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Jul 7, 2021

Born to Be My Baby

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Born to Be My Baby: Where no man gets left behind includes an old secondhand — thirdhand? — couch that your friend gave you. And you’d be damned if you didn’t try everything. It was time to go recruiting. About: Soulmate AU! Born to Be My Baby like Bon Jovi bc I love him. 3700+ words, so not too short, not too long :) Notes: Inspired by a tiktok I saw on Instagram. Maybe tiktok isn’t so bad. Also, pls enjoy. This is the first thing I’ve published that isn’t just an edited version of a really old piece, hope you like it! It’s been in my drafts for a hot minute now, I only published because I don’t have anything to lose and who cares.

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There was absolutely no way on God’s green earth that you were going be able to move your behemoth of a couch.

You eyed your couch with a level of scorn you never thought you could reach. You stood in the middle of your minuscule living room in the corner of your even smaller studio apartment. There was even one point during your long contemplation where you genuinely thought to attempt to push.

But. No dice. Not going to happen.

You already threw your back out once, when you were sixteen after trying to steal your parents’ television from their room and into yours. You paid for that attempted burglary for almost two weeks in absolute agony. Absolutely hell no.

And though you’ve technically had over three months to plan and prepare for moving day, in your defence, you had three whole months. That meant plenty of time. It was only to the other side of campus. Barely even a move.

Barely even a move and plenty of time for someone who wasn’t one week away from D-Day with no possible way of getting it done. Because as it turns out, three whole months wasn’t actually all that much time for someone who was you.

Then out of nowhere you were one week away from H-Hour with no way of getting your things from point A to point B, and even further away from figuring it out than where you were twenty minutes ago when your phone dinged with your urgent, top priority alert.

Now would have been a really great time to have already met your predestined.

Teamwork makes the dream work, or what say you.

You continued to tap your foot on the floor while you absentmindedly chewed on the straw of your drink. The plastic tube flicked loudly on your teeth, really quite obnoxiously, as you blinked at your couch.

You couldn’t exactly leave it, either. Could not and would not. Leaving it behind for someone else who wasn’t you just wasn’t an option.

You and that couch had seen hellfire together. Seen the best and the worst of one another. Been in and out of Satan’s asshole and made it out alive together. Even fought through endless battles between sleeping and schooling, and studying and procrastinating together.

Whatever the cost, that couch was coming with you. By any means necessary.

It also didn’t help that it was given to you by your absolute angel of a best friend from University. The first friend you’d ever made in the country since moving halfway across the world for your studies.

No, no one else was getting that couch apart from you. While realistically it was probably worth less than ten dollars on Craigslist, emotionally, that couch was worth approximately seven hundred million dollars to you.

Your friend got it secondhand from her grandma. So. Thirdhand?— For you? Either way it was yours now and as long as you had a say in it, it was staying that way. The big ugly secondhand couch had been your only constant companion since day one, and no man gets left behind.

But now all you could do was curse whoever those words belonged to written on your skin up and down, sideways and diagonally. So much so that if your grandmother could hear what you were thinking she’d probably start rolling in her grave.

You were now this close to registering your words into Tony Stark’s algorithm, but it seemed every time you thought to do it, finger on the trigger — or the enter key — you found that you could never bring yourself to take the step.

You just ruled it as a part of a conspiracy theory that you were just really invested in, as well as irrational paranoia.

Maybe instinct, maybe not, but you knew you couldn’t do it. And it definitely couldn’t have been borne out of some ridiculous notion to meet your predestined organically, or whatever other hunk of shit people had been saying on the internet lately. Instead it came from somewhere deeper within your bones.

And you aren’t one to question your bones.

You didn’t have it in you and no one had that kind of energy.

Sometimes you really did feel like somebody’s grandmother.

It was probably really stupid. Maybe a little careless, perhaps selfish and nonchalant. But you didn’t like to question your bone marrow and whatever it tries to tell you. You really only keep going through life without a worry in the world outside of your uni classes, as well as what possible discounts you could get for food delivery.

Maybe it was because your words had always seemed so definite. So sure. Seemingly so certain. Destiny bound and unyielding and immovable. Like a mountain.

It was definitely a naive thing to believe. You knew that well enough. You and everyone else in the world had heard of soulmates bound by destiny, two souls destined to intertwine, but only for the universe to choose for them a life without their second.

Two halves of a whole, or two whole souls; counterparts; perfectly and impossibly identical, or equal, to form an irrefutable balance in the universe like destiny designed.

But they did exist. Rare as they came, they existed and they were well known tragedies, and the world dreaded the possibility of being bound for a life without their designed— that, who they were born for, and that, who was born for them, unlinked and apart for eternity.

Your words have seemed safe enough and that was all you needed. Fingers cross that you were one of the lucky ones. One of the ones who’d likely be spending the rest of your life with whoever destiny had made you for, and had been made for you.

Because you were born with your words. They were born whole, and you were born as a match.

Hopefully you’d be with them until you were old and grey, and gross to the touch. Until you were slobbery and forgetful, with a gigantic family to watch you wither away as they surrounded your death bed. With saggy skin that made you look like you were melting right before their very eyes.

And grandma’s couch would be sitting right outside your bedroom in front of the fireplace, in your big, huge, old people house.

Hopefully melting away with your destiny. Talking together the way old people do that made each word sound twice as long, making your future grandchildren wince painfully.

Because soulmates usually began as promises to children.

And like everything else concerning children, a promise to a child was always a powerful and grave thing. A marvel to the universe with no reason why or how, only that love always came to children unconditionally and without reason, and that was that.

Those born with predestined soulmates had always loved more than those who felt the arrival of their second half, or identical soul, later on in life.

Your parents hadn’t been soulmates but they loved each other nonetheless. Almost unspeakably much. The kind of love that seemed impossible to understand.

They taught you and your siblings to cherish and love idea of soulmates. That soulmates were beautiful things and something to believe in, and to love them with everything you had.

Destiny handpicked you out of everyone else in the whole universe for another. As another soul’s counterpart, and they were yours in return.

Your parents had met their soulmates. Now they were both gone. Had been long since before you were even a thought.

Therefore they, you, and all your parents’ children were raised to treasure the idea of your souls intertwining with another. Likely by a tenfold. And you loved yours. Your designed and predestined.

Even if you were only set to meet them for a brief moment. To hold their hand for a little while and tell them you were there. That you had witnessed them and they had been seen, and that they had been loved. Had been and would always be.

Even if your destiny was to witness one another in a single painful and beautiful moment.

But you hoped, you hoped, that you would have yours forever.

You really did think you would.

And even if you were part of the tragic few who’d meet yours for one split second, or maybe even not at all, destiny had already chosen forever and so forever it’d always be.

You could only wish to tell yours in person. That you really loved them and that was that.

Though you really did believe you and yours were safe. At least, you were pretty sure. But that wasn’t for you to question or mull over.

Unlike your stupid couch.

And waiting was always the worst part. i.e. Now, when you could really use the help.

Destiny was a tease and life as a grown up sucked.

Now you were expected to get up and do stuff on your own, as if you hadn’t been seen and treated like a kid only a few years ago.

You’d never even been sick without your mom before, let alone been expected to move your entire life from one apartment to another without any adult supervision and help.

Your dad had flown out with you during your first move. He’d moved everything for you.

You even pretended to help more than that for a while before eventually giving up and sitting by the kitchen to watch and dictate, and he didn’t even bat an eye.

You watched him sweat, huff and puff as he set your apartment up on the first week without a single complaint or asked for you help. Maybe you moved a rug here and there so he wouldn’t trip, but that was all.

He just ruffled your hair at the end and kissed your forehead then moved onto the next task. He was as old as the parents of your generation got but he was determined to see you through. You didn’t much complain, either.

And you were no Bezos or Musk who could afford to fly your father out halfway across the world for a week in the states just to help you move. If you could, you’d just hire movers.

But sadly enough, you were a poor and struggling uni student who procrastinated for three months before finally doing something about it.

But it was time to up the ante.

You were pulling out the big guns.

You took your drink with you when you turned on your heels and slipped your feet into your shoes by the door, one foot at a time. You were already in socks because apparently New York was barbarously cold during this time of year.

Everything was flipped and done wrong on this side of the world.

You snatched your keys off an old dish you stole from your parents’ house before your first big move and left the apartment. You didn’t even think twice about dipping into your savings for an Uber because no way were you walking in this weather.

It was less than a five minute drive. The wait for the Uber lasted longer than the trip itself but you waited in the comfort of your apartment building. Behind all that clear glass that had kept warm and sheltered from the rest of New York.

Any other time during the year and you probably would’ve walked it. You enjoyed walking.

You said a quick goodbye to your driver and smiled painfully when you accidentally caught his eye after stupidly looking back out into the street. You cringed at yourself as you pushed through the entrance of the gym nearest your apartment.

You probably could’ve just gone to your campus gym had you not accidentally insulted your friend’s boyfriends’ group of friends once.

You didn’t even remember what you said. Maybe something about needing more muscle than brainpower in the University, but who knew. Not once had you ever stepped a foot into an establishment like this.

But. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

You smiled pleasantly at the receptionists by the desk. A nice guy and a nice girl, both with ginormous balls going up and down their arms like a fat suit but only muscles. Nice.

The gym had been humble and surprising quiet. Not knowing what to expect, you definitely thought there’d be a lot more grunting and shouting.

It was definitely well used gym, even as a hole in the wall type business. Smelling of nylon, leather and polyester, and a whole lot of metal.

It was warm enough that you pushed your uni sweatshirt’s sleeves up to your elbows after a hot minute of collecting yourself from the sudden change in temperature.

You were wearing the one properly your size. Not the one three sizes larger after spilling your take out all over yourself a few days ago, where the sleeves probably couldn’t hold up around your elbows if you used a belt around each arm.

You filled out a quick form about their terms and conditions and contact information and yada yada. The first month was free, the next three months at fifty percent off. Then ten percent off from there on out for students in college.

You were almost contemplating on keeping the membership out of principle alone because of how cheap the place was, but you weren’t fooling anyone.

The second you had your back to the reception desk, you’d already pulled your phone out of your back pocket. You set a quick reminder on your phone to terminate your membership via online as soon as you got back at your apartment.

Definitely not dressed for a grinding gym sesh and definitely not drinking a protein shake, you cringed when the plastic in your hand began making loud slurping noises when you reached the bottom of your drink.

You continued to chew your straw anyway.

Having looked around the room, thankfully there hadn’t been many people in the gym. No one looking at you weirdly or eyeing your comfortable lounge clothes while you stood stockstill.

Also not thankfully, less people meant less to chose from. Being a weekday morning and a few hours shy from lunch time, the place was as close to empty as an open gym could be in New York.

You scoped the room tentatively. There was a large boxing ring in the middle of the gym that took up almost half the space. The sparse patrons were surrounding the sidelines as they went about their business.

A handful of women were lifting weights that you couldn’t even dream of doing, or jumping rope at a pace you knew you could never complete with. You eyed each of them with healthy, non toxic jealousy. Especially the ones who worked the boxing bags.

You couldn’t punch someone’s shoulder as a joke without hurting your own hand. You shook your head and continued to look for the biggest person there.

Then, almost like destiny, a strong body walked out from behind closed doors. Closed doors that you hadn’t even noticed in the first place on the other side of the gym.

Built like a brick shit house with a black boxing bag on each shoulder, you eyeballed the guy — man? — with uncertainty. While boxing bags were no grandma’s couch, you’d bet your entire savings account that he’d be able to do a whole lot more damage than you ever could on a moving day.

And you had a lot more heavy boxes to think about than just a single couch.

You chewed your straw some more. You took a deep breath, cringing in pain when you accidentally hit the edge of the fat straw against your gums. You lowered your empty drink entirely as you continued to suspiciously eye him.

You hoped he was nice. And the guy was at the gym on a Tuesday morning, clearly he had free some time on his hands. What’s an hour on a Wednesday? Maybe two hours.

Okay, three hours. Max.

You hope. Probably.

Both the bags had covered his face so you couldn’t tell if he looked like a friendly or not, but judging by the gym, you expected to have plenty enough witnesses if he decided to turn around and punch you in the face for disturbing his personal bubble.

You really hope he wouldn’t. You’ve never been punched in the face before. You looked behind you with uncertainty, almost looking back for some encouragement.

Thankfully the girl at the desk looked at when you turned back. She nodded at you, almost as if she knew exactly what you thinking. Probably not. Probably just thought you were a rookie at the gym, all shy and stuff.

What did you have to lose. When the guy turned his back to you, you decided to go for it while he was off guard.

Mentally listing the moving companies your friend had texted you two months ago, you hesitantly made your way over, stopping for a split second before you tapped him on the shoulder.

You itched your nose really quickly before he could turn around and see you.

“Hi,” you said, quietly as to not disturb others. You suddenly wondered if he could even hear you. “You look really strong. Would you be able help me move my things into my new apartment next week?”

You watched his back pause. Then he set the boxing bags down slowly while you were trying really hard not to look at his butt.

You blinked as you pulled at the material of your pants. “I don’t have much money but I can buy you pizza and really cheap beer.”

After a painfully slow minute, the guy slowly turned his broad shoulders — really broad — and imposing body around to meet yours. Blue eyes looked down at you and you frowned almost immediately.

You blinked. Then you blinked again. Once. Twice. Three times. Your eyes scanned their face at least twice more before you could even process who you were looking at. No. No? No.

You did not just ask Captain America to help you move your couch.

He was almost unbearably golden. And handsome, and twice as beautiful as the news or Twitter could ever hope to capture. You wondered if Twitter even knew just how pretty he was in person, or why nobody talked about it nearly as much as they should. Woah. So beautiful.

And twice as amused and humoured. His face was twisted into disbelief and amused apprehension. The silence only lingered as he eyed you in consternation, almost huffing out, dry and a little humourless.

Captain America.

Eventually, he eased with an easy lilt to his lips. You broke out of your stare that was probably considered more than rude when he shifted. Maybe if you pretended you were in Jurassic Park and stayed eerily still, he’d eventually just walk away.

His blue eyes that were just so damn blue were only looking at you, and without watching his voice like you had so graciously done, his volume made you wince. “Sure, sweetheart.” As if he had nothing better to do.

You frowned again standing eerily still on your feet. Full to the brim with sugary drinks.

Then his words registered into your brain. There was definitely a downside to having way too much sugar. Your brain short circuited.

What the fuck.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Your eyes dropped to the words on your arm. Then back up at him.

Holy fuck.

You looked up again, like, really quickly. Too quickly. Way too quickly to count that you couldn't even remember what you saw.

He was definitely still amused.

He stood with a hint of a smirk on the lilt of his lips in front of you, shaking his head once. “Beer and pizza sounds good to me. But how about we start with your name first?” Captain America smiled at you.

He smiled at you. Your soulmate. Smiled at you. His soulmate. Because he was your soulmate and you were his.

So softly and kindly and unfairly patient, with his — very broad — shoulders hunched in as if trying to make himself as small and unimposing as humanly possible

Oh my fucking god, Captain America was your soulmate.

Holy fuck. Captain America.

But how could you be Captain America’s soulmate?Captain America had always been so untouchable to you. Maybe otherworldly, like some god in a Greek mythology or something.

Like Brad Pitt. But twice, three times over — or ten — no. A thousand million times over, because he was Captain America. The world’s first superhero. No. He wasn’t like Brad Pitt at all. He was more like Mahatma Gandhi.

Or Mother Teresa.

And if Captain America was a god, he’d be Helios. You won argued that once with your friends at uni while you were trying to avoid a particular class, after tripping over your own feet one morning in front of the entire lecture hall.

What the fuck would the god of the sun want with you. Better yet, what would Captain America need a soulmate for in the first place. He was someone who was meant to have his own whole soul. You were just a useless uni student who could barely even function.

Holy fuck, he was so beautiful and oh my fucking god, Captain America was your soulmate.

You slowly watched his saccharine blue eyes fall down to your words. No, not to his words on your left arm. His eyes fell down to the unsaid words written in a familiar scrawl on your other arm. Looking at your other set of words that you’ve had memorised since before you even learned of your own name.

You moved your limb instinctively, revealing your other set of words to Captain America. Whose face you watched relaxed.

Blooming, almost, or softening. Like a flower, born from something like or close to relief. You watched his shoulders ease back, an easy, slanted smile curling just a hint wider on the corners of his mouth. A soft chuckle akin to disbelief left his pretty red lips, with a gentle huff, as he shook his head a little.

Morning, doll. I’m no Captain America but I think I could handle a couple heavy boxes on my own.

Then Captain America reached for your hand — he reached for your hand — on the arm with his words, and brushed his thumb against your knuckles so impossibly delicately.

“You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for you, honey.”

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— Notes: Fucking sike, it’s also Bucky Barnes x Reader because I am who I am. And if you squint really hard there’s actually a hint of Stucky in there bc I’m a true believer of love and destiny. I kind of regret not making it Steve, Bucky and Sam now. There’s literally five lines of dialogue and I’m kinda cringing at it anxjjsisn, God I hate publishing things it’s so nerve wracking but new account, no followers. Less audience. Less anxiety :))))) and Stucky is my comfort pairing. — Maria! x

#soulmate au #steve rogers x reader #man #I love soulmates so much #destiny man #Bucky Barnes x reader #Captain America x Reader #The Winter Soldier x reader #Avengers #Marvel #writings #mine #FanFiction #fanfic #avengers endgame #but fix it ending #reader insert #Avengers imagine #Steve Rogers one shot #Bucky Barnes one shot #The Winter Soldier #Captain America #Stucky #Stucky x reader #Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers X Bucky Barnes x Reader #Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes #fluff

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