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Lexi's 2-4-6-8 Sleepover Celebration!
It's EVENT TIME, dearies! A chance for me to give this another try, I've built something special (but also simple) just for you. There's very few rules and limitations, sky's the limit on prompts and quotes, the full gamut of genres and lengths, and the only requirement is fun.
Is 2,468 a random number? Kinda, but it goes along with a cheer that asks a very important question: who do we appreciate?!
Let's show 'em together, shall we...
**I will answer these asks in whatever way I want UNLESS YOU SPECIFY wanting fluff-only, smut-only, etc, so please do not hesitate to include those preferences!**
2
Either/Or
Make me choose between two blorbos for any reason. Could be like a Who Would idea, or a 'which one would say this' quote, or a whole AU scenario. It'll be tough, but I'm ready!
4
3+1!
Give me a 'three times they didn't and one time they did' prompt in an ask. These could include '3x they did and 1x they didn't' too btw.
6
June--also my birthday month!
While June might be different for folks in different hemispheres, let's play with the solstices, yeah? Give me a 'long daylight' or 'long nighttime' scenario/activity 😉 to match with a blorbo. If you give me the blorbo, I'll match them with the scenario/activity. Be sure to mention day or night...because I'll choose if you don't 😏!
8
Or--if you tilt your head--infinity
Send me a blorbo and an AU or scenario you could read a thousand times over and never get sick of. Sucker for coffee shops? Do it. Have a deep-seated need for hurt/comfort? Let's dance. Want them to have a sweet (or spicy) kissssss?? You know I'm down, gang.
There are some themes I do not usually write for, but I'm making it my mission for this event to stretch my creativity and try. It's going to be so exciting. We shall explore together...which brings me to...
20*
This one's the most fun but a little out there. 2+4+6+8=20, so how about you write me a blurb showing your love for a blorbo in twenty minutes flat (or more because who's gonna know)! Stream-of-consciousness or narrative-style, whatever strikes your fancy. Focus on just them or their interactions with a reader, enjoy it all! Just please tag # Lexi's 2-4-6-8 Sleepover and @ronearoundblindly so I may see and share it easily. 💜
The sleepover will last from
Saturday, May 31st to Monday, June 2nd
(with wiggle room to finish and post my responses until the end of the week—just for safety). Your 20-minute blurbs are welcome until the end of June!
Surprise not given
Surprise not given
Title: Surprise not given.
Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.
Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.
Word count: 455 words.
Rating: Teen.
Summary: You couldn't tell Steve what you've been waiting for.
Major Tags: Mention of pregnancy, death of character.
A/N: This is my entry to @the-slumberparty Winds of Autumn Challenge with the prompt and theme:
Prompt 5.- Crispy leaves 🍁 walking home alone
Theme: Melancholy ☁️ as the trees shed and the flowers wilt, we feel a sense of loss. Write a tragic tale.
Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.
@saiyanprincessswanie
My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.
I don’t give any permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate my work myself) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.
Add yourself to my taglist here.
My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.
If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.
Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @Smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @Harrysthiccthighss @Marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @Here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber
The sun's rays streamed through the window, illuminating the room you and Steve shared. You crept up to him, leaned in, and kissed him on the lips. Steve smiled as he opened his eyes; his hands slid around your waist and yours across his chest.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Steve whispered as he slid his hands up under your shirt to reach your breasts.
However, the moment was interrupted by cell phones ringing, a sign of an urgent mission. Steve frowned somewhat annoyed at the interruption.
“It seems the quiet didn't last long,” he said, standing up and getting dressed.
“Steve, the mission is at a Hydra facility,” you explained.
Although they had the mission in the same place, they were going to take care of different things.
While he was getting ready, you sat on the bed, feeling nervous. You had planned to tell him you were pregnant after his morning session, but you hadn't expected to have been called on a mission. While he was getting ready, you approached him, eager to make the most of the remaining time.
“Wait a moment... “I need to tell you something important,” you said, approaching him with your heart beating fast.
“What is it?
But before you could answer, the cell phone rang again; they had already come for you. Steve sighed, realizing there was no time.
“I'm sorry, we have to go. But I promise you'll tell me everything later,” he said, giving you one last kiss before they left the room.
“Be careful,” you whispered as they reached the mission site. You felt a knot in your stomach.
The mission began. The team gathered in the operations room, where the details were explained to them. The plan was simple: disable security and obtain key information. But your mind kept going back to the moment you had shared with Steve, to what you were going to tell him but could not.
Out of nowhere and unexpectedly, Thanos appeared, and before you could react, he launched an attack, but it was too late. In the middle of the chaos, you found yourself paralyzed. Watching Steve fight, you knew you couldn't take any more risks.
“No!” you shouted, trying to advance towards him, but something stopped you.
You managed to get away; Thanos was gone. Only you were left, kneeling beside his body, mourning his loss and feeling the world crumbling around you. The grief was coursing through you, but there was something else; the news that you were about to become parents would never be shared.
Finally, you got up and went home, feeling the weight of grief and loneliness. The walls seemed to scream his absence, and the void he left in your life was indescribable.
Sorpresa no dada
Sorpresa no dada
Título: Sorpresa no dada.
Fandom: Marvel, Capitán América.
Pareja: Steve Rogers X Lectora.
Palabras: 444 palabras.
Clasificación: B15.
Sinopsis: No lograste decirle a Steve lo que esperaban desde hace tiempo.
Advertencias: Mención de embarazo, muerte de personaje.
N/A: Esta es mi entrada para Winds of Autumn Challenge con la frase y el tema:
Frase 5.- Hojas crujientes 🍁 caminando sola a casa
Tema: Melancolía ☁️ a medida que los árboles se deshojan y las flores se marchitan, sentimos una sensación de pérdida. Escribe una historia trágica.
Links: Wattpad, Ao3, versión en inglés.
Si te gusto por favor vota, comenta y rebloguea.
No doy ningún permiso para que mis fics sean publicados en otra plataforma o idioma (yo traduzco mi propio trabajo) o el uso de mis gráficos (mis separadores de texto también están incluidos), los cuales hice exclusivamente para mis fics, por favor respeta mi trabajo y no lo robes. Aquí en la plataforma hay personas que hacen separadores de texto para que cualquiera los pueda usar, los míos no son públicos, por favor busca los de dichas personas. La única excepción serían los regalos que he hecho ya que ahora pertenecen a alguien más. Si encuentras alguno de mis trabajos en una plataforma diferente y no es alguna de mis cuentas, por favor avísame. Los reblogs y comentarios están bien.
DISCLAIMER: Los personajes de Marvel no me pertenecen (desafortunadamente), exceptuando por los personajes originales y la historia.
Anótate en mi taglist aquí.
Otros lugares donde publico: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.
Tags: @sinceimetyou @black23 @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @azulatodoryuga
Los rayos del sol entraban por la ventana, iluminando la habitación que Steve y tú compartían. Te acercaste sigilosamente a él, te inclinaste y le diste un pequeño beso en los labios. Steve sonrió al abrir los ojos, sus manos se deslizaron por tu cintura, y las tuyas por su pecho.
—Buenos días, hermosa —susurró Steve, mientras subía sus manos por debajo de tu playera para llegar a tus pechos.
Sin embargo, el momento fue interrumpido por los celulares que sonaron, señal de que había una misión urgente. Steve frunció el ceño algo molesto por la interrupción
—Parece que la tranquilidad no duró mucho —dijo, mientras se levantaba y se vestía.
—Steve, la misión es en una instalación de HYDRA —le explicaste.
Aunque tenían la misión en el mismo lugar, se iban a encargar de cosas diferentes.
Mientras se preparaba, te sentaste en la cama, con una sensación de nerviosismo. Habías planeado decirle que estabas embarazada después de su sesión matutina, pero no esperabas que los hubieran llamado a una misión. Mientras él se preparaba, te acercaste a él, deseando aprovechar el tiempo que quedaba.
—Espera un momento... —dijiste, acercándote con el corazón latiendo rápidamente—. Necesito decirte algo importante.
—¿Qué es?
Pero antes de que pudieras responder, el celular sonó de nuevo, ya habían llegado por ustedes. Steve suspiró, comprendiendo que no había tiempo.
—Lo siento, tenemos que irnos. Pero prometo que me cuentas todo después —dijo, dándote un último beso antes de que salieran de la habitación.
—Ten cuidado —susurraste cuando llegaron al lugar de la misión, sentiste un nudo en el estómago.
La misión comenzó. El equipo se reunió en la sala de operaciones, donde les explicaron los detalles. El plan era simple: desactivar la seguridad y obtener información clave. Pero, tu mente seguía volviendo al momento que habías compartido con Steve, a lo que ibas a decirle y no pudiste.
De la nada y de forma inesperada Thanos apareció y antes de que pudieran reaccionar, lanzó un ataque, pero era demasiado tarde. En medio del caos, te encontraste paralizada, observando cómo Steve luchaba, sabías que no podías arriesgarte más.
—¡No! —gritaste, intentando avanzar hacia él, pero algo te detuvo.
Te lograste zafar, Thanos se había ido. Solo quedabas tú, arrodillada junto a su cuerpo, llorando su pérdida y sintiendo que el mundo se desmoronaba a tu alrededor. El dolor te atravesaba, pero había algo más; la noticia de que estaban a punto de ser padres nunca sería compartida.
Finalmente, te levantaste y regresaste a casa, sintiendo el peso del dolor y la soledad. Las paredes parecían gritar su ausencia, y el vacío que había dejado en tu vida era indescriptible.
Once Upon A Friendship: Bittersweet Symphony
Pairings: Childhood Bestie!Steve Rogers x F!Reader
Word Count: 3.2k~
Rating: Teens and up!
Disclaimer: Surprise, shawtyyyy~ submitting this sad lil number to 🍂Winds of Autumn Challenge🍂 made by @the-slumberparty // Chai latte ☕ caught in the cold rain // Melancholy ☁️ as the trees shed and the flowers wilt, we feel a sense of loss. Write a tragic tale. *this is a part to my fic Once Upon A Friendship. You may need to read it to get the full gist, but it could probs be read on its own-ish. *I wanted to submit a 3-part to this where it's a sad prequel, hope prequel, and then a post-OUAF fic for Chip and Steve. But not entirely sure, feel free to lmk if anyone would even wanna read that for these two <3 *i was inspired by Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve if you wanted to listen while reading!
Summary: Visiting home for the holidays has left you feeling sad and alone. Is it really the end of your friendship with Steve?
***I don't give any permission for this to be reposted anywhere! Pls do not steal work, plagiarism isn't cuteeee~~~~
Warnings: 18+ for the explicit language. This is a sad one y'all get ready for the angst, explicit language/curse words. ends with some kind of hope. this is not beta'd so please be kind!
*Any comments/reblogs are much appreciated and are so encouraging - more than you know. Pls don't hesitate to interact with me <3
“Shit!” Ducking underneath the small alcove, you exhaled a sigh of frustration as you tried to wrang your damp hair, trying to rid it of the sudden extra moisture thanks to the abundant waterfall that was the rain.
It was a rainy Autumn season this year, it was out of character considering that the weather around your hometown was usually well-adjusted. You were just out to go to the grocery store to see if you could scramble a last minute grab for some cranberry sauce. With Thanksgiving being so close, you knew that the shelves would likely be empty but your stomach outwon logic once again.
When you saw the gloomy clouds and the wind-blown fall leaves scattered all over the neatly trimmed lawns of other people’s houses, you should’ve known that you fucked up by not bringing an umbrella, much more, by not wearing appropriate clothing.
Leaving the house, you figured it would be a quick trip, in-and-out. Have hope and then feel disappointment (or if you were lucky, leave the store just skipping down the sidewalk with the dreams of eating the can full of gelatinous tart of cranberry goodness that would be clutched in your hand). Naively, you left the house wearing a pair of thin leggings and a crochet sweater.
Now, as you sat along the rainy road, seeking shelter underneath the small bus stop corner, you cursed your craving stomach and realized that you needed to listen to your intuition a lot more than you have been. The thick sweater left you feeling even muggier than you were before with you getting drenched in the rain and your thin leggings left you shivering with nothing to protect you from the gusty autumn breeze.
Trying desperately not to cry at how frustrated you felt, you sat there trying to replay the last few days. You were currently on mid-semester break, back home to celebrate the Thanksgiving weekend. Since you booked your flight tickets back home, you were dreading coming back as you knew that this would be the first time since graduation that you would see your family. Not only your parents, but Natasha and Bucky.
Steve.
Natasha, being the friend that she is, tried to comfort you the best she could over the phone before you went on your flight. Apparently, Steve may not even be there for a long period of time since his semester was scheduled differently from all of yours. Word from Bucky was that they also may be visiting his mom’s side of the family’s Thanksgiving celebration.
You did your best to coordinate dates and times so that you wouldn’t see him but one scolding from Nat bucked you up.
“It was your decision to leave the way that you did. People are going to be naturally curious and so will Steve. It’s time to pull up your big girl pants, and come home.”
You knew that she was right, however cruel her words sounded– you knew that she was speaking from a place of reality. It was your decision to leave suddenly, even though you knew that the escape wouldn’t last forever. Your families were all so close, it was inevitable to see him again.
You just didn’t think that you would be feeling this much pain at this point.
Grief is a funny thing - you’re still mourning this person who is alive, but in your eyes, Steve was basically gone. Seeing him there in that dimly lit bedroom, the thumping sounds of the music downstairs just reverberating in your ears, seeing Sharon’s lips on his as she laid on top of Steve.
Tears brimmed to your eyes just at the image of it burning in your mind’s eye. The shock, anger, and hurt flooded through you as if you were still there. You didn’t regret what you said at the party.
“I wish that I had never met you.”
The words escaped you in such an impulsive fury. You never imagined that you would be the kind of person to ever feel that much hate. Towards anyone, but especially towards Steve, your best friend. The person that would never fail to make you laugh and would always help you feel less alone.
A wave of genuine sorrow washed over you because you weren’t spending the holidays laughing with your friends. You weren’t smiling. You were wet, cold and sad.
And you were certainly, and most definitely, alone.
You could feel yourself distance from what was happening around you slowly as you opted to wait out the rain. It was too much effort to call one of your parents, or Nat, even Buck – to come up and pick you up. Then, you’d just have to explain all the reasons as to why you’re wet and sad and you didn’t really feel like receiving that look of pity again.
You sighed again as the sounds of car’s splashing against the wet roads came back to you. After some pondering, you ultimately decided to head back home and took a look at when the next bus would be coming. Looking through the bus’ schedule on your phone, you heard footsteps rush in your direction but you assumed that it was another person just trying to outrun the rain. It was only when you felt someone sit next to you on the bench did you turn to the person.
Steve.
He was panting hard, his breath fogging in the air with exhilaration. He looked over at you as he sat down, he looked hesitant– as if he were attempting to say something. Your mind and body couldn’t move all of a sudden, you couldn’t help but just stare at him.
You haven’t seen each other since that night – seeing him in the flesh, to see him in his stature just made the pain more real.
Out of pure fight or flight instinct, your body broke the frozen barrier as you got up with lightning speed and turned to walk away. Before you could take one step, Steve’s strong grip clutched onto your wrist before you could go.
“Wait, chip, don’t–” Steve pleaded at first until you whipped around to roughly take back your wrist from his touch.
“Don’t touch me!”
The words felt like they echoed despite the loud platters of rain on pavement. You clutched your hand in reverence of his warm touch on your cold skin. Like you were clutching a burn, you held your wrist close to your heart where you felt it once again break like it did that night.
Underneath the heartbreak, you could feel your younger self just utterly despair at the look on Steve’s face. He seemed to pale even in the ghastly weathered temperatures and fog-ridden air. His eyes held a shock that you recalled was present on the same night that you told him those shelled words.
“I wish that I had never met you.”
The words echoed again now too. It touched both of your ears whilst you stood there in mild panic as you both stared at each other. It truly felt like your friendship together really had never existed.
Time passed a bit until Steve’s chapped pink lips suddenly moved, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” His speech was slow, as if he was trying to be very careful of what was actually coming out of his mouth.
You only broke your stare away from his to look down at the darkened pavement, still clutching your wrist to your chest. You could feel the torrid rain from earlier brisk down into a soft mist, droplets catching in your eyelashes as you flit your gaze back to Steve.
“What are you even doing here?” You mumbled to him, eyes wandering back and forth between him and the pavement.
Steve looked embarrassed before he stood up to meet you at arm's length. Both of you withstanding the mist falling from the sky. With a frown, you noticed the shortened distance between you two and attempted to back away until Steve reached his hands out as if to placate you.
His resounding sigh let you know that he wasn’t going to come any closer as he responded, “Buck told me you were back home. I went over to see you and your mom told me that you left for the store. Figured I could try to catch you mid-route, and I did.” His words left a clear mark on what had transpired from the time since you came back home.
Steve was keeping tabs on you. Steve went to visit you. Steve came out in the rain to try and catch you.
Your eyes glazed over with a mist thicker than what was coming down. A burning sensation and tingling in your eyes overpowered you as you recognized the grief of missing him once more. More than anything, you wanted him to chase you. Follow you. But he never did, hadn’t for a long time. Until now.
Grief, that’s an old friend.
Doing your best to mask up your tears, you couldn’t catch the one that rolled down your cheek as you eagerly wiped away at your face. You tried to pretend you were wiping away the rainy mist but from the look of devastation on Steve’s face, you could tell that you didn’t do a good job of hiding your tears.
Ignoring his look, you sniffed harshly against the cold air and a stoic expression overtook your flushed face. “Okay, and? What do you want?”
He blanched further at your reduced and stoic tone but his eyes took a hopeful turn, “I was hoping that we could talk, chip. Last time that I saw you, I didn’t get the chance to explain or talk to you.”
You frowned at his words, “You’re hilarious if you thought that I’d even want to talk to you, Rogers.”
Steve took the opportunity to say, “Well, I mean, we are technically talking now…” His eyebrows raised in attempts to invite humor into the space. His expression fell when he saw your furrowed expression.
Suffice to say, you were not buying it nor did you want to engage in humor about your pain with Steve.
“Chip, I want to apologize for what happened. I never meant for you to run into Sharon and I…especially not in that way. I mean, of course, at all– I never wanted you to run into Sharon and I doing anything–” Steve stumbled upon his words as he ran into a word salad in his brain.
Your annoyance at his continued rambling cut through his random speech, “Rogers. What do you want from me?”
Steve cut himself off at your decisive tone and said, “You never, never, deserved for that to have happened. It was a complete accident. I’m so sorry.”
Fury. It was the only emotion that was coming through as you let Steve’s dead apology deliberately hang in empty air.
You couldn’t hold it back.
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?! Steve, the way that you looked at me when I walked into that fucking room–,” Steve’s eyes widened at your speech and he flinched as he saw your crossed arms fall to your sides dangerously calm.
“It was like you didn’t want me to exist. As if my very presence annoyed you,” you continued, your breath coming in hot and fast. You didn’t even seem to notice your feet leaning and stepping closer into Steve’s space. Something else took over you. It was the former best friend of Steve Rogers that was in so much pain.
“If you really ever truly cared, instead of chasing me out here to give me this half-assed apology, you would really need to apologize for the fact that you treated your best friend like shit for a long time, way before I even found you in that stupid house! When you blatantly ignored my calls and when you brushed me off in the library. For when you would stand me up at the diner or for when you would break so many promises that you couldn’t keep! For the times that you said that you would never betray me but then you did. For the times when you promised to protect me from bullies, like Sharon– until you went and became one.”
You couldn’t catch your breath. You could feel your chest heaving and the rain wasn’t misting anymore. The air was dry and stale and lingered a sour and gray aftertaste that could only be translated into a bitter melancholy.
Your body was only one step away from Steve now. Unbeknownst to you, you threateningly crept closer to Steve as you spoke at him. For all of Steve’s bravery, he planted himself like a tree as he wreaked your havoc. Your angry words washed over him like the rain, it felt truly deserving and sad.
“You shouldn’t be apologizing for what happened in that house Steve. What you should be apologizing for is for ruining a friendship that we can never, ever, get back. You did that. You.”
Your accusing pointed finger poked harshly at his dampened chest. Your last resounding accusation of ruining the friendship made Steve harshly flinch once more. Bitterness didn’t allow you to break your gaze from his. A sweet and vicious victory started to fill your chest at the sight of Steve’s blue eyes tinting with unshed tears, the space in your heart that used to be sustained by love and adoration was replaced by pure resentment.
You stuffed down the pain as you finished off, “I don’t give a flying fuck about your apology. You were dead to me the minute that I left that house. I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t even want to be around you. There isn’t anything here anymore so if I were you, I’d go back to Sharon and your other friends. Don’t worry! You could celebrate your untethered friendship with the loser nerd that you always just felt sorry for – you’re obviously really good at pretending.”
Sarcasm and disdain dripped from your words as you sneered at Steve’s now dulled eyes. He gave a slow shake of his head as if to try to reject your words and what he was witnessing and hearing from you.
Steve blinked away his tears harshly as he shook his head again, almost like he resolutely decided on something. “You don’t mean that, chip.”
Quickly, you corrected him with your name. Steve gave one last hurt flinch at that. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. Only my real friends get to call me that. And I did mean it. God, why do you even care anyways? You’re free! You obviously never cared about me. So I don’t care about you either. That’s it!”
You frowned and grimaced bitter tears away as you made your claims. Looking back in Steve’s eyes, there were tears still present but something was different in them. A glint that you’ve only seen a few times in your friendship growing up.
Steve determinedly shook his head again and refused to consider your cutting remarks, “That’s not true. I’ve always cared about you and I still do. You’re right – I treated you like crap and you didn’t deserve that. So you can keep insulting me and hurting me, chip. I deserve it. All those times that we protected each other, I wasn’t trying to protect me. I was always just trying to protect you. It was you who never deserved to be treated like that by anyone, most of all, by me. But I know that I failed you and betrayed you, and I am so sorry. I’m sorry.”
His tone was hopeful once more and you couldn’t believe it but– you couldn’t help but recognize the undying, caring nature that was Steve Rogers. You just said the ugliest and most horrid of things to him, beat him down, terrorized him – and he was still trying to meet you with compassion that you would allow, and he seemed to know it too.
It was your turn to experience disbelief as your vision blurred, it was like the clock turned back time as you took in his words – you didn’t see the stocky and tall build of the man in front of you now, you could only see the skinny and small Steve Rogers. Your best friend.
“I’m not free, chip. And I don’t want to be. I miss you. I don’t deserve to have a friend like you, but I’m not going to give up. I’ll do whatever I need to do to earn your forgiveness and trust back. Anything to be in each other’s lives again.” Steve seemed to regain the confidence that he needed since the beginning of this reunion as he stood at his full height, broad and statured. His face was determined and his voice was steady. The reverence in his body and words made you draw back again as you took one step back.
“Just please, don’t give up on me.” His eyes downcast again as he desperately clung onto the tense silence that held the potential for repair.
You didn’t know what to feel. Numb heaviness took over your body and it was like any words or response was trapped inside of you. You said all that you could’ve said, it felt like. You frantically tried to find the anger and bitterness again but they seemed to retreat into far enough depths where they couldn’t be found.
But with his words sinking in, his seemingly urgent request touched something inside of you. The only thing that seemed to shine was a halting jolt of reluctant hope.
Almost as if he could see it too, Steve allowed his own small hope to seep through as a small smile endeared his handsome face. Silence continued to fill the space as it became clear that you weren’t capable of responding, he took two steps back as he finally gave you the space that he knew you didn’t ask for, but now respectfully gave.
“I’ll go back home now. I’ll see you in a few days at the party.” He nodded at you, his eyes shining with glimmers of promise as he turned the walk back from where he came. The same direction that you would have to go down too eventually.
You remained frozen with bated breath as you watched Steve’s form slowly distance farther and farther as he walked away, until you couldn’t really see him anymore.
It wasn’t until later during the party, you plated your cranberry sauce and dipped a selfish spoonful into your mouth did you fully register what happened. You got what you wanted from the taste, but this overall unsatisfied feeling overcame you. Unsure of this feeling, you glanced over at the living room filled with laughter and cheer, the air smelling of mouth watering food – your wandering eyes froze again as you stumbled upon Steve. He was standing with Bucky and Natasha, laughing with them but his blue eyes seemed to have already been seeking yours.
Even from afar, you could tell that the promise in his gaze from earlier was still there.
A/N: What are our thoughts? Chip really let him have it! This is one of those interactions that they have had together before the main fic where she would try her hardest to not speak with him. But as we could see, Steve is always persistent! I think that this may satisfy some of y'all who have been feening for a more angry-at-Steve response lol I'm hoping that it can satisfy some of the anger at him. He knows he fucked up, but he isn't going to give up their friendship! And as we know, he could do this alllll day. Thanks for reading laddies~
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Caught (S.R.)
Type: one-shot, fluff, they were roommates and idiots trope
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8,2k
Summary: You hadn’t exactly planned to get caught in the rain. Then again, people rarely do. But you did.
You hadn’t plan to get caught in the soft spiderweb of feelings for Steve Rogers when your friend had set you up as roommates. Then again, people rarely do. But you did. It was impossible not to.
Arriving at your shared apartment soaking wet sees Steve springing into action to warm you up… and send you falling deeper in love with him with every passing second. But hey – what else was new, right?
Warnings: tooth-rottng FLUFF, idiots-in-love trope, they were ROOMMATES trope, brief mention of PTSD and its symptoms, one gratuitous 'fuck' and French
A/N: cross-written for the Winds of Autumn challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty and for @elixirfromthestars ' writing challenge. Thank you ALL for hosting and breathing live into the community 💕 for WoA I chose 'caught in the cold rain' for the WChallenge I chose “ Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”
A/N 2: DIVIDER by @steviebbboi ;enjoy y'all 🥰
This was all your fault; it really was.
There was no one else to blame for your current state.
Soaking wet, hair and clothes dripping alike, shaking so hard you nearly dropped your keys when trying to fit it into the keyhole.
A few minutes was all it took.
And yes; it was all on you.
You had practically been praying for a sweater weather. You had been so fed up with the unbearable summer heat still gripping the reigns even mid-September that you prayed and begged and swore you might be able to kill a man for a single breath of autumn.
So clearly, you had called this upon yourself.
In all fairness, you had wished for Indian summer; the normal late September weather. The light sweater weather. You certainly hadn’t been hoping to be thrown into the weather of seasonal depression, the temperature drop equalling a time machine bringing the end of November to the air and people’s hearts alike. Unforgiving icy wind, endless downpours, poking umbrellas all around, ever-present grumbling as one’s coat brushed against another, the dampness and cold seeping into yours and everyone else’s bones.
Nothing nice and prayers-worthy about that.
The thing was, this had been a daily reality for about a week now – and so one would think you were well-equipped to deal with the weather at least.
Except like the fool you were, you left your waterproof jacket at home, because you had believed today’s weather forecast, confident that the desired sweet and slightly crispy autumn was coming at last.
You and the meteorologists had been wrong.
But that wasn’t the worst part, no – the worst part would be your giddy optimism in the face a sudden NY underground failure.
Taking the ride home from work, you had nearly slammed into people surrounding you in the train at the sudden slam of breaks. A system failure, apparently. Caused by the damage to the network due to previous intense rains. A mishap stopping the trains in their stations, forcing people out.
And like the optimistic half-wit, trying to find a bright side and making the most of a miserable situation, you had thought, hey, it’s only a few blocks from here! No rain on the horizon for a change. What an opportunity to soak in the lovely autumn weather! The buses and taxis will be packed, and walking is good for health anyway.
And sure it was. And you ended up soaking indeed.
The brutal downpour and icy wind caught you in about ten minutes after you had taken off to your brisk walk.
You seriously doubted there was any benefit to your health at all, safe for maybe points to your mental resilience and an excuse to stay in bed with a book and a cup of hot chocolate next week, because you were about to catch a grade-A case of cold.
By the time you got to your apartment door, you were ready to flop on the floor the moment you’d stumble inside, uncaring for the wet smack you’d make against the hardwood or the carpet should you make it further into the apartment.
Except you knew the floor would be unforgivingly hard either way, and cold and you first had to get out of your dripping shoes and then the drenched clothes sticking to your body like a second skin and it would take you forever to strip with how shaky and numb your fingers had turned, the only sensation being cold and stiffness bordering on pain and for god’s sake could you at least stick the damn key into the goddamn keyhole-
You finally opened the door with a gratuitous ‘fuck’ on your lips, practically throwing the door open.
And were met with a surprised sleepy supersoldier blinking at your owlishly, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his white sleepshirt crumbled, the perfect case of bed hair and confused expression completing the most telling startled-from-his-sleep-but-not-Avenger-level-alarmed look.
Even in your state you had to admit he was adorable in a way men built like mountains shouldn’t.
You stared at each other mutely for several seconds, as if both surprised by each other’s presence – or at least state – processing.
You, drenched from rain and puddles, cold-dried by the wind, shivering all over and barely keeping your teeth from clattering as to hold onto the last shreds of your dignity and sanity.
Steve, still slightly disoriented, having just been woken up. Woken up by you, most likely, you thought regretfully, cursing your life-choices again. He was a light sleeper – a mere jiggle of keys would have interrupted his slumber, let alone your endless fumbling around the lock.
You spoke at the same time.
“I’m sorry for wak-” “What happened to you?”
Your voice trailed off, a chuckle of irony echoing in the back of your head.
What happened to you?
That was a question a lot more loaded that it might seem.
What had happened to lead you to this place, facing a sleepy Greek-godlike figure with a concerned look on his face?
A whole lot of coincidences; a whole lot of fate, maybe.
Sam Wilson, a friend from childhood, with whom you had only reconnected a few years ago.
You, having been looking for an apartment ever since your landlord had announced he planned to sell the building to a huge corporation which would, from then on, only rent the apartments to its employees.
Sam again, looking to move in with his girlfriend, claiming he was leaving a roommate behind, who would appreciate a kind, trustworthy and reliable replacement.
Your ‘Gee, thanks’.
‘Wait, no, he didn’t word it exactly like that,’ Sam had assured you. ‘I promise, he’s a real stand-up guy. Sure, a guy, but a respectful one and a neat one, with a sprinkle of a neat freak on top. He’s a great roommate and one of my best friends – I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe it could work.’
That was what your friend had said. And you believed him.
One thing led to another.
What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that his real stand-up guy was a hulking drop-dead gorgeous supersoldier with the sweetest soul on the damn planet. Or maybe in the universe – what did you know? The universe had got a lot bigger ever since you found out it was perfectly possible for aliens to rain down from the sky through some kind of a hole in spacetime.
What Sam had conveniently failed to mention was that your future roommate was one of the heroes from the superhero band that had stopped these very aliens from taking over planet Earth.
After processing – even though you weren’t sure you’d ever finish processing – that you would share an apartment with Captain America, you accepted.
After all, you certainly weren’t one to look a gifted horse in the mouth; experience told you that could have done a lot worse than landing a person vetted by Sam Wilson and by a potentially world-ending event for a roommate.
In fact, you soon learned you couldn’t have done any better.
Steve was all the things Sam had promised.
And besides being the perfect person to share an apartment with, besides being the paragon of justice itself with a sprinkle of neat freak on top, he was also shockingly human.
Steve was a guy who had a routine until he didn’t, his schedule a little funny. He split housework with you in a way that left both of you content even as you felt he was doing a little bit more than his part whenever he could. He enjoyed cooking and baking and drawing and generally working with his hands, fixing any household issues before they could develop into a problem. Sometimes, nights found him in the living room with a book in his hand and quiet movie for a background when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, he left dirty dishes in the sink and a toothbrush on the basin instead of putting it into the holder and sometimes he forgot to put the toilet seat down. He was painfully respectful of your privacy and of your sleep alike whenever he was coming back at strange times, almost absurdly so for a man who seemed to barely fit in a doorway.
He had a sharp mind and a subtle but deadly sense of humour on a good day and a quiet demeanour on a bad day, usually after a sleepless or nightmare-filled nights, which were always followed by him walking around the apartment with his sweats tucked into his socks because the draught and the cold on his ankles clearly bothered him. The list could go on and on and it was rather embarrassing for you, the idea for just how long you could keep listing things you observed about Steve and his habits and him; but the point was that he was a guy who was absurdly ordinary guy and extraordinary in about everything at once.
He had introduced as Steve the very day you had met, clearly not standing for any of your Captain, Sir, Captain Rogers nonsense.
He became Steve to you soon after.
He turned dear to you just as fast.
You weren’t sure when it happened; when your relationship shifted from sharing an apartment to sharing a life. It happened gradually, through dinners and breakfasts and films watched together; through nights he found you on the couch, barely awake or already sleeping after having been waiting for him even as he had told you not to; through late-night talks, about both things you were passionate about and things you wished you could forget.
You weren’t sure when this man, larger than life in both frame and heart, became your close friend.
You weren’t sure when the small butterflies that appeared in your stomach every time he smiled turned so all-consuming, spreading their wings through your whole body, circling around your heart.
It must have happened somewhere between his first smile and the sparkle in his warm blue eyes, between the tear-streaked cheeks when you found his shaking breathless body curled on the floor, between a hug and holding your hand when he drove you back from your wisdom teeth removal surgery because no one else was available, between every single minute you had the fortune to spend in his company and those you couldn’t, longing for him instead.
Somewhere in between, you must have fallen in love, the urgent feeling in your chest slowly turning unbearable and heavy. It burned, to stifle it inside, the one secret you wouldn’t share for the fear of breaking something as precious to you as your peaceful life with Steve the friend.
You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but it got you there.
It got you here; into this very moment, just like many others, facing him and rendered speechless for a breath or two, because god, was he handsome and lovely and sweetly worried and an image of domesticity at once and you were hit with a sharp tug of a feeling whispering of coming home.
What happened to you, Steve had asked, his gaze turning more concerned by the second as you remained silent safe for the rustle of your soaked jacket you had started to strip at some point and the one clatter of your teeth you failed to stifle.
What did happen again?
“Got caught in a rain,” you rasped, stating the painfully obvious. “Underground broke down. Thought I’d walk…”
Steve frowned, sleepiness wiped off his face to give way to compassion and sternness at once, a sigh leaving his lips as he slowly neared you.
“Seemed like a smart idea at the time…” you continued when he didn’t say a word, just gently – always so gently dammit – pushed at the door to get it closed at last, his arms quietly coming around you, engulfing you in his embrace. Your heart startled at the gesture. “Steve, no, I’ll get you all we---wow okay, this is nice, you’re really warm-“
He chuckled sweetly above your head as you babbled, protests dying on your lips with a sound resembling a whine and moan as his warmth enveloped you, so relieving and inviting, prompting you to melt against his firm and yet painfully soft body.
His voice carried an admonishing note as you trembled against him, his warmth and pleasant scent of comfort seeping into your body while the cold and smell of rain soaked him in return. You did not care for the scolding; it was a kind one. And Steve still was still holding you – that was the important part.
And the most painful one.
"You could have called,” he said, like a sweet, even if already lost bargain. “I’d come get you.”
You pressed closer to him, clearly having a glutton for punishment.
Those few innocent words burned through you like the most tender wildfire. An inflection and tone that couldn’t have been good for your heart and yet you revelled in them; a statement that felt like an oath:
I‘d come get you.
I’d always come get you.
I’d do anything for you.
Something so close to love, in your reach and yet untouchable, because he didn’t mean it – he couldn’t mean it, because Steve Rogers had a large heart, but surely would have told you if you had occupied space in it that way.
And yet he held your own heart in his palms and he didn’t even know. Was it wrong you let the gentle words wash over you and let them warm you just as much as Steve’s arms, even if they meant something different than you’d wish?
You gulped, a shiver that had nothing to do with cold running down your spine.
“You only got in like three hours earlier,” you reasoned, forcing yourself to focus on the practical matters as not to slip into whispering a true confession; and perhaps doing so anyway along the way. It was true, however; as per habit and your request, Steve had texted you he was home safe and sound barely few hours ago. Knowing that led you to immediately weed out the mere idea of calling him to pick you up as it appeared in your mind the moment the downpour started. You were aware, however bittersweet the knowledge was, that he would come – that was why you hadn’t called. For his benefit. “You needed to sleep.”
Steve sighed again. And you needed to be picked up, you heard in the weary and yet somehow fond sound.
He didn’t argue, however; his hold grew tighter, appreciative, his broad hand, oh so warm, running up and down your back, pressing a little stronger than he normally would in a hug; allowing the heat of his body sink deeper, into your very bones, sending you sinking deeper into the warmth blooming in your chest as well.
Pressed against his front, you couldn’t but breathe in, allowing everything that was Steve overwhelm over your senses. The woodsy notes and musk of his cologne, the soft material of his sleepshirt burning almost too hot as it clung to his body, the smooth movements of his rough hands, his warm breath brushing your scalp, the image of his minute smile behind your closed eyelids, his voice humming in his ribcage and filling your ears like honey.
“Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?”
His question was so genuine – and a little wavery in a way that made your belly tingle in response. Tell me what I can do and I will do it. Just say the word, it seemed to whisper in your head, your heart protesting and fluttering in your chest.
You already are, you almost replied as the shudders subdued slowly despite both of you now soaking. You’re back home. You’re safe. You’re with me. And you’re warm. And big. And strong. And you smell good. And you’re holding me oh so tight and gentle and it feels so profoundly nice and you really are warm and maybe this new shiver running down my back isn’t just that I’m cold, maybe it’s that naïve hope of which I should have let go of so long ago-
He noticed the fresh wave of tremble of whose origin you yourself weren’t entirely sure of – your weather escapades or the escapades of your poor heart – and the caress up and down your back grew faster, more of a rubbing to create warmth than a soothing gesture.
“Okay, doll, you’re getting into the bathtub right away. What can I do in the meantime?”
In spite of his words, a benevolent order one might say, he didn’t let go.
Despite his question sounding urgent, you took your time responding; because it took a huge portion of your willpower not to tell him to just keep holding you.
“…hot chocolate?” you suggested meekly, a shy but slightly mischievous smile tugging at your lips when Steve released you at last, those big warm paws of his settling on your shoulders for a moment. “And you should probably change.”
He glanced at his wet clothes self-deprecatingly, as if it was his fault – and in a way, you supposed it was. But you weren’t complaining. The wet fabric clung to his body in the most delicious way, no matter the scepticism he observed it with.
When his gaze met yours again, his smile was the sun itself; but you still missed the heat of his body against your skin.
“You got it, doll. Come on.”
Much to your regret and salvation, he released you completely. You still graced him with a grateful and once again shaky smile which you could and should blame on the loss of his body heat.
“Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”
And he was.
And if that wasn’t becoming a bigger problem by the minute.
With some of Steve’s warmth lingering – mainly the one his actions and demeanour awoke deep within your body – you managed to get rid of your clothes with enough ease and patience to have the bathtub fill with steaming hot water before climbing in. Sinking into the water then felt about as pleasant as sinking into Steve’s embrace had been – except this time, it was the rest of your body which appreciated the heat, warming you from the outside, tension leaving your muscles, your brain relaxing and slipping into a mindless haze, an absent smile forming on your lips.
You soaked in the tub for long enough to almost fall asleep and slide under the water; the only thing convincing you to fight the slumber off – perhaps besides, well, drowning – was the premise of a delicious cup of hot chocolate made with utmost care and Steve’s company, all the more appreciated since you knew he’d stay for at least five minutes even as he was no doubt falling asleep on his feet himself.
Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer, your climbed from the tub, rushed through your routine and emerged from the bathroom with steam following you, no doubt making for an image of cosiness with your blissfully dry comfortable clothes, complete with fuzzy socks.
Steve must have agreed with your assessment, because he greeted you with a grin.
He had left the two mugs of top tier hot chocolate with actual melted pieces of the treat and whipped cream on top on the kitchen counter, having brought two blankets for the couch, now fumbling with the tv remote. A quick glance around the apartment told you that while you were nearly nodding off in the bathroom, he had made a quick work of cleaning the mess you had left behind; electric shoe dryers already placed in your boots, your drenched jacket near the heating with plastic film spread on the floor as not to do any damage.
You could kiss the lop-sided smile he gave you when you thanked him, your heart hammering in your chest with excitement and longing when he nodded towards the couch. To an outsider, the scene could easily appear as a quiet night in of a couple; a thoughtful beautiful man setting everything up for a date night full of seeking joy in simple domesticity and quiet intimacy.
One day, Steve Rogers was about to make someone incredibly happy.
The idea strung a sharp but brief note of jealousy in your chest, a lump growing in your throat as the rational part of you mocked you that the person wasn’t you. You would have known by now if you were; even though spending time with him did make you all kinds of happy.
You forced a smile through the light sting of tears, trying to stop your mind from racing and spiralling about the thought of having to move out to make space for the vaguely gorgeous and brilliant woman; or maybe sooner, just to put your heart at ease, because with every beat of it you felt yourself falling deeper into the trap of loving this man. It was beginning to hurt; and still, you approached him, smiling.
“Looking cosy. Feeling better?”
You nodded, unable to resist and placing your hand over Steve’s arm, his soft blues finding your gaze.
“Thank you, Steve. Really.”
The lopsided smile returned, his fingers brushing your shoulder. God, he was so close and all you’d have to do was to stand on your tiptoes. You’d kiss his cheek, a purely innocent display of gratitude of course, just to feel his smooth skin against your lips once-
You needed to get a grip. The brief hypothermia you had suffered was messing with your brain and was lowering your inhibitions and that was not good.
“Anytime,” he assured you, nodding towards the screen. “We don’t have to, but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to watch a movie? I feel like we could both use that. But if you’d rather be alone-“
You shook your head quickly, your smile coming easier now because of the absurdity and thoughtfulness of his question at once. To be alone when he was there? No thank you. Who cared that the rational part of your brain huffed again, telling you that maybe that would be a better idea unless you wanted to torture yourself with false hopes.
Saying no was not an option.
You really must have had a glutton for punishment; but in some ways, you learned Steve suffered from the same condition. So maybe that was just his persona rubbing on off you… And thank you, brain, for the worst possible choice of words.
You cleared your throat.
“A movie sounds great,” you said, the mental image of you throwing its hands in the air, grumbling something about your poor old heart. Steve was still very softly holding onto your shoulder though, facing you, mere foot apart; who expected you to think rationally in these conditions? “Fair warning though, I almost fell asleep in the tub. Might fall asleep half-way through this.”
Steve grinned, stepping back to get the mugs and beckoning towards the couch again as to tell you to get settled. You obeyed without protest; you knew him well enough to be aware there was no point in trying to get your mug yourself.
He was the nurturing kind of friend.
“Does that mean I get to choose the movie so you can blame your social and cultural ignorance on my choices?” he teased.
He was also the loveable little shit kind of friend.
“Rude… and I would never,” you protested, accepting the offering of the hot chocolate, now indeed all cosy, tucked in a blanket, sitting comfortably and wrapping your hands around the mug to warm your palms further. “…but deal.”
Steve’s laugh was perhaps warmer than the mug and sweeter than its content, but you stomped at the thought as soon as it popped up in your head. You had no time nor capacity for nonsense. You had a nice evening ahead.
Better not to ruin it.
You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but this was not it.
You had warned Steve about the possibility of you nodding off; after all, beyond having exhausted your body with the less-than-pleasant walk, nearly falling asleep in a bathtub and getting all comfortable on the couch, you had expected the large amount of sugar you’d consume to take its toll eventually and push you over the edge, the infamous sugar crash being the last straw.
You had expected to be out as a light in a matter of minutes, to be honest.
You had not expected the effect of all the warmth and sugars to evaporate much faster than that.
You were maybe twenty minutes into the movie and the anticipated sleep barely scratched the door of your consciousness; instead, the first reluctant shivers arrived. Blatantly ignoring Steve’s subtle side-eye and entirely obvious worry, you sank deeper into the couch, pulling the second blanket over yourself, tucking it all the way up to your chin, curling into yourself to preserve the warmth.
Thirty minutes in, you were shaking so hard Steve paused the movie, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he turned his upper body to you, right hand reaching out before pausing a few inches from your forehead.
“Can I?”
You hummed noncommittally, wondering yourself if maybe your grade-A case of cold was arriving sooner than expected and a fever already hit.
You were feeling just fine though; it was just the damn shivers which you couldn’t seem to stop.
Steve’s hand gently settled against your forehead, his frown deepening almost as if he could feel your heart speed up at the contact and didn’t approve. Which you knew was nonsense, because his whole mind was probably already consumed by the mission of assessing whether his inner Nurse Rogers should come out, but it worked well for cooling off your train of thought.
“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever, but we should probably check,” he hummed thoughtfully, shifting, prepared to rise his feet in search of the thermometer.
Your hand shot up from its safe warm haven, missing the target of his forearm but sending clear enough message to stop him.
He settled back down with a sigh, his hand sliding from your forehead over your cheek to the side of your neck, a delightful source of warmth spreading through your whole body and your suddenly deadly heartrate; a flicker of an image in which he’d place his hand exactly there and leaned forward, his lips brushing yours, nudged insistently at your brain.
You battled it with violent effort, refusing to even consider the soft look in Steve’s eyes was anything but concern for a good friend.
Because that was all it was: concern. What if you turned into an icicle, right? He had seen weirder things than that and he had spent whole seventy years frozen. He was naturally very worried about you having to endure the same.
“I’m fine,” you assured him with a smile that was shaky due to everything but cold. “Just my thermoregulation going haywire after all the excitement today--- Jesus how are you always so warm…”
Steve ignored your question, his hand still firmly set on your neck, the most delicious source of heat, his eyes roaming your embarrassingly shaking form.
“I’ve had a lot of practice with cold,” he said absently.
You could practically hear the wheels in his head turning, even as you were quite busy keeping your teeth from clattering. His eyes were so startingly blue, with the lightest speckle of green standing out for some reason, mesmerizing and warm as if to wreck the theory of these two colours normally belonging to the cold scale and you heart was positively about to beat your way out of your chest, because it appeared as if he was leaning forward a bit and maybe you were entering some kind of delirium, so it really was the time to move.
Move to kiss him, maybe, you bet his lips were warm too and yours were cold-
Okay, that was it.
“Okay, I think I’m gonna go for another soak-“
“Come here,” he muttered at the same time, effectively rendering you speechless when he released you only to scoot back a bit, his fingers beckoning lightly to himself, expression entirely serious.
What.
“I do run pretty hot and frankly I’d rather have you under supervision,” he said matter-of-factly, slipping into the Captain mode – managing to shoot your naïve hopes sky-high and shooting them dead in one sentence.
He was mission-oriented; that was all. He was worried, because frankly, your body was acting out and he was a good friend.
A good friend. A captain, responsible for his own.
There was nothing romantic about sharing body heat; he had probably done it dozen times on a mission.
He was simply concerned. And you should be and were grateful for that and for the practical and grounded approach to the matter at hand; you certainly preferred it to him rushing you to the doctor, because you were still pretty certain it was nothing to be worried about, nothing a good night’s sleep with loads of blankets on top of you wouldn’t fix.
So why the pang in your heart?
Why the regret and disappointment at him simply doing it to assure you’d feel better?
Because you were an idiot and you should have been so much more radical about forbidding yourself from catching feelings while living with Steve. But how could anyone blame you? He was just stupidly attractive and profoundly good and adorably ordinary in his extraordinariness, and you just wanted one touch, one taste, one moment of basking in his light and warmth and actual love.
Was that really so wrong of you?
You swallowed, voice set perhaps a little harsher than needed, the idea of him holding you out of pity making you a little sick to your stomach.
“Steve, you really don’t have to-“
“I want to,” he argued, voice so much softer in contrast to yours, and your body, that traitorous body acted, nearing to his despite your achy heart and hurting brain screaming at you to get to your feet instead, get to the bathroom or your room and lock the door and your heart and throw away the key to keep it safe.
“Steve-“
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw you wavering despite your verbal protest.
“Plus, I’m just doing my civic duty of protecting the innocent. You shake any harder, you’ll cause an earthquake.”
Deadpanning, you managed to stop your progress; in turn, your heart fluttered at the sparkle of mischief in Steve’s eye, that stupid muscle in your chest humming with fondness.
Godddamn him.
He knew exactly how to disarm you completely, to have you do his bidding, and he must have known of this power of his, blatantly abusing it for your wellbeing.
What a criminal behaviour.
With a sigh, you lifted your blanket a bit, scooting over to his open arms, carefully laying to his side as his arm slid under the blanket around your shoulders and pulled you closer; his warmth enveloped you in an instant, his hand rubbing gently at your arm, while his other busied itself with tucking the blanket around you to create a safe cocoon.
You felt yourself relax despite your better judgement, cheek laying on his chest, a steady thump-thump of his heart bargaining with yours:
How could you be short with him? Mad at him? He was just being the nicest person in the world, taking care of his friend, radiating warmth and smelling of comfort, selfless and without seeking anything but a simple thank you in return, if even that. And the charming bastard he was, he even tried to make you laugh.
It wasn’t his fault you had gone and fallen in love with him; it wasn’t fair to hold it against him that he was the best person you knew and your feelings were hurt just because he couldn’t think the same about you. Your mind understood that; it was your heart that was foolish.
You chased the thoughts away, only an echo of the ugly empty feeling remaining, giving way to a much more tender and insistent emotion; but mostly to sensation of your shivers subduing, almost as if they had been the trembles of an addict seeking their fix – Steve’s touch – rather than those of someone with messed up thermoregulation.
Maybe they were. But that wasn’t for Steve to worry about.
“Har har… how about your civil duty of being a sassybag…” you muttered in appreciation of his attempt, his chest shaking lightly with a chuckle.
“Oh, I’m taking that one most serious of them all.”
That he was.
The grin in his voice was infectious, however; you smiled against your will, poking his side lightly with your index finger.
“I noticed… but I forgive you.”
Because you’re really warm and sweet and for a moment, I guess I can indulge in the unhealthy delusion of you doing this because you like me close, postponing the ache of sobering up to reality for later.
“I’m glad. How’s that feel?”
Like I want to stay like this forever.
Like I want you to want to stay like this forever.
You shushed the traitorous voice.
“Warm… comfy,” you added after a while, rewarded by a rub to your shoulder, being pulled impossibly closer. And it felt so good.
“Good.”
Simply holding you and sharing his heat indeed for a moment, he let you soak in the comfort. Seconds passed, maybe minutes; you didn’t count the beats of his heart, but heard every single one of them, soothing, whispering the little lie that maybe some of them were for you.
You didn’t argue; you didn’t quite give in.
When Steve lowly asked you if you wanted to continue the movie, you just nodded, grateful for the distraction of how incredibly right you felt in the little fantasy of yours that this, you being here in Steve’s arms, was exactly where you belonged.
As he reached for the remote, you whispered a soundless ‘thank you’.
His ‘you’re welcome’ was softer and warmer than the blankets.
It was a herculean task to accomplish, fending off sleep, but having being in Steve’s company had rubbed off of you; you were anything but determined. Not knowing what the movie was about and what had happened on the screen in the past minutes – since the movie started, really – you still tried not to doze off at least.
You had a creeping suspicion Steve knew, deducting so from your silence or from the way your body was completely pliant against his, but he didn’t call you out, like the gentleman he was. Instead, he had simply stopped moving, safe from the periodical rise and fall of his chest, serving you as the most comfortable pillow you had ever had a chance of laying your head to, soft and warm and solid all at once.
And he seemed perfectly content to serve as one.
Just for that, you had stopped caring a while ago about his motivations. Had this been just a mission to keep a fellow human warm, so be it. He seemed pleased enough to do so and in your hazy sleepy mind, you knew one thing with absolute certainty – and that was that you did find this all kinds of pleasant too. Should the contentedness of yours come from a different place than his, well, you could deal with that later.
Or never.
You were just… happy and at peace.
You weren’t sure when exactly you had closed your eyes, but you had; your voice was slurring a bit too, your determination to fight your exhaustion clearly not enough to win over sleep.
“Thank ya’ for takin’ care of me, Steve.”
At that, the soft statue under you shifted the tinniest bit, Steve’s thumb brushing your arm gently as his arm had remained around your shoulders. His heart was beating a little fast, you thought absently, lulled back into obliviousness by the vibration of his voice.
“You already said that…” he reminded you, humour and something else, sweeter, laced into his voice. “Anytime.”
You hummed in response, sinking deeper into the softness enveloping you.
“Hey… I mean it, okay?”
“Uh huh,” you muttered again, the dreamland already calling you, insistent and so inviting. “Same… arenchya sleepy? ‘m sleepy.”
Silence only sweetened by his still rapidly beating heart settled, another slow caress to your arm, Steve’s voice reaching you from tender proximity and endless distance all at once.
“Then sleep, doll.”
Mmm.
The dreams wrapped around your wrists like tender ribbons, coaxing you to follow them, pulling gently.
You could give in so easily. Letting the dreamland take you felt as simple as breathing; comfortable and warm, and feeling so damn safe that your heart, while peaceful, was aching a little.
And maybe it was the tone Steve had spoken with earlier – so much emotion weaved into a few simple words, so much meaning – maybe it was the subconsciousness forming your dreams, but the memory of one of your favourites book which you had read multiple times flickered through your mind, making you smile. Or maybe it didn’t – you weren’t sure if you moved a single muscle, your body already floating.
Le sommeil partagé était le corps du délit de l'amour, the line read. A pondering of a man to whom sleeping with women meant nothing but entertainment, no feelings attached; not until he held a woman truly dear to him through the night, having fallen asleep peacefully, at last realizing that what he was feeling was love.
Sleeping with someoneor sleeping with someone, that was at the centre of his dilemma; the sharp contrast, one much more meaningful than the other. One a display of desire; the other, display of trust and love. A corpus delicti of love.
It was never like that for you – to you, the physical only came along with emotional, deep trust necessary to both. Having been learning about who Steve was, your mind argued lazily, there was no doubt in your mind Steve felt the same way about his relationships.
But the fact you could fall asleep right there, in his arms, and it felt like the safest place in the world…
It brought along a different memory; a memory of Steve’s large body curled into itself next to you on the couch, three blankets on top of him, your hands holding his, the contact seemingly somehow chasing away the demons of his past that had come to haunt his dreams. You had found him, lost in his own home, trapped in his own mind. He had agreed on a movie even as it had taken a long time to convince him that you weren’t going to back to sleep in your room while he’d try to fight off the invisible enemies his mind had created alone; so you had settled on a movie marathon instead. He had relaxed eventually, the dreamland taking him again, soft snores a lullaby to you – and you had never spoken about it again besides his quiet, ashamed and painfully genuine thank you the next morning. He had trusted you then, maybe feeling just as safe as you were now, despite you being nothing but an ordinary unenhanced human protecting him from evil.
It was a mirror image to how you were at this moment, you mused sleepily; you made him your pillow and a space heater and the source of comfort, while you tiptoed the line of reality and dreams.
His heartbeat thundered softly in your ear, calming but so vigorous and fast; and it slowly dawned to you that his body had stiffened under yours, the sensation nudging your consciousness and pulling you back, away from sleep.
Before you could voice your concern and confusion, his chest vibrated softly under you; his voice caressed you, tender with a hint of a rasp.
“…oui, c’est toujours vrai,” he whispered slowly, the words not making any sense.
Yes, that is always – still – true, you understood despite not being able to grasp at what he was saying truly or why, even as you knew French nearly perfectly, could probably speak it even in your sleep-
Your eyes snapped open, your heart jumping in your chest so fiercely it hurt.
Yes, that is always true.
It is true-
You had spoken out loud.
You had quoted one of your favourite books to him, out loud, speaking of shared sleep and love, and he had read that book too, you knew as much because you had talked about it before, he knew what that line meant, what it meant to you.
But it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be saying what you meant he was saying-
Except that tone. That soft, soft inflection to his voice, his thumb brushing over your arm again, reluctant but firm, his breath having hitched, awaiting your reaction to this… revelation?
And he got it; all sleep evaporating from your body, realizing you were basically lying on top of him – gods, you had no inhibitions in your semi-sleep state – your heart pounded so wildly your ribcage just might set it free. You gulped, shifting so you could look at him, the world slowly coming back to focus as your mind kept echoing the same words, over and over.
Corpus delicti of love. Corpus delicti of LOVE, c’est vrai-
You found Steve with his head bowed, observing you with patient and nervous anticipation, still holding you close to his body, something softly hopeful shimmering in his irises. Shadows of the evening had fallen over the living room but you could still see his perfect face so clearly, the depth of his blue eyes, the two beauty marks on his cheek, the pink lips looking so soft even as they were lightly pressed in a line – expectant of your response.
Your response to him indirectly confessing to---
Was he in love in you too?
The flicker of something you’d never dare to truly believe was real, because it appeared dangerously like adoration, lit up his eyes at your barely audible ‘really?’, a shadow of anxiety building behind the brilliant speckles of green in his irises when he nodded and waited.
As you processed, Steve never took his gaze off you in a display of bravery you were sure you would never have been capable of.
He had nodded. He had nodded.
Unless you were reading it completely wrong, unless--- unless this was just your fever actually taking over, Steve loved you, or at least was on his way to do so.
The overwhelming euphoric feeling rushed through ever nerve ending like a livewire, lighting your body up, your breathing hitching and expanding in your chest, something prickling in your eyes.
Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed, gaze flickering over your face, appearing almost desperate to read your reaction since you couldn’t seem to verbalize how you felt.
But how could you let out a single word? He had romantic feelings for you too.
“We… we can talk later, if you’d like. You need your rest too…” he argued in a reluctant whisper.
There was no universe in which you were going to fall asleep, ever again and frankly you admired his self-restraint and willingness to wait after having just confessed he was interested in more than friendship and roommate-ship.
Steve Rogers, your Steve, was holding you in his arms, your bodies aligned, and he had feelings for you.
The soft expression – and the nervous energy radiation off him – whispered urgently of you not having read too much into his gestures, of your naïve hopes not being all that naïve, of all of this being true even as it left like a dream.
Maybe it was. But if it was, you’d cling to it and never let go.
And if it was by some miracle true, you sure as hell would never ever let sleep take you, because then… well.
The corners of your lips twitched minutely in an incredulous self-deprecating smile.
You were thoroughly warmed up, all shivers having subdued a long time ago, but something inside you trembled more than your voice.
“I can’t sleep now... I’ll think I’d dreamed all this up. That it wasn’t real,” you whispered hastily, “I… I want it to be real.”
Tension melted from Steve’s body at last, muscles having been tight as a bowstring easing into their mere usual firmness. His lips, those inviting lips, curled up in a smile, an echo of his eyes twinkling with something soft and exciting.
“Sounds like a dream to me too, yeah,” he admitted, your pulse nearing the speed that would sooner or later surely lead to cardiac arrest, your mind screaming with dozen of swirling thoughts.
He liked you. Steve like-liked you, perhaps maybe, just a little, on his way to love you, shared sleep, trust and love, he had dreamed of this too, he-
“How about…” he hummed, hand slowly cupping your cheek, tilting your head up and guiding you to lift it off his chest, causing your head to spin sweetly.
You could have easily escaped the tender touch; but you didn’t want to, not in a million years. You leaned into it instead, a pleasant twist deep within your belly, a shaky exhale leaving your parted lips, air swiftly drawn back as Steve leaned down, eyes roaming your face for any sign of protest. Finding none, his eyes earned a new kind of glow that warmed you up like no blanket or shower could, his lips neared dangerously, a silent wishful sigh as your fingertips stroked lightly over his chest.
“…we share a moment so real there’s no doubt left?”
There was no doubt left; and not a second of hesitation.
It occurred to you how absurd the reasoning was, to have a real moment, what a feeble excuse; as if you hadn’t dreamed of this before, as if the images of kissing Steve hadn’t haunted your nights, so vivid and so tangible morning had felt like razor tearing the masterpiece of a canvas apart; but that thought was but a silent voice in the very back of your mind and you did not care for it in the slightest.
On the other hand, Steve was right here and you’d do just about anything he’d suggest.
“Yes.”
The second the breathless sound left you, Steve’s lips were pressed to yours, soft and warm and real, an electrifying sensation of right rushing through your very being, proving Steve’s damn point; your dreams could have never done justice to this.
Not to the way his lips moulded against yours, the tentative touch turning eager the very moment you pressed against him.
Not to the way he felt so perfectly solid and soft under your palm, against your side, against your thigh.
Not to the way his hand on your arm curled around your bicep and squeezed when your lips parted for him with a choked whimper.
Not to the way his fingertips caressed along your jaw to your chin, tipping your head back further to truly kiss you.
Not to the way you couldn’t get enough of it, of his touch, of his taste, chocolate and sugar and home, of his scent, invading your senses in the most wonderful attack you’d yield to with delight.
When your lips parted with a gasp, your name like the sweetest endearment on his lips, his forehead rested against yours, sharing your breath, your space, the wild beats of your hearts.
It seemed that some of those beats of his heart truly might be for you; just like quite a few of yours were for him.
And it was beautiful.
An unwitting chuckle spilled from your lips, the euphoria coursing your veins spilling over, rewarded by a soft stroke of Steve’s thumb over your cheek, a deep inhale, your eyes fluttering open to his soft but blinding smile you couldn’t but mirror.
God, he was the most stunning man you had ever seen in your life.
Had you not been rendered speechless by the kiss, his beauty would have done the job.
And if that hadn’t been enough, the way he was looking at you, as if you had hung the moon and the stars and he would have hung them for you if you had just asked – how had you never noticed it before? – now that would have done you for.
You had no words; but it seemed that for the moment, neither did he.
And so your gaze flickered down to his lips, now more tempting than ever, and you let action speak louder than words.
Cupping his face in return, you kissed him again, and let the coincidence or perhaps fate, that had led you to spill your secrets at the precipice of sleep, take reigns again, not at all protesting when Steve’s hands roamed to your waist, a silent invitation for you to move closer in any way you wished.
You let the moment take you wherever it would lead, quite happy if the half-wit you had called yourself earlier that day lost all her wits to Steve’s softly demanding mouth.
Maybe next time you’d get caught in the rain, he’d be there soaking with you; and maybe just like he hadn’t cared for getting his clothes wet earlier either, you’d both stand there in the downpour in an embrace of lovers, caring little for the water dripping all over you.
As long as he’d keep kissing you.
Complete masterlist
Steve Rogers masterlist
Happy autumn, everyone 💕 I know I should be working on my longfic but my brain seems distracted by various short-fic ideas, often fullfilling writing challenges...
I really enjoyed this one 🥰 and I hope that so did you!
Have a lovely autumn!🍂
P.S. - For those interested, the quote comes from Milan Kundera's novel Unbearable Lightness of Being (L'insoutenable légèreté de l'être or Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí).
Winds of Autumn Challenge + Whumptober day 5
I came across @the-slumberparty's "Winds of Autumn Challenge and just had to combine it with one of the days for Whumptober. The written work is still in progress but i made a little mood board as a teaser for it. The full work will either be posted on October 5th as part of whumptober or simply posted when finished i haven't decided yet.
🍂Winds of Autumn Challenge🍂
We're excited to welcome the fall with all of you lovely people!
For this challenge, you will choose a prompt + a theme (or two) and create piece, written or visual. Each creator may submit up to three works.
Good luck!
Prompt
Candle wick🕯️an old flame rekindled
Pumpkin spice 🎃 a bustling cafe scene
Hay ride 🌾 a day at the harvest festival
Chai latte ☕ caught in the cold rain
Crispy leaves 🍁 walking home alone
Candy corn 🍬 a sweet surprise
Apple cider 🍎 cozy by the fire
Harvest moon 🌕 night time walks
Knitted scarves 🧣 picnic in the park
Fallen acorns 🌳 a cabin getaway
Theme
Maturity ⏳ as the harvest ripens, so do we. Write about a coming of age or a lesson learned.
Change ✨ the leaves change and so does the world around us. Write about a change, good or bad.
Preservation 🫙 in preparation for the coming winter, we try to hold onto the last bit of warmth. Write about letting go, or not wanting to.
Balance ⚖️ as the equinox approaches, the day and night balance out. Write about finding peace.
Melancholy ☁️ as the trees shed and the flowers wilt, we feel a sense of loss. Write a tragic tale.
Abundance 🧺 As the harvest is reaped, we come into abundance. Write a story about excess and luxury.
Refuge 🏠 as the sun shines less hot, we retreat indoors. Write about seeking refuge.
Earthiness 🌍 the smell of leaves, footsteps in mud, and the damp air. Write a story with an earthy atmosphere.
Rules:
This challenge is open to all fandoms and characters.
🍂Dark creations are accepted but we will not accept underage, incest, or bestiality. Please don’t forget to add warnings to your works appropriately.
🍂For written pieces, there are no word count limits, but we do ask that you add a “read more” beyond 500 words.
🍂We hope that creators can create an inclusive work and encourage writers and creators to use appropriate tagging, ie, f!reader, etc..
🍂 For this challenge, we will accept sequels or continuations to previous works. Please be sure to link the original work in your submission.
🍂Be kind to yourself and to others. We are here to support and include each other.
🍂This is an event for the autumn, with a final due date of November 30 for late submissions.
!Tag this blog in your submission so we see it!
I am sorry but I'm going to need a Ransom story with this prompt. It can be RoaR or a one-off, he can love it or hate it in this space, he can see it over Reader's shoulder on the computer screen, your choice!
o.0 oh boi oh boi oh boi! Fall Vibes but it's gonna be my summer challenge submission to @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar, featuring the flavors Cookies and Cream (soulmates) and Rocky Road (rags to riches) with the topping Oreos (marriage of convenience (reluctantly)). Also my second entry for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza, featuring a babe in love and cranky about it + "can you just...hold me please?"
For Show Ransom Drysdale x poor!soulmate!reader
Summary: Ransom hates that you--his soulmate and wife--are nothing like him.
Warnings for smut and Ran's a**hole brain (rude, nasty thoughts that he barely even believes). Classic Lexi--this is cheeky, y'all, but you know it's because I can't help myself... MINORS DNI. Find all-age friendly fic on my Light Masterlist. WC 2.1k
Ran didn’t believe in love to start, but this is fucking ridiculous. Opposites attract? Get wrecked, asshole. He’s keeping opposites on the other side of the house. It’s not far enough.
It’s standard practice for the confirmation of matching soulmarks to act as a de facto marriage contract—common law, if you like,—and Ransom Drysdale fought tooth and nail to make you prove you had his name on you. He needed to see it with his own eyes or fuck that shit.
His is obvious; he can show it off. In fact, Ran is surprised by how long it took you to come forward, considering his family and status, considering his lifestyle of being very visible.
But no, he had to wait for a fucking database to pop out record of his match from your healthcare provider, and he had wait for that because the government knew about your health…because they know such things…about people who need their fucking money. The registration of soulmarks puts the financial responsibility on the soulmate if they end up having the means.
Now Ran is responsible for you, a woman he made lower the front of her panties in open court to reveal his goddamn name in his own goddamn handwriting imprinted right above her goddamn cunt, and suddenly it became his cunt, his problem, his responsibility.
You’re not even fun. You had no money and didn’t care to have any, so you moved your few, ratty belongings into his home, replacing nothing, offering nothing in return for his—well, in return for every fucking thing he has now being yours, too. It’s so fucked.
You don’t want to show off, and he has no intention of showing you off. He can’t be seen with you, not without the proper clothes or jewelry, and you refused to get them. Instead, Ransom leaves you alone in the house, doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, as always. He won’t talk to you because he just gets furious every time. He’s not going to have deep conversations about the state of the world, though he might have one social justice issue he can fight for: the mother-fucking law that made you his wife without question.
Ran slams the kitchen cabinet storing all-white, matching stoneware mugs when he notices what’s missing: your single, sad, flea market mug. It’s clay so it always looks dirty, and he hates it.
He lightly punches his own neck in irritation.
He didn’t stand a chance fighting the marriage, not with your name in deep, port red letters creeping up his throat, higher than any turtleneck he’s ever owned. Coupled with his legal name resting snuggly beneath your pubes, it was obviously, technically accurate that you’re soulmates. When was the last time someone challenged that system, he thinks. That might be a better use of his money than—
Where are you anyway?
For all his annoyance, he hasn’t set eyes on you for days.
His house is large enough (and he spends so much time anywhere else) that you have your own room, which you didn’t question, and the kitchen is easy enough to share when one of you eats out with other people (as he does two to three times a day). You get the slightly bigger and more formal living room while Ran gets the den with the big TV. Really it’s been the perfect system for almost forgetting you exist.
He pours tea into his clean, white mug and leaves said big TV fairly loud on some program he wasn’t paying attention to, leaning over the granite countertop to see if he can spot you from this angle.
No luck.
He steps closer, sipping.
A little closer, more sipping, a purposeful smack of his lips to grab your attention if you are just around the corner.
There are two openings, both far larger than doorways, to the living room, each through the central hall. When he doesn’t immediately see you, he steps to the farther opening. What the—
What’d you do to his couch?
Is that every single pillow and blanket from your side of the house?
Did Yankee Candle Company throw up in here?
What, the fucking fireplace wasn’t enough ambiance for you? You had to make some sort of nest with his stuff? And there’s that ugly-ass mug, no coaster, on his super-expensive, reclaimed hardwood coffee table.
A pillow shifts.
No, not a pillow; it’s your back, and when you shift again, Ran sees one of the plush throw blankets slink farther down your bare skin. It’s the largest swath of your body he’s ever seen.
You lay with your arms folded, peering out the windows behind the couch, and you still haven’t fucking noticed him.
He huffs before realizing he isn’t listening to the faint TV anymore, but when he ticks his head, he sees your TV isn’t on either.
“”I think of nothing but you as I fall asleep at night”—” Ran hears a woman’s voice fake a deeper tone before switching to normal “—Javier says, pulling her soft curves into his hard body—”
You sigh dreamily and wiggle on the cushions. The blanket slides over the swell of your ass.
Ran stops moving mid-sip of tea.
“”Please, my darling, let me have you—“ this is fucking terrible, he thinks “—as only a lover can.””
Alright, now Ransom is just sad. You’re naked in his living room, rubbing your thighs together and listening to an erotic novel on your phone.
“Chloe felt his digits dance across her clavicle, his eyes enchanted by her heaving bosom…”
Go out to a club or restaurant with him? No. Wear nice clothes he could buy you? Nope.
“”Javi,” she gasps, distracted by his rough palm groping her breast hungrily, “I can’t believe you want me.””
Ran is going to fucking gag at the whining appall in the narrator’s voice.
Why listen to this awful shit instead of show off him as your husband? From the quick shiver racing down your spine and the curl of your toes where they hang over the cushion’s edge, it’s because you’re fucking horny for it.
Good god, how low are your standards?
He stalks forward, feet hitting the floor hard until he reaches the plush rug.
Startled, you peer over your shoulder at him, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, and you begin scrambling to recover yourself.
Ran puts his cup down by yours. “Don’t move,” he orders, and to his surprise, you obey, keeping you head turned his direction and sinking back into the pillows.
“”How could you doubt? From the moment I met you, I adored you.””
He swivels to face the same direction as you, reaches out his hand and mime the stroke he’s contemplating tracing over your curves.
“”I’m yours,” Chloe breathes, Javier’s growing member signaling his desire against her silk-covered core.”
Ran finally bends until the tip of his middle finger grazes the inside of your thigh.
As he drags it over one cheek and down the other, you whine and push your ass toward his hand.
That’s…not bad, all things considered. You are his wife, after all, and you clearly want to be fucked. He won’t argue that having some other woman’s name scrawled on him hasn’t limited his game for quite a while. Financially independent or not, when a pussy is presented to him, Ransom will say ‘yes.’
He stops noticing the audio from your phone and just dives in, no sentiments or kind words of his own. He simply unbuckles his belt, pops the button of this jeans, and rips that zipper down before teasing your folds to find enough slick at your entrance to swirl around. He spreads you and your wetness with purpose. Each second that passes drives Ransom a little bit more insane.
Impatient, strung out like a virgin on prom night, he rushes to shove his pants out of the way and kicks one knee up between your legs, his other foot still on the floor. He pumps his fingers inside you until he’s knuckle-deep and nearly dripping, manhandling your hips to the right height to sink his tip into you.
Ran groans at how fucking good you feel. He’s probably just desperate. He’d be excited about any ol’ means to come right now.
He snaps his hips in small thrusts until his whole length glides in and out in seamless stimulation. You’ve buried your face in the pillow, so he can’t hear if you make any noise. He can, however, see your hands scratch at the upholstery and clench into fists. He can see you deepen the arch of your back, angling his dick to fuck just slightly down through your channel. The pressure squeezes the spongy head of his cock like a vice. He’ll never say it out loud, but your pussy is fucking perfect. God fucking dammit.
Ransom relentlessly drives into you, catching the sideview of your breasts bouncing each time his thighs slap yours. He smacks your ass once just to see if it jiggles for him, and that’s when your hand snakes to disappear between your legs. He expects you’re going for your clit which is good because he’s about to get off and get lost, but instead, he feels your soft fingers cup his balls.
He’s so enamored by the sensation that he switches to tiny pulses deep in your cunt while your hand wraps and rolls his sac gently. Twitching and tensing, Ran unabashedly moans until your walls constrict around his length.
He’s got to make you do that again.
Ransom collapses forward to lean over you, his own hand diving to find your clit, resting his palm right over your mound and soulmark. Every inch of his body burns hot with need. He humps wildly, resting his chin over your shoulder.
“”I don’t care how, Javi, just stick it in there. I need you. I need you so badly…””
“Jesus Christ,” Ran growls, “are they still not fucking?”
A giggle bursts from your lips, a sweet, happy sound he’s never heard from you before, and you reach for him. Your palm lands on his soulmark, your fingers curling to scratch the hairs at the nape of his neck, and there’s…there’s…
He can’t comprehend how your body fits his so well. He can’t reconcile this sudden swell of obsession in his gut for you. He’s enveloped in a binary system of souls, gravity tugging at that connection between you.
Ran doesn’t believe in love or destiny. He refuses. He believes in pleasure and perception, in accumulation and ownership.
The only thought left in his static-filled head is mine, mine, mine, mine.
He falls over the edge first, a satisfied shout punctuating each spurt he plants within you, furiously working your messy clit and kneading one breast in his free hand until he feels that squeeze again, and again, and again, dying to a flutter just as your shared cum leaks out around his cock.
By this time, Ran is panting and resting a sizable portion of his weight on you, knees knocked loose in his onslaught, pushing you both flat to the chaise cushion, feet dangling off the end.
You still hold each other’s mark in a comforting palm.
He’s speechless as the room fills with heated love declarations amidst passionate sex and bad dialogue. Ran tries to catch his fucking breath. He’s glad you don’t speak either.
Everything about his life—his past, his present, his future—sits utterly raw in front of him, and he can’t cope.
He makes the mistake of peeling his body off yours, releasing you and dislodging your hand. The cold emptiness which immediately sweeps over him is sickening, and Ran barely waits for you to roll onto your back before he wedges himself between your legs again, instinctually laying on his side, pressing his sweater-clad shoulder against your sopping folds just so he can rest his soulmark right on top of yours.
Euphoria returns to his body and mind, thick like honey and all-consuming.
He doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to talk about. He doesn’t want to live a moment without you.
Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Mercifully, the audio speaks for him.
“”Can you just…hold me please? That was…that was…””
“”So intense,” Javier rumbles, “so beautiful.””
Ransom, the preening trust fund baby, has finally found something all his own, something he doesn’t want to share, something shown only for him.
He refuses, however, to call it ‘love’…
…yet.
[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
A/N: I'm fine.
