romanogers || one shots

In Vignettes

Alive

He used to move through life on autopilot. Days would bleed into one another until he couldn't tell them apart. Everything was always just the same. He told himself he was pretty content, taught himself to ignore that pressing feeling that always lingered in the back of his mind, the weight of everything he could be missing, the worry that life should be more than this endless routine of nostalgia and grim self-loathing. He was always playing the part of a superhero blending into the background of a country he needs to protect. Until she met her, until she pulled him out of the monotony of his world, with her wide green eyes and her strong and beautiful heart.

Until he truly understood what it means to be alive.

Fluff

Natasha giggles (giggles!) uncontrollably when Steve tries to squeeze his big body through the make-shift entrance of their bedsheet-dungeon. They're in the living room, and princess Natasha has been trapped in the bedsheet-dungeon all her life, and as expected, Prince Rogers comes to the rescue by accidentally snagging his 'sword' (read: plastic hanger) against the soft walls. The sheets collapse unceremoniously on top of their laughing bodies as he falls on top of her.

"We might be too old for this," he murmurs into her neck, and she grins, kicking away the pillow-rubble at her heels, before her hands move to wrap around his waist.

"Never."

Adore

I love you. Three simple words in the English language that is supposed to contain the multitude of mixed emotions between them. I love you means Steve and Natasha, together or apart. It's the fights and the reconciliations, the truths and the lies. I love you is them, always changing, always evolving, but together just the same.

I love you.

Three simple words in the English language, and they will never be enough.

First Time

Her heart is racing, hammering against her ribs when his shaky fingers trace the outline of her panties. His calloused skin feels good against her soft skin, and her stomach caves in when he pulls her underwear, slowly, down her legs. Steve lets out a heavy breath and looks up, his eyes tracing the body he had spent an hour undressing, and when his eyes finally catches hers, his darkened gaze takes her breath away.

Degree

Love happens by degrees. It starts with finding someone who makes you happy, that's the first degree. The second degree is figuring out that making her happy is just as important. This can last for a while, that bubble of happiness that comes with finding that person you love who loves you back just as much. But love happens by degrees, and the third degree is realizing that her happiness matters more than anything in the world, even if that means living in a world without her in it. Sacrifice comes last, and that's when you realize that nothing could ever hurt as bad as love.

Smut

They fall back together seamlessly. There wasn't a plan, or a discussion, or any sort of reconfirmation, really, that they're back together again as a couple. It's just one rainy afternoon spent on the couch in his apartment, his fingers buried deep inside her in that way that he knows so well, lips against hers to cover her moans, and when her fingers are rooted deep into his hair, pulling hard as she comes, well, that's when they know.

Murmur

She traces the scar on his skin, holding her breath when he fidgets. She looks up gingerly to find him still fast asleep, and her attention moves back to the discolored space just above his thigh, the bullet wound scar that will probably disappear before they even start to talk about it. Sometimes she thinks about what could have been, what it would have been if the bullet that went through came from a different source, in a different situation. The thoughts are like whispers in the back of her head, vague murmurs reminding her that if this were a different life, they might not be here now, the way that they are. She thanks destiny then, or fate, whatever higher power that determined the fact that Steve and her? Well they're meant to be. His thigh fidgets away from her roaming finger again, a small noise of discontent leaving his mouth. She chuckles at the frown on his sleeping face, leaning forward to replace her finger with her lips.

"I love you," she murmurs.

Death

He's not afraid of dying, you know? He stared death in the eye before. He lost count on how many times he's courted death. It's inevitable so he doesn't think much about it. But he is. He's dying, and it still doesn't scare him.

But leaving her to face it all alone? The thought of it terrifies him.