rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)

s. rogers + teaching you how to sketch

steve starts you out slow.

as soon as he's satisfied with a sketch—a landscape, more often than not, but sometimes a portrait—he rips the sheet from his book and hands it to you.

from there, you trace over his darkened lines with thin, black ink, bottom lip bitten in concentration.

then, with the line art complete and the graphite erased, you layer on colors and shading with his set of alcohol markers.

he likes this part the best, because he can finally see your perspective on his art, always more colorful than the one tucked away in his mind. purple skies, bright orange flowers, multicolored hair.

plus, he finds it cute that you always hum along to the music playing from your phone.

today, you lay stomach-down on the floor, and he drops his latest piece in front of you. also, a pencil.

"uh, steve." you scratch at your temple, pointing to the figure on the page. "she doesn't have any clothes."

he settles on the couch again. "yeah."

"so are we like, drawing naked women now?"

"you should draw the clothes." he pokes at your calves, which swing freely in the air.

a scoff. "but that's your thing."

when you turn, steve blinks at you. "maybe it could be your thing too." he turns his attention back to his sketchbook.

so you stare at the girl for almost a minute, trying to imagine her outfit. if she's wearing tight clothes, you could probably hug the graceful lines that steve already created. an easy task, and one that won't ruin his beautiful work.

you pick up your pencil and go for it.

after a while, steve kicks lightly at your calf. "how's it going?"

you frown. "don't look, it's not ready yet."

he smiles.