time and you know I’ll start walking back on my own,” Peggy threatened, sitting tall against the small divider wall they’d huddled themselves against. The remnants of a bale of hay behind it had made it the least chilled structure in the small shack and more than inviting for a rest compared to the howling winds outside as the sun set low.

Steve looked over his shoulder at her, scowling, but went right back to his search. “Oh, don’t I know.” He shook his head as he dug through a pile in the corner. “You know those guys wouldn’t have tried anything and they—”

“That’s not what I was thinking and you know it!” Peggy stood, righteous in her anger. “It would have been cold and uncomfortable, to start.” She stepped up next to him and started helping sort through the pile of odds and ends. “Of course, Bucky and Dugan and Morita would have been pure gentlemen.” She grimaced, pulling out a mess of what looked like animal leads and leashes. “It was the Hydra men tied up next to them that would have been making lewd comments the whole way back that I wasn’t looking forward to.” Steve opened his mouth to rebut, but closed it quickly when he saw her eyes. “Those German soldiers do have the filthiest of mouths,” she muttered, sliding a shovel out of the way.

“I understand,” Steve said quietly, sorting through a bucket of screws and nails.

She sighed at the tension she’d unwittingly created, but knew it was more the adrenaline of the mission and the firefight and the anxiety about making it back to base in the morning more than anything else. She looked over at him from under her lashes, voice carefully even, “You could have sat on laps, you know.”

He laughed, a single bark of lightness in the dark and cold shed. “Yeah, Buck and Dugan would have loved that.” He shifted the bucket back against the wall and finally unstrapped his helmet, his hair standing on edge, sweaty and dry in patches, as he pulled it off. “What? And leave you to have all the fun here?”

She chuckled lightly, pulling her fingers deftly away from something she was sure had once been a pile of manure. “We both passed the same outdoor survival training and you know it.” She pivoted in her squat, turning towards him. She ran her fingers through his hair, settling it to something that was almost tame. “It also didn’t escape my mind that I haven’t seen you for more than five minutes in the last month and after this mission debrief it is quite possible it will stay that way for the next few months, as well.”

He gently pulled her hand from his hair, holding it in his, eyes darkening. “Yeah, there is that.”

“Oh, don’t go all sappy now.” She took her hand back and turned to the pile. “We can have dramatic declarations of love once we get a fire going.” She carefully set what looked to be a broken saw blade aside. “A cold and bumpy ride in a jeep followed by a cold and lonely night on base worrying about you is much less desirable than our current situation.”

Steve shrugged, turning back to the task at hand with just a hint of a smile enough to let her know that he saw their situation in the same light. “I think there’s enough cracks in the ceiling and broken windows that the smoke won’t be a problem…”

“But?” she asked when he trailed off.

He shrugged. “Even if I can get a fire pit dug through that,” he tipped his head to the crumbling concrete that made up the floor of the shed, “I don’t know that we’ll have enough kindling to keep it lit through the night.”

Peggy stood, kicking the dust on the floor. She took a few steps, humming as she looked at the hay remnants in the corner. She looked at him, but his only reply to her unspoken question was a raised eyebrow. She smiled back suggestively, licking her lips. “If it were colder…” She let the sentence fall away.

“It’s worth it to keep to sleep in,” he supplied quickly, ignoring her innuendo. “It’ll keep us insulated from the floor, at least.”

“A roll in the hay?” She chuckled at his eye roll, kicking through the bottom edge of the hay. “Could you be slightly less than stoic for a moment?”

He lifted the shovel and took a few quick steps over to her, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. “Sorry,” he moved back to the center of the small room and started kicking debris away from the center of the floor, “I still feel like we’re not alone.”

“We’re never alone,” she grumbled, watching as he sized up the hole. “You get started on the pit,” she pushed off the small wall and moved to the door, “I’ll see what I can find in the way of kindling outside.”

Peggy slipped out of the shack into the chilled night to the sounds of Steve setting the shovel against the concrete. He could have used his shield, and she figured if it didn’t start crumbling under the shovel quickly, he would, but she wasn’t going to make a fuss. He was still on edge, as was she, about how the night had gone. A slim win was still a win, but the casualties still stung. She just wanted to spend the few hours they had together, however they’d managed them, in relative peace. The sun had completely set and the moon was rising high in the sky, making it was easy for her to start picking small twigs and long blades of dry grass from around the abandoned shed.

She stopped for a moment, looking up, and wondered if she should take her chances in the bombed out remains of the house just a few hundred yards away. She’d made a good argument for it, but Steve had looked at her with such a haunted look she knew there was a reason he told her no. She set back to picking up small sticks, her arms soon filled. She knew he saw things. They both had. The longer the war went on, the more desperate each day got, the more gruesome the scenes, the more violent and angry the men, the more desensitized the got to the losses and death. She prayed for an end to it every day, and knew Steve did, too.

She wasn’t sure what would happen to them when there wasn’t a war on, but they never quite looked to that tomorrow too closely when one wrong bullet or bomb could change all of their plans.

She slipped back into the shed, arms laden. “How’s it going?”

He didn’t look up from his work, on his hands and knees, forming a bowl in the dirt of the ditch he’d dug. “Fell apart pretty easily. How’d you do?”

“Should be enough for a bit, and there’s plenty more out there.” She set her small pile down next to him and went to her pack, digging around for her waterproof matches as he started arranging the sticks. “I can go—”

“No,” he was quiet and firm, and didn’t even look up from where he was precariously balancing some of the larger sticks into a cone. “I’ll go out if we need more, but we should be okay for a while.”

Peggy squatted down next to him, holding out her tin of matches. “Care to share why you are melancholy at turns?” The words were sharp, but her tone soft. “I’m getting a bit of whiplash here.”

He held her hand for just a second as he took the tin of matches, then went back to getting the fire going.

His silence was more than enough for Peggy. “It’s been a bad month, hasn’t it?” He paused at her words, but didn’t say anything as he resumed settling the kindling against the small flame as the match caught the twigs around it. “I suppose I could read the reports,” she started gently, settling down cross-legged next to him, “but you very well know I’ve seen the same things you have.” She waited for some kind of reaction, and finally reached out and stopped his hands from playing with the fire that was no longer in need of such tending. “Stop being dramatic and talk.”

He slumped back, keeping her hand in his. “it’s just…” He took a slow deep breath. “It’s just starting to get to me. The death, the destruction, the innocent people…”

“Not what you signed up for?” she asked gently, sliding closer so she could meet his eyes.

“No,” he nearly laughed out. “No, I don’t think this was what any of us signed up for, do you?”

She let their beaths sync, let the quiet crackling of the growing fire calm their anxious minds. It was always too much: there was always another mission, another communique, another secret to uncover, another battle to be fought. They were living in harrowing times, in a constant state of kill or be killed, and neither one of them often got to express just how tiresome, how stressful, it could be: there were too many people counting on them, too many people looking towards their leadership, to show signs of fatigue.

She had two choices: she could push and try to get him to open up, or she could move past it, let it get buried, and maybe one day they’d talk about it or maybe they wouldn’t. He was usually good about opening up on his own, and when she’d pushed in the past, he had clammed up further. It was an easy decision to make.

She smiled, standing. “Well, I know none of us signed up for K-Rations.” His chuckle, somewhere between surprised and amused, was enough sign to her that she’d made the right choice. She dug through her pack and held up the two cans. “Can I interest you in ham and cheese or ham and cheese?” She held them both out, posing like she was presenting them on the USO show stage with a smile.

A tiny glint lit up his eyes as he pretended to weigh his options. “I think I’ll take…the ham and cheese.”

She gave a brief curtsey as she handed him the tin he’d pointed towards. “Excellent choice, sir!” She turned back, rooting in her bag for the two tiny spoons she kept in there, and grabbed the little box of crackers. She handed hers over to him to open as she sat next to him, the fire finally something big enough to start radiating warmth towards them.

Steve popped the top off her can quickly and handed it back. “Bucky’s mom makes the best ham,” he mused, opening his own can and staring at the contents, “Christmas Eve we would all sit and watch as dish after dish came out of that kitchen. There wasn’t enough room on your plate for all of it.” He paused; cracker stopped in mid-air on its way to the tin. “Is it… what day is it?”

Peggy laughed around her spoon, swallowing before speaking. “You’re not that far out of touch, darling. Christmas isn’t until next week yet.”

He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile and resumed dipping his cracker into his tin of meat and cheese. “Sometimes days feel like years…”

“And sometimes they feel like minutes,” Peggy finished. She scraped at the edges of her tin. “Did you always do Christmas with the Barnes family?”

“Mostly,” he shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “Buck and I have been friends since we were little.” He looked down at his tin and scooped another mouthful with a cracker. “She was the kind of person who cooked for the whole neighborhood, everyone was always invited in.” He smiled. “The house was crazy, kids all over, running and playing and if it was snowing out—” he laughed at the memory, “there would be snowballs outside and inside. Pure pandemonium in the best way. We got there in the early afternoon and didn’t leave until it was time for midnight mass. Ma and I always went home with big plates of leftovers and cookies and cake.” He bumped her shoulder, warmed by the memory. “How about you?”

Peggy set down her emptied can and picked up a cracker, running her nail along the jagged edge, eyes wandering into the past as she spoke. “Oh, Christmas was always quite the formal affair. We’d get dressed in our Sunday best, then we were paraded in front of grandparents and Aunts and Uncles. Michael and I were expected to be quiet and dutiful during formal dinners.”

Steve smirked, raising his eyebrows. “How’d that go?”

She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow. “About as well as you’d expect.” Peggy was searching for a story to tell when Steve’s voice surprised her.

“When we get home,” his voice was soft, using a phrase she’d never heard him use before, “I’m sure Mama B is gonna have the biggest Christmas dinner ever.”

Peggy stilled, watching his eyes glaze over as he spoke. She reached out, covering his hand with hers as he talked.

“Bucky will insist you come, you know. And she’ll have invited half the neighborhood, like usual. There will be at least two hams, and whole tables of gravy and mashed potatoes and the greens and sweet potatoes…” He closed his eyes, a soft smile taking over his lips. “I can almost smell it. And the pies!” His shoulders sagged. “Rebecca, his sister, makes the best pecan pie.”

“Tell me more,” Peggy whispered quietly.

His eyes opened, almost like he’d forgotten where he was, and he smiled. He slipped the two empty tins to the side and slid himself around Peggy, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Well, to start with, their house is small: a little brownstone around the corner from my apartment. But inside? You can’t imagine how many people they fit in there.” He chuckled as she melted back into him. “She starts cooking the day before, Bucky’s Aunts and cousins all come over, and they try like hell to keep all those kids out of the kitchen. I remember each year running these little… missions… I guess you could call ‘em, with Bucky and Rebecca and all of us just trying to steal little morsels out from under her nose and she never got mad just chased us back out while we laughed until our stomachs hurt, you know?”

“Sounds delightful,” she whispered, watching as the lightness of the memory melted the heaviness of the war and years away from his face.

“So, I’m sure there will be kids running around, and everywhere you look there’s just chairs shoved here and there so people can sit and eat and laugh. And it’s hot… it’s always hot no matter how cold it is outside.”

“From the ovens or the people?” She asked, running her hand through his hair.

“Both,” he chuckled, taking her hand and holding it in his. He snuggled closer to her, wrapping her in a tight hug. “By the time we were older Buck and I always had jobs- setting up extra tables, making sure the decorations were just-so, running errands for last minute ingredients.” He laughed, a memory bright in his tone. “Didn’t mean we stopped trying to steal bites, or that she ran us out of the kitchen any less.” He buried his nose in her neck, dropping a soft kiss there before turning serious. “The Barnes’ are the only family I have left. I can’t wait for you to meet Mama B.”

“I would be honored to meet her,” She replied gently, tucking her head under his chin. It was almost cozy now, by the fire in their small shed, the cracks in the roof pulling the smoke up and away while they were still able to take advantage of the warmth of the fire. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say next: they didn’t often talk about the future, so instead, she said nothing and threaded her fingers through his, holding his hand tight.

“You were right,” he said softly before he kissed her hair, “We needed this. I needed this.”

“Can’t ever be alone on a base.”

“It’s never quiet on base.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this comfortable on base.”

He looked down at he, teasing, “Well, I’d hope not.”

She laughed, pulling from his arms and reaching over past him, setting a few more sticks into their fire. “You think it’ll make it through the night?” She settled on her knees, looking over their dwindling pile and the small flickering flames.

He sat up, scratching his head. “Probably not. I can—”

“You keep it going,” she kissed him quickly before he could stop her. “I know exactly where I’ve picked over and where there will be more kindling. I’ll be back in half a mo.” She stood and was out the door before he could object.

She wasn’t sure what it was about the way they were bouncing through emotions, about the heaviness that seemed to settle over them tonight, but she needed a break from it. It was suffocating in both the best and the worst ways. The idea that there was going to be a Christmas where she was laughing with the mysterious Mama B and Bucky and his houseful of friends and family… it seemed like a promise and a curse. She didn’t make plans, not during this war. It seemed as soon as anyone she knew made plans, there wasn’t any life left for them to live them. She bundled the sticks in her arms, hurrying around until she couldn’t balance another on her pile, before struggling her way back into the shed.

“Goodness,” she shivered, shuffling over to the fire. “It’s quite biting out there. This fire’s doing its job.” She settled her pile carefully before crouching down and rubbing her hands together, holding them out to the flames. “We did get very lucky.”

Steve’s reply took just a second longer than she was expecting, and it had a hint of honey in it that made her turn to him. “Very lucky.”

He was sitting against the wall, elbows on his knees, rolling his compass over and over in one hand, eyes warm and drowsy. She sat into one hip, smiling. “What are you on about?” She chuckled, standing and closing the distance to sit next to him, “Because I know it’s not this shack.”

“We got lucky,” he repeated softly, taking her hand in his and draping them over his knee. He squeezed it gently for a second before flipping his compass open.

Peggy shook her head, looking away. “You still have my picture in there?”

“Take it everywhere I go,” he replied proudly. He smiled and tipped his head on hers just for a second at her blush. “What? It embarrasses you?”

“I just,” she twittered lightly, looking for the words, cheeks still a bit red, “I just never imagined myself the kind of woman a man would keep a photograph of… I’m nothing special, Steve.”

He leaned back, surprised. “Nothing special?”

“I’m not a pinup,” she rebutted, slightly incensed she had to explain, not wanting to say how her former fiancé had never carried her picture around and she’d been prepared to spend the rest of her life with him.

“No,” he carefully trod, “You’re ten times any of those girls. Beautiful. Smart. Sharp. Way more than just a pretty face, Peg.” He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to him. “You know why I keep you in my compass?”

“Because you haven’t a pocket for a billfold in those pants?”

He laughed at her surprising joke. “Uh, no, I guess I don’t. But, that’s not the reason.”

She snuggled down against him, turning her body into his side. “Well, then?”

“My dad left me this compass.” He turned it in his hand, showing her the well-worn age. “I never met him, he died in the war before I was born. When I was a kid, I was so mystified by how it would point North no matter where I went. When I was a boy scout, I learned how to use it to find out where I was going, how to chart places…” He sighed with the memory, his words falling away.

“Useful, that,” Peggy encouraged.

“I made a few… wrong decisions,” he started cautiously.

“You? Never!”

He leaned into her playfully. “Not just impulsive like I tend to be now, but downright wrong. I was letting other kids influence me. I wanted to be seen, wanted to be bigger than I was.”

“We all do,” she whispered gently, laying her hand on his arm.

“So, my Ma, she sat me down and made me put the compass on the table. She knew how much it meant to me.” He set it on the floor and gently spun it. “She told me… she told me that a compass will always tell you which way is North,” he paused, watching the compass spin in the dim firelight, “but it cannot tell you what is right.”

She watched as he set the compass back to him, her picture staring up at them. “That’s pretty profound.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, lifting the compass back into his hand. “She took it from me for the night and made me think about what she’d said. The next morning, I had to apologize and she gave it back.”

“That explains why you have it on you all the time, but not why my picture is in there.”

Steve shifted, tucking the compass in his belt before he reached for her hips, setting her straddle over his knees. He pushed back a few stray hairs, eyes thin blue rings in the dark light. “Doesn’t it, thought?”

She shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she leaned forward, kissing him gently.

He nudged his nose against hers, wrapping his arms softly around her waist. “Sure, it does. My compass tells me what’s North. You tell me what’s right.”

She pulled back, surprised. Her chin quivered with the tightness that suddenly took over her chest. “Steve—” she barely whispered out.

His voice was soft as he met her eyes. “You know I love you, Peggy.”

“And I love you,” she replied quickly, still trying to find a way out of her shock at his words. “You’ve always been a good man,” she whispered, running her hand down his cheek. “You don’t need me to tell you your course.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied firmly. “Every day it gets harder to do what’s right, to remember what’s right. Every day out here there’s another thing that I don’t want to see, another horrific reminder of the darkest pieces of humanity,” he closed his eyes tight together, shaking his head before looking back up at her. “I need something to look at every once in a while, to remind me that there are things worth fighting for, that the easy thing to do isn’t always the right thing, that…” He took a deep breath, softening. “To remind me that there are family Christmas Eves back home still happening that I’m going to take you to after all this is over.”

Peggy stopped his rant with her finger pressed gently to his lips. “I’m honored that I can do that for you,” she whispered, “but you mustn’t put me on a pedestal quite that high. I’m liable to fall.”

He moved forward, kissing her gently. “Never,” he whispered against her lips.

She kissed him for long minutes, finding solace in the warmth of him, of the feeling of being so close they were almost the same being. His lips soothed the raw edges his words had left. He always managed to surprise her in how he saw her, and while she knew her value, so rarely did she ever think she was worth that kind of praise or worship. Tonight, she wasn’t going to argue with him.

She pulled back, swinging one leg over so she could sit across his lap, settling against him better. At his look, she shrugged. “Cement was hurting my knees.” She stopped him before the apology in his throat could leave his lips with just a look.

“You know,” she started lightly, playing with the strap across his chest, “I’ve often thought about keeping your picture with me.”

“Have you?”

She smiled at the way he tried to keep the interest out of his voice. “But it wouldn’t do for a spy to be caught with her boyfriend’s picture in her pocket.” She felt his disappointment when he hummed in agreement under her. “But the thing is, I don’t need to.”

“’Cause you remember my face?” Steve asked, only half joking.

“Because I see it everywhere,” Peggy replied, sincere. “Captain America is a bastion for all that is good in the War. I see you on posters and in newspapers.” She took a deep breath, readying her confession. “My last assignment, I was so lonely, I kept a paper for weeks and weeks just so I could look at your picture at night. If anyone noticed it, I was going to say I kept it to help start the stove in the little flat I was in.” She shrugged. “You’re right. It’s hard to remember some days.”

He held her tighter, tucking her under his chin. “Every day we get closer to an end.”

“Do you really believe that?” She asked, eyes focusing on the flickering of the fire beyond them.

“I have to,” he whispered, “I have to.”

She was comfortable in his arms, as comfortable as she’d been in months watching their small fire flicker away. The fire was keeping the chill at bay, enough for her to forget they had a long slog on foot in the cold back to base as soon as the sun came up. She could almost imagine they were in a little house, on the floor of the living room, a couch at their backs and a hardwood floor underneath them, fire flicking away in their fireplace. She didn’t often fantasize about the future, found it too painful to hope for things she couldn’t control, but her eyes started to droop as she indulged in imagining that scene. A yawn escaped her lips, and before she could hide it, he cradled her closer.

“Tired?”

“I suppose,” she deflected, “But I’ll manage a watch.”

“Sleep,” he whispered, brushing his hand over her head before kissing her temple.

Her words were still heavy with fatigue. “I can—”

“I know you can,” he gently stopped her, his voice calm and warm like honey. “I know you can.” He rubbed his hand up and down over her shoulder, soothing her closer and closer to sleep. “You’re comfortable, and I won’t sleep either way.”

“I should fight you on this,” she mumbled, cuddling closer to his chest.

“Shure you should,” his voice seemed so far away now. “But you won’t.”

The fire light faded to black as her eyes closed, the chill of the shack fading away in the comfort of Steve’s arms.

~*~

“Peg?”

She hummed at the sound of his voice, trying to turn away from his hand that was smoothing her hair down, the other rubbing over her leg, wishing desperately she could stay like this for just a few moments longer.

“Peggy?”

“I didn’t mean to sleep all night,” she croaked out, slipping from his arms and sliding to the cold floor next to him. The sky was lighter outside of the windows, and the fire was dwindling to almost nothing.

“I wanted you to.” He smiled softly, stealing a quick kiss. “I know how much trouble you have sleeping at base.”

“And off base, and on missions.” Peggy stood up, brushing the dirt off her pants and reaching out for him. “If there’s one fault of mine, it’s surely that while I can manage nearly any condition you can throw at me, I much prefer a warm soft bed and the peace of the indoors any day.”

He smiled, pushing off the ground to stand next to her, watching as she leaned back with her thumbs against her spine until he heard a satisfying pop. “Wanting comfort isn’t a fault, Peggy. Especially after all we’ve slept on.” He moved over to the fire, fanning it and adding a few more sticks to attempt to make some coffee. “I thought you were a tomboy?”

She smiled, bringing over an armful of supplies to sit next to him. “I was. I could rough and tumble with my brother and the boys without a problem. Didn’t mind playing in the dirt or climbing trees or getting messy- much to my mother’s chagrin, mind you.” She set out the two tin cups and starting pouring the water from their canteens in. “But no matter how much I begged, she never let me go camping or stay out to sleep under the stars. There was a routine every night, and there were some things my mother suffered, but me not having a lady’s toilette every night was not one of them.”

Steve laughed, “I can only imagine.”

“Oh, very often there was kicking and screaming involved, at least when I was little.” Peggy smiled, poring the instant coffee powder in and stirring. “But it’s ingrained that so fully now, it feels wrong to go without it.” She met his downturned lips with a bright shake of her head. “Last night was much better, I assure you.”

Steve took the two cups and set them next to the fire, as close as he could manage. “I’m sure I’m not nearly as comfortable as a bed would be.”

She waggled her eyebrows, sitting cross-legged next to him. “I was more than comfortable,” she was interrupted by a yawn, but continued, “and you are much more enticing than any old bed.”

He shrugged shyly, and just like so many other times, she could see that skinny man he once was, the man whose confidence bloomed just as much as his muscles did when he stepped in that machine. “I still find that hard to believe sometimes,” he muttered, sticking his pinky in one of the cups to test the temperature of the water.

“You shouldn’t,” she replied, sliding over a fruit bar ration. “You’ll be tired of hearing it from me eventually, I suspect.”

Instead of the ration, he took her hand and slipped her into is arms. “Never,” he whispered, kissing her fervently.

It was easy to melt into his arms, to fall into the kiss and wrap herself around him. They didn’t do it often enough. It was still a novelty, still something that was new and exciting and somewhat taboo because if they were every found out by the wrong person, well… she wasn’t sure what the repercussions would be. They were in Allied territory, they were warm, they were safe and they were alone. She wrapped her arms tight around him, trying to eliminate any space she could.

It was the snap and pop of the fire, their coffee sputtering over as it boiled that separated them. Steve heard it first, his sensitive ears tuned to the fact that something was wrong. He pulled away, grabbing what was left of their coffee from the fire, sputtering and cursing at the searing hot cups.

Peggy wiped at her lips as she sat back, expecting there to be lipstick on her fingers before she remembered she’d last applied it over a day ago. They were tingling and swollen, something she hadn’t felt in so long.

It made her want more, but there wasn’t time for that now.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been lost in one another, but it was long enough for the sun to be creating rays through the cracks of the boards in the walls. She was sure they’d be granted some grace period, but neither wanted to push Phillips’ temper, or gamble with the thought that neither one was needed somewhere.

Seemed they were always needed somewhere for something.

Steve passed her a cup, somewhat cooled, and dug into his fruit bar. Peggy could imagine he was thinking the same things she was. It seemed almost wrong, forbidden, like they were teenagers afraid of getting caught snogging in the movies.

“You think it’ll ever feel alright?” She asked, eyes set on the boiled remains of her coffee.

He smiled up at her, a silly joke on his lips, before he stopped and turned serious. “I hope it will. One day.”

She looked over, nodding. “Yes. One day.” Without preamble, she drank her coffee like a shot and grabbed her still-wrapped fruit bar. “Come along, soldier.” Peggy stood, moving over to her pack. “Best get it over with, yes?”

He threw the rest of the bar in his mouth and crumbled the wrapper in his fist as he stood. Without a word he set about shoving the pile of dirt he’d pulled out of the hole right back in, smothering the fire. He was at her side, picking up his shield and handing her the other tin cup to stow by the time she’d repacked her things.

She stood, shouldering her pack as he set his shield on his back. With a soft smile she reached up on her toes and let her lips meet his. It was soft and swift, but it was enough. “Ready?” She asked, a brave smile pasted on her face to belay the emotions swirling in her stomach.

He nodded, his own mask of emotions something she was far too familiar with. “Ready.”

Without a look back, they left the small shed, Peggy following as Steve pulled out his compass and set them on course back to the base.

~*~ End Notes: Steve’s line is inspired by this post: https://at.tumblr.com/suallenparker/the-compass-will-also-not-tell-you-to-buy-my-book/vfai6twhq7tp

#steggyfanevents #thesokovianaccords #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic #Steggy Secret Santa #I'm sorry it's taken so long #and my eyes are crossing from trying to edit #but here it is!

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celexdraw · 7 months

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Part 7! I really tried to divide up my images this time so fingers crossed haha...

other parts here: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

#I cannot express to you all how many times I have drawn and redrawn this comic #I am so sorry it has taken this long #but I finally have an ending that I'm satisfied with so stay tuned!!#one piece #one piece fanart #luffy #straw hat luffy #roronoa zoro #one piece comic #zoro #post timeskip #fanart #straw hat pirates #digital art #comic #thriller bark

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anjaelle · 10 months

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Hello darling 💙

Would you consider writing for Count Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

Pairing: Count Alexei Vronsky x Foreign Socialite!Reader Warnings: Borderline Toxic Infatuation, Vintage Slow Burn, (almost) Infidelity Summary: A foreign born socialite/heiress visits a friend in Russia and meets a straight up demon. For @bettytaylorversion (AU where Anna doesn't go back to Vronsky and chooses to stay with Karenin.) Word Count: 2.3K a/n: I remember that Tolstoy made this character so straightforward that you can kind of play around with him as much as you like without changing much about who he is at his core. I can't be left to my own devices. That being said, I don't want purists yelling at me. So I hope everyone takes some of my choices here with a grain of salt.

--x--

Everything about Russia felt intimidating to you: the language, the size of the country, the power of its military, and the show of their aristocratic wealth. You were wealthy. But this was a different kind of wealth. You came to visit your close friend who was another socialite that you met through overlapping inner circles. It'd taken you a while to accept the invitation as you weren't sure how kindly they'd take to a foreigner.

You understood some of the language based on what your friend taught you, but you still weren't confident enough to converse in just Russian. Instead you opted for French, which seemed to work well enough. You knew your native language was a lost cause. While some people in the parlor were polite, others had no interest in speaking with you. A small number seemed interested in you and your home country. Or maybe they just noticed your Very New and Very Parisian wardrobe with your collection of gifted jewels. They decided you were important enough to talk to.

When she introduced you to Count Alexei Vronsky, an officer in the army, you felt her grip on your elbow tighten just the slightest bit. You knew about him. She told you all about his affair with the married woman from Saint Petersburg. You weren't sure how you pictured the man. She said he was handsome, but you lived in a world full of beautiful people. How much different could he be?

That was a terrible miscalculation. The minute he met you, he watched you with the intense interest of a fox stalking its prey. You felt your cheeks warm and your heart thud when he pressed his lips to your gloved knuckle. You averted your eyes when he rose from his bow, not really wanting to convey anything uncouth about the interaction.

The first time he found you alone, you were in your friend's library looking at a map pinned to the wall. He told you about every country he'd lived in, every country he'd traveled through, and which ones he'd be eager to see soon. When you pointed out your country on the map, he licked his lips and an easy smile graced his beautiful face.

"I suppose I have no choice but to come see you now." He said in his thick accent.

You realized, then, that he reminded you of angels you'd see painted on the walls of grand, gilded churches. You told him that you and your fiance would be happy to invite him to your engagement party.

"Hmm." he said, eyeing the map. "Fiancés..." he finished the statement in Russian, so you couldn't understand him.

Before you excused yourself to go find your friend, his fingertips gently grazed the back of your hand, stopping you in your tracks. "Your fiancé is incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful, clever woman."

The second time he found you alone, you'd been exploring the estate and decided to rest in the garden among the wildflowers. As you raised your face to the summer sun, he made his presence known by clearing his throat, causing you to jump to your feet in surprise.

"Good afternoon, startled rabbit." He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" You warily asked, anxiously adjusting your skirts and brushing the grass from your hair. He cocked his head, studying you, "Long enough to notice that your beauty in parlor candlelight cannot compare to how alluring you are in the light of day."

It was interesting to see him dressed so casually compared to the night before. You wondered what he was still doing at your friend's estate when you knew he had a home of his own. You quickly glanced at her window to see the curtains still closed.

When you boldly asked him if he'd been watching you, something akin to amusement danced across his face, "You like the idea of that? Me watching you?"

"I have a fiancé."

He took a step closer, "That doesn't answer my question."

“You didn’t answer mine.” You countered, looking him square in the eye.

That wasn’t particularly ladylike, and you weren’t sure how anyone would react if they happened upon you and Vronsky standing so close in the garden without a chaperone.

As if reading your mind, he glanced down at your lips, then his eyes fell lower to your bodice. Your engraved gold locket rested on the top of one breast, with your fiancé’s initials glittering under the sun.

“I wasn’t watching you. I was…preoccupied.” His eyes met yours again and you felt like you’d been splashed with icy water. “Your husband—my apologies—your fiancé…he is a man of means? That necklace of yours is exquisite.”

You weren’t stupid. He didn’t care about the necklace. “That is a very inappropriate question to ask.”

“So he is not a man of means.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Who gave you that necklace?”

“Why does it trouble you to know?”

“You deserve a better one.” He murmured. You were unsure if he was still speaking about the jewelry. His fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of your forearm, "I could do that for you. If you wish." You took one large step back and glanced again at your friend’s window to find her watching you both suspiciously.

For the remainder of your stay in Russia, your friend treated you coolly. Though she was kind in private, she wasn't as warm in the company of others. Specifically, in the presence of Count Vronsky who seemed eager to appear more often during your stay and even more eager to get you alone. You reminded yourself that it was a temporary trip, and that you'd be back at your father's estate--and back in your kind fiancé's arms--in no time.

"It's truly fortunate that you're betrothed," your friend said as you gathered your belongings to meet the carriage in the courtyard, "or it'd be a shame to see your name added to the Count's incredibly long list of jilted lovers." There was an edge of bitterness to her tone, but you chose not to bring it up. Instead you marked it as an incredibly odd ending to an otherwise enjoyable trip.

A month later, you nearly fell down the stairs when your father called you down to the foyer to greet his newest client who arrived that morning from Russia. Count Alexei Vronsky bowed as you descended, but you could see the mirth dancing behind his eyes when he righted his posture behind your father's back.

"He says you spoke extensively about my craftsmanship. He felt compelled to come by the shop for his own fitting while he was visiting!" Your father exclaimed merrily, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead, "My brilliant girl. This will do wonders for us. I knew I could count on you."

Sure, you had spoken highly of you father's tailoring and shoemaking, because as popular as your father was it never hurt to expand the reach of his influence.

That being said, you were sure Vronsky wasn't there for that conversation, and you never continued any form of contact after you departed Russia. You assumed he learned about where you lived through mutual friends. You swore under your breath when your father left you alone to get his sketches from his workshop in the east wing of the estate. Vronsky eyed you briefly, then redirected his interest to the art and artifacts decorating your home. Ever the son born of Russian ice and stoicism, he looked out of place in the warm atmosphere of the home you grew up in.

"Your country is beautiful," he said, arching a dark brow, "a bit too hot for my liking. Though, it is nice to see you in your natural element. I don't think wildflowers like you belong in the comparative cold of a Russian summer."

You felt like you were being tested, but you decided that there wasn't much he could do in the confines of your home. He was, after all, in your territory. Your shoulders relaxed and you chanced a small smile his way, "You'd be surprised to know how resilient I can be."

Surprisingly, he laughed, "I don't think I'd be surprised at all. I know you better than you think I do."

You felt like you'd regret it, but you decided to ask anyway.

"What do you mean by that?"

He began to stroll through the hall of your foyer, pausing every so often to examine a portrait or vase as you trailed behind him.

"You attended your fiancé's nameday feast a few years ago. Of course, he was not your fiancé, then. He was merely your father's apprentice and a quite talented shoemaker from my country who moved and quickly fell in love with...your country." He chuckled to himself at a joke only he seemed to know. "I remember you. I remember that you were an absolute vision in white, and you danced with everyone in the room. Though you were incredibly quiet when you weren't wrapped up in the melody of the orchestra." He glanced over at your confused expression, fighting a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Like I said: startled rabbit. Always quiet. Always watching. I remember the way your dress hugged the delicate slope of your shoulders, and the way your necklace caressed your neck. That may have been the first time I craved to exist within the confines of a jeweled pendant. And though I was otherwise...occupied with someone...I do remember the way you consistently laughed when he whispered things to you. A kind gesture, as he's never been that funny."

"So you know him. You were there that night." You whispered, feeling chills running up your arm.

"I was," he shrugged, stopping again at a more recent portrait of you and your father, "as was my duty as his elder brother."

You felt your heart stop in your chest and your brain short circuited. Your fiancé never told you about any siblings, let alone an elder brother. You knew your fiance's father was possibly dead, and that his mother raised him alone in Russia. Was he lying about his life? You weren't sure what was conveyed on your face, but Count Vronsky turned to address you directly.

"My father was not an honorable man. He forbade us from speaking to my half-brother or acknowledging him. Of course, Father is dead now, and God hasn't struck me down for disrespecting the wishes of a dead man. This also isn't the first time I've ever sinned." He grinned widely at you and took a step closer, though you were too shocked to move. "From the minute I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And every time I've seen you since, I regretted not stealing you away for myself."

"That doesn't make any sense..." you murmured, hiding your anxious hands behind your back, "I've never met you before. I'd know. I'd remember."

"You make your presence known at those silly little soirées the ladies have. I never stay for very long, but I've always..." he took another step closer and you realized you'd been backed against a pillar, "I've always noticed you. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking. Sometimes smoking. Does your father know you smoke?"

You glanced down the hall over his shoulder, and in a small voice that surprised you, you whispered, "I don't always do that."

"Mhmm." He reached out to run his warm, slightly calloused fingers along the chain of your necklace, stopping just before the pendant that rested in the valley of your cleavage. Your chest involuntarily heaved, and your knees felt weak, "What other bad things do you 'not always' do?"

You parted your lips to attempt something sharp, but instead you swallowed hard and said, "I'm to be married."

"But you are not married." He was so close, "Do you know how badly I've wanted to come see you since you left?" You could smell the sweet wine of your country on his tongue as he whispered lowly to you, "The thought of his hands on you made me want to abandon all of my obligations to cross the sea. Did you think of me?"

Your gaze fell to his lips, slightly stained red, and then back up into his piercing blue eyes. God, he was beautiful. He caught the action.

"You did."

"I didn't."

"Your eyes betray you, wildflower." His hand grazed your hip above your skirt, and his lips ghosted over your own, "I thought about you every night. I think about how you'd look spread out for me on those expensive sheets your father bought you. Waiting for me. And you're wearing that charming necklace my brother gave you while my tongue is deep in that sweet little--"

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Vronsky swiftly turned away from you to examine the nearest vase again, as if nothing happened. You hadn't realized that your hands were grasping your skirt in your fists and that you were squeezing your thighs together.

You realized then that it'd been so long since you were last touched.

When your father entered the hall, he shot you a curious look before handing Vronsky his latest sketches.

"Here you go, young man. Let me know if these are to your liking. We can begin as early as tomorrow afternoon."

The blond shot your father a charming smile and bowed graciously, "Thank you for taking the time to help a stranger on such short notice."

The conversation sounded like white noise in your ears as you willed your heart to slow down. Even as you composed yourself and released your skirt from your hands, you still felt out of sorts.

When he turned to you and bowed again, he rose and allowed his eyes to trail down the length of your body.

"Always a pleasure to see you again."

#count vronsky #count vronsky x reader #aaron taylor johnson #atj x reader #it's taken me sooo long to edit and re-edit this i'm so sorry #thank you for waiting #jae writes

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foamofthe-sea · 9 months

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Scar mod update! Different skintones under the cut

Here's some previews for one of the burn options. I'm gonna fill out the scars a bit more since they seem a bit unbalanced but I should have everything finished and posted this week! Tested on darker skintones just in case you want to use them for your own character and there will be transparents as well for your own tweaking.

Big thanks to the lovely @tsunael and @dawnslight-aegis for taking the previews for me while I was at work <3 you guys are cute and I love u

#also sorry this has taken so long im incapable of doing anything i'm even slightly interested in normally #ffxiv #ffxiv mods #estinien wyrmblood #estinien varlineau #ffxiv estinien

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miramelindamusings · 9 months

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@prudensvulpes requested Sora with Dylan Hollis' energy where he has his own cooking channel! Thank you so much for your patience! And this was alot of fun to do! I used Dylan Hollis' "Fake Apple Pie" tiktok (shortened to certain moments and some moved around for comedic effect!). I hope you like it and thank you again :)!

And here's a bonus sketch because I couldn't resist drawing Sora's face lighting up the same way Dylan Hollis' does when a recipe is actually good!:

#kingdom hearts #sora #kh sora #request #kh3 #kingdom hearts 3 #scrooge mcduck #ratatouille #remy ratatouille #this was fun and an interesting challenge #kingdom hearts series #doing this I realized I don't really draw Sora alot #so this helped me figure out a way to draw him more consistently!#I also had a blast adding references like 1937 since that was when Snow White came out #Chef Louis from The Little Mermaid and when I was a kid #I thought Tink's pixie dust looked like sugar :)#and the other two books are the books in the Evil Queen's dungeon in Snow White - Poisons and Disguises haha #Scrooge and Remy were a late addition but something about them watching one of his videos was just *french kiss* to me XD #drawing this also made me realize that we have yet to see chocobos in KH besides the gummi ship blueprint-I'd totally love to see them!#Anyways I hope you like it! I'm sorry it's taken so long! And thank you for understanding and the request!#my art #my fanart #digital art #i've been having problems getting the image to not be blurry and nothing I do seems to work but I hope this one I uploaded reads ok!

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justafriend-ql · 9 months

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it's all about the *hands* (hidden agenda meta)

i really love the focus hidden agenda is putting on hands, and not just in the hand-holding scenes. even when joke and zo's hands aren't the primary focus of the shot, they're almost always doing something interesting - especially in zo's case. although he's tight-lipped and hesitant about his feelings for joke, zo's hands reveal what he dares not admit.

the expressive power of hands

first, let me nerd out a little about how important hands are as conveyors of emotion. earlier this year, i had the opportunity to go to an exhibit displaying the work of french sculptor françois auguste rené rodin, who "almost obsessively explored the expressive power of hands" . he believed that hands could convey just as much, if not more, emotion than facial expressions. he created several hand studies, my favorite of which - "the cathedral" - i've featured below. the sculpture depicts two hands encircled around one another, fingers just about to touch.

you don't need to see anything but the hands in order to get a feeling of romance, anticipation, and desire. in the spirit of these rodin statues, i want to focus just on joke and zo's hands, and how the series has employed them to tell us how joke and zo feel about each other, even when they otherwise mask their feelings.

joke reaches out; zo panics

hidden agenda #1 in this series is joke's plan to get close to zo under the pretense of helping him win over nita. but it's not very well hidden, as many viewers have noted, because joke keeps reaching out and touching zo. most of the time, it's intentional: too afraid to say he likes zo aloud, he uses his hands to tell zo instead.

and you can tell zo receives the message, because every time joke touches him, he Feels Things and freaks out.

what's interesting is that zo isn't freaking out about joke wanting to touch him. he's freaking out because he wants to touch joke. and he has since the beginning.

gif from @respectthepetty, who first highlighted this moment

and when he's not thinking too much about it, he does reach out and touch joke.

gifs from @gunsatthaphan and @mooninagust, respectively

unfortunately, zo is an overthinker.

zo's hand gestures are usually precise and deliberate, but when joke flirts, they become nervous and clumsy

another way we see zo's feelings for joke through his hands is how zo's precise gestures become clumsy when he's around joke. zo is a dedicated member of the debate team, and that affects the way he talks and gestures. in promo videos and interviews for the series, dunk has frequently mentioned how he had to practice talking and gesturing in the distinct, formal way people do during debates. he thinks before he speaks, talks slowly, and exaggerates his hand gestures to emphasize what he's saying.

but when he's flustered by what joke says or does, all that debate team training goes out the window. he flails, fidgets, and clutches his hands into fists. because he's nervous - big time.

fantastic gif from @chinzhilla

(right before joke asks zo how he feels about him)

when things get intimate, zo doesn't touch joke

reflecting his nervousness and hesitancy about his feelings for joke, zo is careful not to touch him when they kiss, nor when he finds their faces centimeters apart when they're sharing a bed.

gif from @mooninagust

he doesn't touch joke in these especially heated moments because to do so would be a confession in of itself, and he's not ready for that. but he's working towards it - as he becomes more comfortable with his feelings for joke, he's started to reach out to hold his hand (twice in episode 6).

zo's hands are very dynamic in these two scenes. he's relishing the ability to express how he feels in a way that feels comfortable for him, and he's exploring the new sensation of closeness with joke, finding that he likes it.

gif from @userneos

so next time he kisses joke, he's not only going to touch joke - he's going to pull him in closer.

#hidden agenda #hidden agenda meta #hidden agenda the series #jokezo #this is... excessively long #i'm so sorry the hands have taken over my brain

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mci-writing · 2 months

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Hi I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a senku x female reader where he has a crush on an older tattooed foreigner who was on vacation in Japan when the world was petrified

I've had this sitting for a minute tbh, but mostly bc I didn't want there to be too many spoilers for anime-onlys 😭😭 mostly for how tattoos work,,, Don’t be surprised if there’s a heavy focus on language plot wise, I’ve been working on a lot of linguistics homework 😞

Anyways, hope you enjoy

Science Makes Age Complicated (Ishigami Senku x Reader):

Warnings: technically an age gap but also not (reader was once 2 years older than Senkuu, but now they're the same age due to time shenanigans), fem!reader, some language use (a few swears here and there), reader is American (RIP but it’s plot relevant), reader is implied to know an insane amount of languages (bc this is Dr Stone and it’s relevant to world-building)

"Think you can scrounge something up for her, Yuzuriha?" Senku parts the lush shrubbery for his friend, unresponsive to her obvious surprise at the sight before her. He figured it would go that way, considering how kept away the whole area is, but he'd rather start the spectacle with her big reactions instead of the loud and boisterous version involving the rest of their crew, "I'm more than sure you'll manage to make her something she's 1 billion percent comfortable in."

He'd considered this statue his secret weapon for the next part of their excursion. Well, that would be his explanation as to why he'd waited so long to unveil her and finally free her from her encasement. Really, he could never find the proper time to finally revive her, especially when every time it would feel right to, something else would arise that would require them to use the revival fluid for someone else.

When talks of traveling to the Americas came up, he knew it'd be the perfect time to properly reveal her and, hopefully, ease her into their current predicament. While Gen is a great diplomat, thew mentalist isn't exactly fluent in as many languages as the girl in the statue before them. Even more, if they are to run into more people (which they very likely are), it's better to have at least two representatives to talk things over. That's going to be his reasoning, anyway.

Deep down, he's a little nervous to finally see her again, especially now that he's technically older than her by a few months at least. The last time they'd seen each other had been the day before the petrification light, the two decided to spend time with each other before he went back to school. She was visiting Japan for a bit, a trip she'd planned to make at least once a year since the two had officially met in person while he had been in America. Back then, she'd been 17 to his 15, owning an American driver's license and a tattoo sleeve that left many of the older members of society scandalized.

"I don't think she's going to take being younger than us well," Yuzuriha mentions as she finishes up sewing the outfit she'd made for (Y/n). She worked fast, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead once she finished. She takes a step back once she's finished, watching as Senku steps forward, "Especially when she finds out how long it took for you to bring her back."

"She'll be fine. I'm 1 billion percent sure she's going to be grateful for it," He responds, popping the top off the tiny vial between his fingers. He doesn't stop the grin from spreading across his face as he lets the contents of the vial drip from the top of her head. The two watch expectedly as it eases its way down her body, stone cracking and parting in its wake, “She’s going to get to visit home, after all.”

The stone falls from her body, the life slowly coming back into her (e/c) orbs as more of her skin is revealed. Her tattooed sleeve remains, now accompanied by the petrification markings on her face and other parts of her body. A wave of confusion hits her as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, but her shoulders relax a little as she takes in the two familiar figures next to her, "Senku...? Yuzuriha...?" "Hey, (Y/n)," He immediately greets in response, an excited light coming to his eyes as ruby meets (e/c), "Looks like we're the same age now."

Yuzuriha flinches at his greeting, sighing with a shake of her head as she takes a small step closer to their friend. A nervous smile forms on her lips as she takes (Y/n) hands into her own, leading her out of the hidden away area into the light of the new world. She feels the grip tighten as (e/c) eyes dart around the surrounding forestry in an attempt to better understand the circumstances and environment, "We have a lot to catch you up on, but I'm sure if we ease you in slowly it won't cause you too much whiplash-"

"We don't have time for that, Yuzuriha. We still have to load the ship back up and travel to America," Senku waves the notion off, walking past the two of them and leading them back into the village. Neither of the girls miss the smirk on his face as he continues, unmoving as they gape at him like fish, "(Y/n) will catch up along the way."

He's bluffing, which they realize a little later when Ryusui recounts the plan to spend the next few days loading the ship and replacing the items they used on their last voyage. (Y/n) is assimilated faster into their new society than she can process, the rest of their group taking the basic information they're fed and working with it. Yuzuriha is eventually forced to leave her to fend for her own after a bit to attend to her own assignments and Taiju only stops to catch up for a bit (which is mostly him speed talking and making assumptions about how much she's been made aware of) before continuing to move along.

Senku doubts he'll ever admit it out loud, but he is grateful that they're the same age, even if he's technically older by a few months now. Standing next to (Y/n), who hadn't aged a day past the last time he'd seen her, was the reassurance he secretly needed about his own development. While his growth spurt, a result of the final pushes of puberty during the Stone Wars and roughing it during the New Stone Age, was the only difference he could notice next to her, (Y/n) had been hit with the whiplash of every other development.

To her, it felt like both a lifetime and a long night since she had seen Senku, yet he looked almost completely different and exactly the same. The remainder of his baby fat had rounded out of his cheeks, his face maturing nicely into that of a young adult, and he'd sprung up quite a bit in height. He was still lithe in comparison to Taiju, till thin and very much not built for too much physical labor, but he'd gotten a bit of meat on his bones to fill his arms out a little more. Despite that, he still looked like him, like the jerky boy she'd met by chance in middle school who would be the first person she'd show her newest tattoos to when she was 16 to get some kind of rise out of him.

Taiju and Yuzuriha were a further reminder of the weird passage of time, the two more developed in their own rights. He was beefier, still ever-muscular in a more defined way. His hands seemed rougher, but she didn't know if that had been due to the rougher circumstances or if they were always meant to get so rough with all the handy work Senku would put him up to. Yuzuriha had filled out a little, a few scars littering her hands from what (Y/n) could only assume was from her thread work she'd seem to consistently be working on since they'd gotten back to their stronghold. Her silky brown hair, which had once reached her waist and made a few of the girls from their school envious of its length, now barely reached past her shoulders in its bobbed shape.

She feels so out of place...

~~~~

The rush of information coming to people’s senses is always amusing to watch, but (Y/n) is taking a little more time to process than usual. Even now, a few days into her now being free from the stone prison, she still has more questions. They aren’t particularly scientific, more so just random observations that she really wants the answers to. She’s also hyper-analyzed the villagers' speech patterns, having them repeat their newer slang and pronounce random words in Japanese, English, and German (something they did not realize they were fluent in until she came around). In return, they ask her questions about the past (mostly Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju), the sleeve on her arm, and why the hell she knows so many languages already.

Senku can’t really be mad about it slowly down progress, he’s sure he’d slack off a little too if they didn’t have so little time to prepare for their trip across the sea. Neither of them miss the way their eyes longingly stare at one another, meeting a few times before either is dragged away by the others they’re surrounded by. It’s even worse that (Y/n) feels she hasn’t been able to get any time alone with him since they made it to the village. She’d been made aware of their plans once her confusion died down a little, even taking the time to freshen up on the main languages she’d be focused on for their trip and doing what she can to pitch in. Unfortunately, their different preparations would barely, if ever, cross over. Lowkey, it had been killing both of them inside, but they kept up appearances for the sake of getting things done.

She’d learned from Gen, who gave her brain a break by speaking in English with her, that Senku had kept her relatively well hidden. He’d visit her often, but no one had put together that’s what he’d been doing until now. Yuzuriha made it clear she’d only learned of (Y/n)’s whereabouts a little before they’d revived her. However, the brown-haired girl did mention that a few passing statements he’d made in the past were starting to make sense.

It took the last night before the Kingdom of Science would set sail again for (Y/n) to find time away from the others. Despite the various discussions scratching her brain in the best way possible in a new world, the dark blue of the night accompanied by the low noises of crickets and crashing waves gives her the solace she needs. While everything has mostly settled, or settled as much as it can, it's still moving so fast. To her, everything was normal yesterday and then dark for longer than she thinks possible to comprehend, "Maybe this is how Sleeping Beauty felt..."

"I doubt that," A familiar voice speaks up from behind her, the heels of his shoes clopping along the ground as he approaches. The gravel scrunches as he shifts to sit next to her, deep zircon-colored eyes staring out towards the ocean's expanse. He scoots a little closer to her, his head tilting as his pinky reflexively reaches to dig out of his ear, "Considering she typically is depicted to have been a young preteen when she first fell asleep and an older teenager when she wakes, I doubt there were many technological changes to throw her for such a loop, especially if the story takes place in a fictional version of the middle ages."

His eyes shift to peak at her instead, his typical grin filing onto his face. Somehow, they're one of his few features to remain the same despite his growing age. He's one of the reasons she's out here tonight, gathering her thoughts privately one last time so she can tuck them away to focus her attention more on to returning civilization.

Of course, she always thought he was good-looking, most people did. However, where they were turned off by his passion for science and technical engineering, she found it to be all the more endearing for his character. He had his pesty moments, but so did everyone else in some way. It added to his charm, "Didn't see you as the fables type, Senku."

"Had a friend who was super into literature. She read it in different languages to challenge herself," He teases in response, his gaze turning back to the sight before them, "Wonder where she is now..."

(Y/n) tugs her knees up to her chest, the irony of the comparison not lost on her, though made completely on accident. She pulls them closer, resting her cheek on them as she takes in the boy next to her, "Maybe she's trapped somewhere in a stone prison back in the woods."

She watches his chest rumble with his chuckle, a soft breeze picking up and spreading the smell of salt water. He's closer now, the smaller changes staring her in the face and taunting her. She'd wanted him this close to her again, just for the reassurance, but now... She kind of regrets it.

"I would've found her by now," He mumbles, the sound just barely reaching her ears. A fond smile slowly eases across his mouth as he returns his gaze to her, "Would've taken me a while to finally see her like this again, but I think it'd finally be worth seeing her again. Even with the circumstances."

"I'm sure she'd be grateful to see you again too, even with the circumstances."

#ishigami senku #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senkuu #ishigami senkuu x reader #senku ishigami x reader #dr stone x reader #senkuu ishigami x reader #did not think it would get so sentimental in the end I'm so sorry #I tussled with how to write this for a year and still feel there's further ways I could've taken it but it already feels pretty long so #I may revisit this again later but I won't hold my breath either 🤧#also had this idea that reader was Senku's interpreter in America but I didn't want to get into too much spoiler territory with that idea #she totally teaches him some silly phrases in the different languages she speaks and does mix languages up to mess with people #he doesn't realize he's into her until she goes back home one year and they fight on her way out #I imagine her tattoos are different phrases that she really enjoys and maybe a few doodles here and there #also wanted to wait until Matsukaze was introduced so ppl knew how tattoos work post petrification bc I kinda didn't wanna spoil it

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