#september scribbles

Perhaps you should have known better than to ask dangerous questions during blissful pillow talk; cuddled to Steve’s side, bodies still bare and radiating intense warmth, your head resting on his bicep, fingertips tracing nonsensical patterns over his chest; while in kind, he was caressing your side and toying with your hair, occasionally pressing a sweet languid kisses to the crown of your head.

You should have known better that asking a question like that, while his brilliant brain was still in the haze following lovemaking. He was rarely satisfied with one round only, but tonight had been a slow one, full of lingering kisses and touches that gradually lit alive every single cell of your body, building into a blissful peak.

“What is it like to have enhanced senses? What is… this like, for you?”

The ‘this’ was whispered with heaviness of modesty that should have no place there, given your predicament; but at least Steve understood immediately.

You were asking about what sex was like for him. Among other things.

His response was a tender kiss to your temple, his nose nuzzling into your hair and inhaling deeply, his chest rising waveringly under your palm. His fingers danced along your hip as he shifted under you, legs tangling with yours, his lips brushing yours before his gaze settled on you.

If you should have known better than asking in the first place, you should have definitely know what his question actually meant: “Do you really want to know?”

Your foolish self thought he was being shy, and perhaps a part of him was; and in your compassion and foolish, all-consuming love for the man in your bed and heart, you failed to catch the crucial, sensual undertone.

You cradled his cheek and kissed his lips softly, breathing a gentle, curious ‘of course.’

The hungry kiss that followed left you gasping, much like the suddenly urgent press of Steve’s hand to the globe of your ass, pulling you closer to him, letting you feel a fraction of what you were in for.

“It’s like you were created by the God or the devil himself to test me and I fail every time,” he husked when his lips parted from yours only to skim over your jaw, mouth pressing under your ear next, his breath tickling the sensitive skin being the only warning you got before his teeth grazed your pulse point. “Let me show you, love.”

And showing you he was.

Stood in front of a mirror, completely bare except for his hands and yours, his broad frame prevented you from backing away, his arousal evident but patient as he slowly devoured you.

“Feel it, sweetheart,” he husked into your ear, his large palm covering yours as he led it over the lines and curves of your body, pressing your palm against your flesh tighter in his favourite spots. “Feel how damn soft and warm you feel and try to imagine the sensation tenfold… and how delightful it’s then to touch you here.”

His hand guided yours over your stomach to the apex of your thighs, drenched with arousal from his ministrations and the utter filth spilling from his lips.

“So ready to take me, God, I swear, sweetheart, I dream about it every damn night-“

You tipped your head back, eyes fluttering shut as a hot surge of arousal curled around your core and squeezed when Steve pushed two of your fingers to feel to your welcoming heat.

“Steve-“ 

 Enough, please---- Steve’s that’s enough--- don’t stop-

“Uh-huh, no, sweetheart, keep your eyes on me…” he coaxed you, gentle but firm touch to your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip, sliding lower. “On yourself. Look at how pretty you are for me… see what I see, you wanted to. And I’ll never get enough of feeling and seeing this,” he muttered, fingers sliding over your hardened nipple, a smile in his voice when your eyes closed of their own accord again under the sinful affection. “And your face, beautiful display of the pleasure I give you. Perfect.”

You shuddered under the praise and touch alike, sin dripping from Steve’s sweet hoarse voice like honey, as if he wasn’t slowly pumping your fingers, the heel of his hand pressing over the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending soft shockwaves of pleasure through your body all over to your fingertips.

You bit down on your lip when his mouth latched onto the side of your throat, the whimper escaping you nevertheless, Steve’s chuckle rich and dark.

“And that, love, now hearing that, every little sound, knowing I did that and no one else gets to hear it even if they tried… it’s almost as good as feeling you squeeze me tight when you lose it.”

It was filthy. Fuck, it was filthy and you could feel as much heat of embarrassment as arousal flushing your skin – and that you didn’t really care. Not when you saw Steve through your half-lidded eyes, how was drinking in the sight of your like a man deprived of water his whole life, touching you like you were the only possible salvation of his miserable existence, with his possessive words, somehow still centred about making you feel good and praising you bringing a new kind of high.

He was chaining open-mouthed kisses over your throat and shoulder, all the way to your collarbone, his chest expanding behind you with every generous inhale.

“And god, your perfume… the scent of your skin. It makes me hard to just— I get a whiff and you have no idea how much I have to hold back to just--- I want to pin you to a goddamn wall and only let you go when I can smell you all over me and me all over you.”

You gulped and whined against your will when he pulled your own hand away just a second after he had led you to curl your fingers in a way that made stars explode so close behind your eyelids you could almost reach them. But then his hand replaced yours, the stretch a blessing and a curse.

A curse all the more when he withdrew his fingers all too soon, spreading your arousal higher, drawing filthy slick lines over your belly.

Taste, something whispered in the back of your mind. Taste is the one sense he hadn’t mentioned yet, and you half expected him to bring his soaked fingers to his lips.

Instead, he spun your around, your back, so thoroughly warmed by his looming form, pressed against the cold glass of the mirror, air sharply drawn into your lungs as if you knew that breathing would soon not be an option.

Steve’s mouth latched onto yours, all tongue and teeth, devouring you in ways that had your knees buckle.

He was there to catch you, arm supporting you as he entered you easily, eliciting a needy whimper that met his satisfied groan in kind.

“God, sweetheart, and the taste. If I tasted you now, really tasted you like I want, I’d lose my goddamn mind. Even now, tasting your pretty mouth, beautifully swollen from kissing mine and from your teeth when you tried to hold all these lovely sounds you make for me back…” he lamented, already moving, angling your hips to his liking and your boundless pleasure, long fingers curling around your nape just in case you wanted to escape the assault of his demanding lips. You didn’t; you gripped at his shoulder, hand wandering to soak your senses in him too, your head spinning from all the praise and the stars a second from exploding.

A smart flicker of his fingers, a sound escaping his lips that was almost desperate and you were tipped over the edge, the high you reached turning your vision white, your body thrown into a newly born supernova; you dug your nails into Steve’s flesh just so it wouldn’t sweep you and turn you into stardust.

Distantly and yet with every fibre of your being, you were aware of him reaching his own peak too, the sound leaving his lips guttural and making your heart and core flutter with its rawness and humanity.

No matter how superhuman Steve was, this, him right now, was the most human he ever was; and this side of him was only yours. There was no doubting it; not quite before and certainly not after this.

He panted as he rested his damp forehead against yours, hands gripping you as if he never wanted to let go – and oh so generously holding you up, because you felt as if your bones had been turned into gelatine.

“I’d give up everything if it meant to get another glimpse, to hear your voice, to smell you, taste you, touch you…” he whispered, causing you to shudder, his weight grounding and warming you from outside, while his words had warm affection bloom inside. “I’d walk from death through fucking hell just to have you one more time and experience it all at once. That’s how it feels, love…”

The emotional and physical overwhelm he bestowed on you chased tears into your eyes, but you didn’t mind. You had too much work just trying to keep it together and feel this man and his love with everything you had.

“Steve, I…”

He silenced you with a kiss, slow and tender and all the more indulgent, causing you to melt into the affection and attempt to press into his body even closer even as you were still one.

“And that’s just the senses… don’t get me started on how it feels here.”

His hand grasped yours, weak and trembling, pressing it between you to lay it over his sternum, his rapidly beating heart almost in sync with yours; and if it hadn’t clear from his words he was literally offering you his heart, vulnerable and open, it was beyond clear now.

You blinked, a few tears escaping. Steve’s lips caught the salty drops with a smile, sparkles of delight diluting the darkness of the lust sated as he met your gaze.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about that another time.”

Your lips curled up into a tired smile as a few more tears rolled down your cheeks, your chest so full it hurt, all the more as you couldn’t find words to express what that felt like quite so eloquently. Certainly not after having your world rocked like that, the foundations still shaky after the earthshattering physical and lyrical declaration of love.

“I’d like that, Steve… and maybe, next time, I could tell you and show you all about you how make me feel… if I can even find the words.”

Steve’s eyes glimmered with affection and profound joy, his smiled having turned blinding; it quickly blurred into a chuckle when you suddenly found yourself squealing as you were lifted in the air, held securely against Steve’s front, the hand having laid over yours now cradling your cheek as if you needed another reminder he could support your weight with one hand only.

“It’s a deal, sweetheart… I’d like that very much too.” 

Complete masterlist

(Sexy) September Scribbles Masterlist

Posting earlier than normal, because I haven't posted in a while, considering 🤭 I hope you enjoyed filthy soft Steve I did✨

Our beautiful Hogwarts is set-up as follows: Students attend in the elementary/primer school age as strictly students up until high school level and graduation. After graduation – students have the option to continue with advanced studies to go further in magick or they have to basically commit to part-time teacher roles with younger students while still taking some classes. This keeps you in school until you’re about 24-ish depending on your skill level and how far you want to go.

Now as far as going back and forth to the other side – this is a little more fluid or rigid depending on your family and skill – this will be a little clearer with someone of the Gecko backstory – but we’ll get there.

Seth is appearing as 22yrs old in this story (why I choose to deal with him at this age is beyond me) And despite his talents, he’s not a fan of extra studies- which leaves him part-time teaching….oh god!!!!! He’s shaping young minds.

Richie appearing as just 21yrs – obviously he’s going through the advanced studies. He keeps to himself a bit and he’d be further along – but there was an incident last year, that’ll come up. He just wants to know everything and try what hasn’t been attempted…I’m sure nothing will go wrong here.

Kate is appearing as just shy of 18yrs when we start – she’s finishing her senior year, but since she actually got ahead studying on her own, she’s in some fairly advance classes. She’s just so happy to be in the environment that she’s got an almost permanent smile on her face.

Now as far as characters from the Harry Potter World showing up…that may happen. But understand that I’m not following any of the timelines from the books – so the characters will be themselves, but that’s about it. Also if this happens – it would be very limited to some extent.

Clooney – now where he comes from is sorta explained in that first little story. He’s an unusually large Crup – mostly these guys are the size and coloring of a Jack Russel terrier. Clooney is a different story. He’s mostly black with a few wisps of white on his paws and the tip of his tail and he’d the size of a small German Shepard with ears that stand straight up – trust me if you see his reflective blue eyes in a dark hall without a Gecko (or apparently now Kate) with him you are NOT going to have a good time.

Azil – now this pale grey Jarvey is bit of a mischief maker. He’s almost always with Richie, hiding in a pocket, resting on the back of Richie’s neck while he studies, or sleeping nearby. His language is about what you’d expect it to be living with those two knuckleheads. Azil showed up not too long after the Gecko’s mother disappeared…but that’s another story.

Well that’s it for now. If you have questions or thoughts on things for this please let me know. I’ve gotten so many nice asks on this. It’s totally making me smile. Oh and before I forget, I wasn’t going to post this AO3 – but would you guys like me too?????

Beautiful.

In the dim lights peeking through the worn curtains of a motel room – another one you hadn’t been to before to avoid coming back where they might have tracked his steps only to be days too late to catch up with him – Steve’s face was nothing short of beautiful.

And you were thinking – if they caught you and asked you when, how and why you had fallen in bed and into trenches with an international fugitive, you’d tell them you couldn’t remember.

But you remembered all of it.

You remembered your first chance meeting. The second meeting that had been all but accidental too. You remembered falling in love long before falling into the sheets with him, and not just because the first time you made love, there were no sheets involved; only thick ropes of hot water, the tension having built over weeks bubbling over when you offered to help him clean up when he had showed up at your doorstep in the dead of the night, bruised and bloodied in search of calm, safety and careful tenderness.

You’d tell them you didn’t remember who kissed who, but it was you. With only your bikini and his boxer briefs between you, both drenched as you helped him wash his body and hands clean, you kissed a scar over his collarbone to sooth the memento of pain. It elicited a goddamn whimper from him, your lips spilling apologies in an instant only to get silenced by Steve’s mouth, desperately latching onto yours like you’d both wanted to for eternity.

It became a habit.

It had grown from fruitless pining and softness and comfortable silences with stealthily lingering looks into a relationship that was to be your doom – yours or his, you didn’t used to be sure.

Now you knew it was about to be both and more.

But he was heartbreakingly beautiful. An angel who fought for humanity so fiercely it offended God so he banished him to Earth and sent the wrath of hundred nations after him.

His hair was longer again, his beard still thick, and your mind distantly compared the image of him now, head laid on your chest, wrapped in a peaceful sleep that made him look younger, to the image of the golden boy they used to present him as.

You wondered if his eyes had always looked so tired as when you met him when not smiling for the camera. You wondered if they had ever looked so soft and pained as when he felt your tender touch.

You wondered if you or anyone in the whole damn world saw his eyes so feral, pained and hopeful as when you had shyly placed his broad hand over your throat tonight in a moment of reprieve between desperate fucking.

He had stopped, gaze boring into your soul, touch hesitant as he tested out the feeling, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Oh… you… like that?”

You too had been shy even as he’d been buried deep inside you, the aroma of sex heady and filthy in the air; mind racing, you desperately tried to figure out what had possessed you to do that, to reveal that to him; and if you could reveal more.

“I… didn’t know,” you had admitted, gaze falling to his chest, where his heart, that precious heart that had got so many hits it was a miracle it was still beating so vigorously, laid, open and vulnerable. “…not until you. But it… it feels like you’re holding my life in your hand...”

Steve’s fingers had twitched on your throat, not squeezing, but not pulling away as you reluctantly lifted your gaze to meet his.

“…and you’re the only person in the world I’d ever trust with it.”

He had been silent for a long time, motionless, safe for the frantic scanning of your face, his features gradually softening further.

“It feels that way too.”

I feel that way too.

“Is that okay?” you had asked, breath catching when awaiting the answer, his thumb carefully stroking over your pulse point.

It had brought memories of how he had done the very same thing, over and over, so many times since you had met him. A caress over your wrist. A touch of his little finger over your carotid when cradling your face to kiss you. A tender kiss to your temple. His large hand resting over your inner thigh.

When you thought about it, that was the only way you had ever slept; with him, feeling or listening for your heartbeat, like now, when he laid his head on your chest.

And so you had had no reason to doubt his next words.

“Your life’s the one precious thing I had the selfish privilege of having in the past months. I… I’m not sure if you’re right to trust me with it,” he had whispered, voice dropping an octave as his lips neared yours, brushing over your willing mouth like he was whispering a prayer and a confession at once, “but I’ll protect it with all I am. I swear it.”

The next kiss had been hunger and desperation and being cut open and mended together all at once; what had followed then, even more so. You had thought you’d fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, exhausted and sated.

You hadn’t.

You had too much on your mind.

And Steve was so breathtakingly beautiful. The arch of his brows, relaxed for once; the elegant slope of his nose; the cut of his jaw, softened by the beard, muscles unclenched as he slept the sleep of the righteous. The large shape of him, curled around you under the thin blanket, warm and real and grounding to you as you hoped you too could be the solid ground under his feet when nothing else seemed steady.

You loved him. You loved him and you wanted to give him everything, to cradle his cheek and kiss him, to run your fingers through his locks as he enjoyed so much when he allowed himself to be taken care of and for, to gently take his heart into your hands and protect it with your life.

He had fought for so long, the constellation of scars on his knuckles but an echo of those on his soul and all he deserved and secretly longed for, you knew, was peace. He had fought the injustice in this world for so long and yet, the world failed him when he was the one who’d been done wrong. It wasn’t fair.

If you could, you’d give him a little world on his own and now, in a twisted, strange and beautiful and absolutely terrifying way, perhaps you could.

It made your ribcage ache with just how much you wanted, for him, for yourself; and anxiety curled in your gut as your head buzzed with brain noise too loud to let sleep take you.

There was no point; you knew from the experience of a the last few nights before he came that sleep would evade you for a while.

As much as you basked in Steve’s proximity and the safety of his arms, you weren’t going to fall asleep any time soon. It was almost too hot in the cage of his embrace; you couldn’t scramble for a coherent thought, you couldn’t stay there, not a second longer, as much as among the million ungraspable thoughts, there were those screaming at you to enjoy the time you had with him to the fullest, because you never knew when he could come back, when you’d be able to see him, let alone touch him.

As carefully as you could manage, you untangled from his gentle hold, breath catching when even in his sleep, he tightened his grip minutely before he relaxed again and you could slip away.

Reaching for his hoodie and a pair of warm socks, you kept your steps as light as possible as not to disturb his sleep. The door creaked a bit as the fresh air hit your face – but when you glanced back towards the bed, Steve didn’t even stir, his arm now draped over the pillow still soaked in your warmth and scent.

The metal chair wasn’t exactly comfortable and the small coffee table was far from clean; the view of the sky littered by stars was dimmed in contrast to the neon signs and the light pollution from the nearby city, and you could still see two people in separate seating areas of their room getting their midnight smoke. None of them minded you or vice versa; you still left the door open for a slit, just in case you needed to get in quickly. You had none of Steve’s training, but that didn’t mean you were a half-wit and didn’t know what motels could be like.

And still; there was something peaceful in the dead of the night despite the white noise, a meddle of a passing car here and there and the crickets from the nearby field. The night was peaceful, even as your mind was not. The night was now and you tried to take it in; the night was sure and your future everything but.

Ever since you had been thrown into adulthood, there had been more uncertainty than ever before – and yet, this was the shakiest ground you had ever set foot on. And the one thing you were certain of, the one solid point of your life in the form of Steve, could still be taken away at any moment.

That terrified you.

Because as much as you believed his words, as much as you believed his actions, the world – at least the part of the world that mattered in the long run and had power to keep ruining his life – was against him.

You wished for him to have a life and have a life with you, you wished to give it to him, but if it was just you against the world, you’d lose.

And with you, so would he.

The door creaked once more, startling you minutely.

You sighed and closed your eyes, lamenting. Of course you had woken him up. That man had been a soldier – still was in body and heart – and a man on a run from about hundred different governments. He didn’t get the luxury of a deep sleep.

The next second the comforter, still warm, was draped over your shoulders, Steve’s lips pressed into your hairline with a sigh.

“I’m sorry I woke you up-“

“Don’t be… not sure I was actually sleeping or just dozing off.  I’m sorry you’re losing sleep.”

You craned your neck to look as him as he stood behind you, a gentle hand on your shoulder – keeping the comforter in place, the heat of his skin the real source of warmth. His hair was ruffled way too adorably for a man his size and posture, but his eyes spoke of a mind lost to deep thought and worry too heavy for his actual age.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

His lips twitched, the raise of their corner amused and sad at once. “Probably the same reason as you.”

You almost snorted. And nearly sobbed.

For some reason, I really, really doubt that.

He must have read those words in your eyes before you moved to stare ahead again and shivered; both of his hands settled on your biceps, rubbing gently to keep you warmer, your hand automatically covering one of his as the other one kept the hems of the blanket to cocoon you.

“Would you like the extra blanket?” he asked sweetly, something grave and meaningful in his voice causing your heart to race, even as you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly that was. “Can’t get you getting cold… now more than ever.”

You stilled. The comforter slipped from your suddenly lax hand.

And your heart starling in your ribcage felt like a punch against your sternum from the inside, and proceeded to keep punching with every wild rapid beat.

Your throat turned dry but your eyes welled-up with tears.

Of course he knew.

You couldn’t remember why you had ever thought he wouldn’t.

You didn’t even have to ask how; he squeezed your shoulders, a little too hard, before he went to wrap you in the blanket again, the closest to fussing you had ever seen him, though less fussy than you had imaged he would be.

He crouched in front of you, hands on the armrests bracketing you, his gaze, a bit teary too, meeting yours.

“Your heartbeat’s different,” he explained softly and the sound torn form your chest was a lovechild of a chuckle and a sob and you glanced up to the heavens, blinking away tears.

“Of course it fucking is-”

“I can’t… I can’t hear their heartbeat yet, but it’s in your scent too. Your…” You looked at him when he cleared his throat, a blush, a blush visible even in the limited light, creeping up his neck, causing you to giggle a little to relieve the unbearable tension and anxiety curling in your stomach. “You taste different too.”

“Uh-huh, right.”

“It’s just… it’s the enhanced senses,” he said, almost apologetic.

You just chuckle-sobbed again, hand running down your face. As funny and slightly mortifying as that was, that really was the least of your problems.

Steve’s hands clasped over one of yours, warmth and safety incarnate, and you couldn’t resist looking into his eyes, full of stars and worry.

The tips of his index and middle finger touched to your wrist, right over your pulse point.

It occurred to you that his earlier determination, his ‘I’ll protect it with all I am, I swear it,’ might have been about more than just your own life.

He had already known then; it was about the life growing under your heart too.

A life he had had a generous hand in creating, even as neither of you had planned to and had in fact taken measures to prevent it. At least it warmed your heart it hadn’t even occurred to him to ask if it was someone else’s with who you would have had been less careful perhaps; he always had been a smart man. He had to be. And you liked to think you weren’t an idiot either.

You weren’t sure if either of you had the brainpower to figure this out though. To align your desires, your lives; hell, hadn’t it been for the dim stars in his eyes, you wouldn’t even assume what was it that he wanted.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered, gaze boring into yours with determination that could move mountains and deny world order if that was what he’d put his mind to. His hold shifted so one of his hands pressed directly over your inner wrist. “This is the one and only and the most precious thing I have. You. And I need you to know that.”

You gulped, even as your heart fluttered, the shiver running down your spine everything but cold or fearful.

Safe. Cared for. Loved. That was what you were, no matter what, Steve’s gaze promised.

And then so did he.

“Whatever you decide, whatever life throws at you, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”

“I think I want to keep them,” you breathed out almost soundlessly, a grave confession you weren’t sure you wanted heard, a few tears rolling down your cheeks.

Steve smiled tightly, eyes glimmering with tears, his grip on your tightening.

“Okay.” I love you, whispered the breeze, the dark blue of Steve’s irises brimming joy and worry all at once. “Then I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re comfortable too.”

You blinked at he released your hands, reaching into the pockets of his sweats.

First, he pulled out a credit card; before you could as much as breathe in so you could protest, he was pressing it into your hand and curling your fingers around it with a hard uncompromising stare.

You weren’t expert at law, but you had enough wits to know that whoever Steve once had been, a war hero, an Avenger, an idol, however potentially rich, they must have frozen his accounts. You hadn’t talked about money much, but you knew he paid in cash. If he did have a credit or debit card, he hadn’t been using it with you; and if he was giving one to you, it must have meant that using it was safe. You didn’t know how that could be, but he would never give it to you if it had any ties to him and anyone could connect the dots and follow the breadcrumbs to you as a person who was harbouring a fugitive.

“You’re taking it and you’re using it however you need, sweetheart,” he said, the same note of non-negotiable in his voice despite the tenderness of his touch. “It’s safe.”

“Then you need it.”

Steve smiled, warm. “No, I don’t. It’s not the only thing I have. I promise you: we do have allies. Not just Wakanda – which is open to us, to you, by the way, if that was the direction you wanted to go-“

“I don-“ 

“-once we figure things out. Figure out what we want,” he added, guessing your arguments against.

You glared at him, even as relief was spreading from your chest to your fingertips.

You had options. You had him. And perhaps he was less alone against the world that you had believed.

“Nat helped us set it up; and this kid who was once against us but decided there was error in his ways. People have been… donating.”

Your jaw fell a little slack and Steve’s smile grew wider, turning more genuine – and hopeful, which was something you didn’t want to allow yourself to be as not to have your hopes crushed. But the traitorous light and shiny feeling blossomed in your chest anyway.

“And I… Tony and I aren’t speaking, but… I think he might have been helping us out too. Keeping the accounts safe, monitoring the donors, running background checks, making sure it’s not the government trying to track us down. Which reminds me…”

He pulled out the second item, causing you to frown in confusion, even though you were still processing what he had just said and given you.

A burner phone.

He had already got you a second one over the course of the months you knew each other and were together, making sure you could securely contact each other. The second burner came not a bit more than a month ago when he had last visited to replace the original one.

It was too soon to replace it again.

“There’s one single number programmed into it, not more. Not even mine. If anything goes south, or you can’t reach me, you call him.”

A beat of silence, confused and tense.

And then your eyes went wide, heart stumbling anew.

Not a replacement then. Just another one. A burner phone specifically to reach---

“Steve, you’re not serious.”

Steve, for his part, didn’t even flinch at your incredulous tone.

“Deadly serious.” You just shot him a sharper glare at his choice of words. He didn’t relent. “I mean it. If anything happens to me-“

You squeezed his hand, hopefully hard enough to make it hurt, nails digging into his skin.

“Don’t-“

“If anything happens to me,” he repeated as if you weren’t a millimetre into his skin from drawing blood, “the chances are it’s happening to Nat or Sam or even Wanda too. So Tony is the safest bet. And we might not be on great terms, we disagree on a lot of things, but trust me – he would not turn his back to this.”

“I’m not taking Tony St- Tony’s charity if you get hurt or arrested or worse, Steven-“

Faster than you could comprehend – and more careful than you ever remembered him manhandling you and that was saying a lot – he pulled you into his lap and really, it was the least convenient time for your hindbrain to marvel at how easily he balanced you both or how hot and firm his body was, but you were only human in a rather fragile emotional state.

His hands framed your face firmly, face but three inches from yours, his gaze boring into your very soul and making you shiver even before he spoke – and it had nothing to do with the comforter sliding off your shoulders. Steve’s touch, like always without fail, found your pulse on your throat, his broad palms making his job easier. Your palms landed on his chest, the damn credit card and phone an uncomfortable barrier between you.

“I’m not asking you to accept his charity, even as he’ll probably try to bully you into doing so,” Steve said, every word carefully articulated, holding your gaze and attention unrelentingly. “I’m begging you to accept his protection. Physical or legal. It’s been on my mind for a while now.”

You gulped as tears sprung from your eyes, not doubting his words for a second.

If there was one thing Steve was deadly serious about, it was the safety measures. The burner phone. Never the same motel twice. Once he was in your home and never again. Paying in cash. Dark corners. You had seen the shadows in his eyes, even as he rarely mentioned it, that he wished he could give you more than lurking around in secret – because your safety had been the absolute priority. If he had ever felt like he was in danger, he hadn’t even called for a full week, let alone visited. It was a little ironic that the caution now flew out of the window as you were still outside, but at least you were whispering.

Even though you could tell Steve noticed the salty streaks down your cheeks – how could he not as they soaked his palms – he continued, words turning hoarse.

“Knowing this… that’s just the impulse for me to stop being a coward about how important you are to me. I wish the circumstance was different, so fucking different, but right now, I can’t give you what you deserve and need. So I’m begging you to---” his breath hitched, as he forced himself to inhale slowly and you mimicked him on instinct, realizing you had been to stunned and torn wide open to breathe yourself. His forehead gently rested against yours, his eyes slipping shut.

“I need you to be safe. And I need the mother of my child to be safe too.”

You didn’t bother to try and swallow the whimper at hearing the latter spoken out loud, spoken with such raw emotion, and the crystal-clear distinction he drew to let you know you had always mattered in the first place. God, he really was one in a million and you wanted to give him everything in return of the love he had for you.

“Do you understand that, love? Can you do that for me, please?”

“Yeah, yeah I can,” you husked and then you were kissing him, or he was kissing you and this time, you truly weren’t sure which came first.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was his mouth on yours and his arms around you, easily lifting you as he stood up, blindly reaching for the comforter as he walked back inside, never once tearing his lips from yours as he kicked the door shut with a loud crack.

A silent curse against your mouth was the only acknowledgement and you cursed with him – because you wanted your hands empty of the generous gifts he had given you and wanted to appreciate the gift he was instead and to forget for a moment that you were terrified of the future. And perhaps be appreciative of the good things that awaited you there instead.

If his enthusiasm was anything to go by, he felt the same, laying you down on the too-soft bed carefully, dextrous fingers taking the items from your hands and still, without as much as coming out for air, moving them wherever you could find them if you ever needed them later.

When his mouth did part from yours, he let his lips wander to your throat, pressing a lingering kiss to your pulse point, as if drinking in the precious sound of your frantic heartbeat, obediently speeding up under the affection.

When his hand slipped under the hoodie you were wearing, lingering over your belly with a new purpose, you’d swear you could hear his heartbeat accelerate, his chest expanding with a generous inhale, just like yours.

The caring and yet possessive gesture stirred scorching heat in your belly as if to respond to the heat of his touch, body arching against it in kind.

“Steve-“

“I love you and I’m holding you personally responsible for being perfectly well and taken care of when I’m not around,” he whispered to your skin, fingers already teasing places that he seemed to want to take care of right now, causing you to sigh and reach for him so you could feel his mouth on yours again. He went willingly, but wouldn’t kiss you until he said his piece. “And when I’m here, I’m going to take care of you myself and I’m gonna give you everything and you’ll let me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t answer it.

You accepted it and let your hands roam and caress and squeeze and hold and tease, once more basking in his proximity and affection and able to breathe even as you barely ever let your lips part from his.

Hope bloomed in your chest, wrapping around the love in your heart and when Steve let the desire in your core burn hot and quenched it all the same, his loving affection and desperation aligned, you sank into it, for a moment without care for the world but the two of you together, with the testimony of your love fighting all odds humming under your heart.

And in the morning, Steve lingered; then again, you barely got any sleep in the first place.

But for the first time, you saw more than peace in his eyes when he lied by your side, hand gently laid over the side of your throat, your heartbeat obediently singing for him under his palm. There was hope. And joy.

And for the first time for a while, you allowed yourself to truly feel these things too, reaching for his lips over and over; until he’d have to go and it would be your turn to take care of the most precious thing Steve Rogers had and protect it with a fierceness of his love and the mother of his child.

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Thank you for reading 💕

Please weep with me over gorgeous precious Steve getting gently fussy and all🥺🥺

He’s not playing fair; but he’s also being the fairest.

And a brilliant strategist at that.

General Ross is a petulant child and a self-important asshole in one. The latter can be proven by his zero regard for everyone else’s boundaries; the former by his absurd and maddening repeated attempts to contact Captain Steve Rogers despite the man stating more than clearly that he is taking a time off. A personal one.

The official statement is not specified. Those close to him know he’s on a bloody honeymoon.

You really wished to show the general a middle finger and be done with it, because this was your extremely personal time with your husband whom you shared with the world for the rest of your lifetime. You knew that and it was the mostly the deal you agreed to when marrying him – but there are boundaries.

Tony apparently did give General Ross a middle finger for which you’ll kiss him once you’re back – but it was not enough.

The thing is that Ross is a petulant asshole of a manchild who literally already managed to track Steve down and threatened to fly all the way to your private paradise of an island (the courtesy of Tony himself) unless he could get that – in its essence, according to Steve – absolutely pointless meeting. Not to that, Steve said a very resolute fuck no and agreed with letting himself be contacted.

One phone call.

Half an hour, not a minute more.

No camera on, allegedly due to limited service, which was a brilliant move on Steve’s part.

One earbud into his ear, so you didn’t have to listen to what Steve is apparently so used to tuning out during meetings, even as his brain sort of still retains the information; bless his eidetic memory.

Bless it, because this way, your master strategist of a husband who refuses to compromise your time together basically keeps his promise made to himself and you alike not to be bothered on your honeymoon unless the world is literally ending.

With the camera and mic off for most of the time, he can keep you all nice and comfortable straddling his lap, while you keep him snug and warm and slick all over; he can continue drawing nonsensical patterns on your body with his fingertips and lips alike, tongue tasting your burning skin, husky voice warning you every time you need to stay quiet and motionless completely so he doesn’t lose it and the distant inconvenience on the other side of the world doesn’t know what you’re up to.

You kinda want the jerk to hear; all the sweet and filthy loving and euphoria of the past days in the absolute paradise with the love of our life right there must be getting to you, since you feel like you wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

But you don’t want to get Steve into trouble – even as the man himself is trouble.

Damn, you’re a lucky woman.

You bite your lower lip to stop the moan from spilling when Steve’s dark hooded eyes find you as he turns the mic on, thumb circling your nipple before his hand heads south, drawing a teasing line down your front, over your clit, his touch exploring where you’re connected, wet and burning. You buck your hips on instinct at the ouch, a surge of heat stirring in your belly almost unbearably.

Steve’s smile is made of sin and you want to taste it over and over. The thumb of his other hand runs over your mouth to free your lip and even though you want to kiss his mouth, this has to be enough, because he’s speaking.

“I can assure you, General, once I’m back, this will be my topmost priority. I will bring it up to everyone’s attention at the next Initiative’s leadership meeting.”

“I love you,” he mouths right after and you know you’d forgive him all this torture even if you actually blamed him for it and wasn’t enjoying it immensely.

The bastard moves his fingers to play with your clit next, this time relentlessly so and thank god for his reflexes, because his enhanced hearing is the only one that catches the sinful sound when he swiftly muffles it with his palm. You’re not sure if the mic catches the squelching sound as you jerk in his hold, but you pray to the devil himself it doesn’t.

“Of course, General. I am glad we could-”

Steve chokes on his breath as you decide to take revenge on him by clenching as hard as you can in your lust-drunk state, the look he shoots you over his hand a wonderful blend of outrage and wild approval that nearly tips you over the edge.

“-discuss this matter over the phone. See you in two weeks.”

The last note of his voice barely registers in your brain and he’s already ending the call and tossing the earbud somewhere on the desk behind you and you’re hauled into the air, laughing.

For cursed two seconds you feel painfully empty and then he slams into right back you the same moment your back meets the wall, the drag of his length in your core nothing short of sinful, his mouth devouring you in ways that are almost vulgar.

And yet it’s love.

It can’t be nothing but love.

“I fucking love you, you beautiful menace,” he growls in a moment of reprieve, lips attaching to your throat, sucking hard enough to make you whimper, and so he sooths the smallest bite of ache with his tongue. You reward his loving treatment with a slow drag of your nails over his shoulder and nape, pulling him back to your mouth, because you already miss him.

“Love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

Oh that does something. Very pleasant something.

You found out on this trip: it’s a charm almost as, if not more, effective than calling him his rank. Despite the mad swirl of desire and filth you find yourself in, affection blossoms in your chest, because that’s what you love. That’s who you love.

Him. Just Steve.

As incredibly irresistible as he is as a competent Captain, you love him in his entirety. When he’s loving, when he turns feral, when he’s breaking under the pressure, when he’s quiet or nurtures his inner child and artist at last; when he’s yours.

And he knows it. That’s why explicitly calling him your husband or reminding him it is so works so damn well.

His hand squeezes the flesh of your thigh, pressure under your jaw to angle your face so he can drink from your mouth and from the depth of your soul, his hips rocking slowly, letting you feel every inch, your mouth turning slack with pleasure, head tipping back.

“Say it again. Wanna hear my wife say it again. Please, honey.”

You’d smile if you could; instead, you just try to meet him halfway, even as you are pinned against the wall and the wall of warm muscle thrumming with life that is your husband.

“I love you, Mr. Rogers,” you repeat obediently when you catch your breath, the sound purring in Steve’s chest in response a testimony of pleasure of his own. “I love you and I’m yours.”

For a moment, Steve stills, the words seeping into his skin, into his mind and his heart. His smile is both precious and entirely sinful; and two beats later, you know why, as you feel him brace for a change of pace from lovemaking to ramming you into the wall. The heat exploding in your belly and the way you clench around him is not deliberate this time, your body simply bracing along with him for the ride of your life.

“Damn right you are, Mrs. Rogers… and I’m yours and I’m gonna prove it to you… and again… and again.”

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Ehm. Yeah, okay, as soon as I knew how to full and fill this prompt, I knew there was no chance of staying within the lane of 300 900 words. Ah well. I had fun since I love husband Steve, and I hope that so do you 💕

Long weeks of building intimacy and trust, the tensions rising in the most delicious way; the sweet days of falling in love and tender hesitant touches, with a tinge spice of testing boundaries. And Steve had been perfect. So patient. It almost felt like he revelled in not rushing it.

When the passion finally exploded, it was a climax on its own before you had even shed a single article of clothing.

And now. All in shambles.

Slower.

The warm weight of Steve’s body balancing over yours turned to stone, his firm thighs, tangled with yours, suddenly as if cut out of marble.

He had been gentleness and passion incarnate, making sure you were ready in all senses of the word, drawing not one but two dizzying peaks from your body before he finally reached for something for himself. And yet you couldn’t seem to take it when he did.

Mike had been right. Your ex had been a prince charming turned the scum of the Earth, but he had been right. It was you. The problem. It had to be you if you didn’t make things work with an actual treasure of a man, one-of-a-kind gentleman like Steve.

The sudden emptiness, both physical, as he shifted away, and emotional, as you braced for the inevitable snap of Steve’s patience, hurt.

But his touch didn’t.

Warm tender stroke to your cheek had your eyelids fluttering open against your will, gaze met with a gentle frown between Steve’s wide blues.

“Did I hurt you?”

Tears prickled in your eyes, the sudden explosion of affection warming your chest.

His worry. His sincerity. The intimacy and overwhelming sense of safety.

You licked your lips, avoiding Steve’s gaze out of shame – at needing to stop, at being anxious about asking him to do so – but speaking nevertheless.

Because you could speak up. Because unlike your ex, Steve actually meant it when he had said I love you, and knew what love was, profoundly so.

“No, I… It was just… a bit much. Overwhelming. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s lips curled into a soft smile, his lips tender as they touched your forehead and then your lips, a lingering kiss that made you sigh and melt into the mattress, a caress to your hair, a cradle to your jaw to angle your face up.

“That’s okay. We can always go slower.”

His mouth parted from yours with a pop and for a moment, he simply stayed close as you both only breathed the same air, full of affection and patience mingling with impatience of new love.

Thank you, you wanted to say, but Steve didn’t need to hear it. Because this man considered this a common courtesy in a relationship.

And that was why you loved him with everything you were.

So you smiled instead, a little shy curl of lips, heart stumbling as you considered your next words.

“We’ll work our way to faster… together, right?”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes as he nodded minutely, his next kiss tasting of sunshine and excitement.

“I’m sure we will, love. Together.”

And the morning after, when after he brought you breakfast to bed and you meekly suggested if you could shower together, you did exactly that.

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(Sexy) September Scribbles Masterlist

Day three! And I think I'm slowly losing my breath, because life 😅 But I have a fe ideas I'd love to bring to life for some of the prompts, so we shall see yes my life would be easier if I could actually write 300 words drabbles as well as long-ass fics

It was too much – and it was just perfect.

His speech delivered in gentle murmur in the cabin he had whisked you away to, dinner, candles, and rose petals leading to the bedroom you had failed to notice at first as your walked fresh out of the shower. You were wearing his sweatpants and his shirt and he was in a rather domestic attire too; and he said that this was exactly how he wanted to spend his life with you. In magical moments found in between and in the ordinary, in the domestic bliss no matter where you were in the world, because your home was in each other and as long as you were together, you would find happiness and home.

He said plenty other things too, things that made your heart tremble and sear, your mind a haze and a maze as you tried so desperately to remember this moment forever; to remember his words and his face when the realization truly sank in that you would never say no to the proposal – not when the offer for life was him.

He was still kneeling; he seemed a little lost in the moment too, frozen in time; but this time but for only a moment – and not alone. Not ever again.

Grinning through your tears, you gently wiggled your left hand, watching his cheeks turn pink in the soft glow of the candlelight.

“Wanna do the honours, Steve?”

His smile turned a little tight, a glint of mischief on his overjoyed face.

“I would love to, actually,” he whispered, one corner of his lips rising higher. “I just need you to say yes.”

You froze; the room turned completely still and silent for a moment, like a photograph taken by the life itself.

And then you chuckled at your complete lack of decorum and common sense, fresh tears springing from your eyes as you nodded frantically, not sure whether you wanted to tackle Steve down to hug and kiss him senseless or poke his ribs for teasing you, as kindly as it was.

“Yes, Steve. Yes, I want to marry you. More than anything else in this world at the moment.” Even when you’re being a little shit.

Because that’s who I fell in love with.

Steve’s smile turned blinding, hands roughened by years of battle tender as they slipped a perfectly fitting ring on, a kiss light as a touch of a butterfly wings landing on your knuckles – and then you were in the air, securely held in Steve’s loving arms and briefly spinning, your joined laughter brightening the dimly-lit cabin and Steve was kissing you like his life depended on it and like you were the one and only thing he needed for the rest of his life.

And later, when he stripped all the proves of you already being his off your body but the new shiny one, he made you his all over again, a beautiful prelude of a new chapter of your life, together.

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My muse finally allowed me to write something drabble-ish again - you shall get the longer responses to some of the previous prompts soon enough though, I hope 🥰 I hope you enjoyed 💕

You relished in the warm weight on Andy's bare body on top of yours, both of you breathless, hungrily gulping the heavy scent of sex in the air.

You'd rather not think of the number of times he took you, your mouth, his mouth, his fingers, all of him, your stomach and core full. It made your head dizzy in the best possible way; but boy were you exhausted, aching and sensitive all over.

Andy's lips were tender and curled up in a smile as he pressed as kiss to your shoulder before he caressed your side and climbed to his feet slowly, kissing your lips before he went.

A murmur of ‘I love you’s was exchanged and you sighed, already missing him, but relaxing into the covers nevertheless, eyes closed and a smile on your lips. Focusing on the pleasant ache in your body, breathing in and out, you relished in the sound of Andy's quiet steps and in knowing he had gone to get a washcloth to clean up the mess. You were one lucky woman. Andy was a sweet caretaker; even as it made you chuckle that in his haste to take care of you – or perhaps his post orgasmic haze – he left the soft binds on your wrist in place.

Except his return was not marked by the feeling of gentle touch of a warm washcloth; nor by his occasional filthy habit of his wicked fingers gathering his spent and pushing it deep inside you where it belonged.

Snapping your eyes open, his name was a sigh of confusion and pleasure rippled from you when his palm settled on you belly the very moment the unmistakable buzz reached your ears and sent a shockwave through your clit, your body spasming lightly under his hand.

“Andy- I-”

He was smiling at you, dark eyes blown wide with desire, the wicked blink in his gaze a warning and an entice at once. The vibrator slid lower, an almost painful tease to your overstimulated flesh, until it fell silent, a shuddering breath escaping your parted lips as the realisation slowly dawned on you as to why your hands remained bound to the headboard.

Andy's voice was dripping sin, his lips a promise of heaven and damnation.

“Oh we're not done yet... as per your request,” he husked, the hand on your belly sliding down to cup your mound, the toy hovering near – a promise or a threat, treacherous anticipation swirling in your core even as you did not quite understand. Much like you did understand how after what were four mind-blowing peaks on your part and two of his, he was still able to use words like as ‘per’. Damn his lawyer brain.

Your breath caught at the now slick toy circled your clit, Andy's fingers wandering, dipped in your mixed release, lower and lower, until they teased your tightest opening, your frantically beating heart stuttering in your ribcage, hands twitching in the binds.

Your mind swam, trying to scramble for when in the past minutes or perhaps hours you could have said anything about or even requested either – being utterly ruined or utterly ruined – even as a part of you, one you weren't sure you'd ever reveal to Andy for the fear of being judged, shuddered in excitement and both.

His touch disappeared. With half-lidded eyes, ears ringing you watched him reach next to your hip, where another device lied in the covers. With the only source of light being the bedside lamp, you weren't sure what it was at first.

Until your own voice, albeit slightly distrained by a mechanical note of a recording, sounded in the bedroom, Andy's gaze boring into yours with victory.

The words were tied to a hazy memory of a delicious dinner Andy had prepared a few nights ago and aroma of too much wine, of both of you falling asleep on the couch.

“I want to know,” your voice giggled, whispering too loud. “Wanna know how many times I can-- you can make me cum.”

“Yeah? I'd like that, honey... wanna fucking ruin you. Fuck you till you can't think, till you can't take it anymore."

Your past self in the recording breathed too loud, whimpering. “Please. You can ruin me. Want it. Ruin me everywhere... wherever you want.”

In the recorder, your squeal was nearly drowned in the rustle of fabric, but it was there, Andy's voice returning a second later.

“Even here, honey? You'd lemme fuck you there?" The past you hummed in a very clear enthusiastic agreement. "Filthy girl. Say yes.”

“Yes.”

The recording cut off, your skin burning – with indignation, humiliation and entirely unfair arousal because Andy Barber was a wicked, and wickedly clever man.

“I admit the location in the last part might be rather ambiguous, but otherwise... a pretty damning evidence if you ask me. A single word of defence, honey?" he offered all so graciously and you knew exactly what he was asking, briefly considering it in the midst of the mad whirl of your thoughts, emotions and want. Andy's smug grin earned a satisfied edge at your prolonged silence, his fingers all kind of wicked as they danced over your skin, the recorder thrown away and long forgotten. “No? No safeword? Wise decision. So... what's it gonna be? Counting how many or being… really entirely mine?”

You gulped, mind reeling, seeing the last but unspoken question written all over his sinful smile.

Taking a shuddering breath – for if you were to be damned, you might as well perish entirely and with Andy's praise in your ears – you answered yes.

“Both.”

Andy's laugh was rich like dark chocolate and loving all at once, his lips slanting over yours with inexhaustible passion to be unleashed.

“...atta girl.”

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Ehm. This one was... one of the additions that are most aligned with the original thought of this challenge. Maybe a bit too much 🫠 Halp?

Like he owns you.

Like you’re the one thing he needs even if has so much and could have three different girls for every night and day.

He came home huffing and spitting, an enormous invisible storm cloud following him – even bigger than usual after meeting with any of his family members bar Harlan, who is, bless the old man, the only relative who ever bothered to treat Ransom as a person, even reaching as far as being empathetic.

Linda, Ransom’s own mother, rarely extends such courtesy. You doubt she is even capable of empathy or thinking about anything else but the faux cult of personality she believed to have created around herself.

You’re not sure why Ransom keeps getting dinner with her when she asks him – when she demands it, really, orders him around like a dog, to which Ransom usually just responds with a middle finger these days. Sometimes, you think maybe he’s just hoping that this time, or the next time, she will finally show him what it’s like to be a beloved son; a part of him, the little boy who’s been beaten into cynicism and detachment, hoping deep in his soft heart that he can be loved and is worthy of love in the first place. Only have those hopes crushed every single time.

Another part of Ransom seems to know those hopes are futile. But here you are anyway.

He doesn’t say a word when he barges in.

His hands demanding and firm, lips pillowy soft, pressed to yours as he gently but urgently manhandles you to the bedroom. Articles of clothing discarded, carelessly on the floor, betraying your path. Mouth latched onto your throat, to your breasts, drinking from your lips as his dextrous fingers tease you and then wreck you.

You lost count somewhere around number three. Your heart’s fluttering wilder than your core – or maybe vice versa, you’re not sure anymore.

Sometimes, Ransom binds your hands to the headboard when he gets like this, but not today. You’d let him. You’d let him do just about anything to you and he knows it; revels in it and rewards it generously. Sometimes, the only way he knows how to show you love is devouring you and ruining you completely; ruining any other man for you and ruining you for the sake of doing so. You fucking love it, even as sometimes you lose the sense of your own body, too overwhelmed and too wrecked.

Ransom is quiet, until he isn’t. He starts whispering into your skin when his lips are slick with your arousal from number four, you believe, your body trembling with exertion; and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

He’s about to. He’s very touchy tonight, but now his weight is pinning you harder than before, the delicious warmth of his body draped over yours so if even if you wanted to escape, you couldn’t.

He’s quiet until he isn’t.

He’s quiet until he’s sinking into you, groaning in tune with your whimper.

It’s too much; it’s not enough. Definitely not enough for him.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he husks, teeth grazing over your lower lip before you could answer, rolling his hips until he’s buried to the hilt, hand sprawled over your hip to angle you just right for his pleasure – and yours.

“I’m yours,” you gasp when he lets you, earning yourself a kiss. There’s something sweet about it; and achingly desperate.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” you echo obediently, meaning every word, even as you can barely speak anymore.

You’re slick all over with sweat and more, aching, skin burning hot after the gentle assault of Ransom’s restless hands and tender lips. And you need more. Fuck, you need and you love it when he pushes into you again and again, torturously slowly, thumb rolling over your clit to elicit a whimper from you as unsensible surge of lust swirls in your belly anew.

“Please.”

“Tell me you won’t leave me,” he demands, a little harder, hooded eyes hypnotizing yours, pupils wide and burning like coal.

You know this dance; you know its origin. You don’t want to think about it, you don’t really have the capacity to ponder too much, but you know what kind of venom is coursing Ran’s thoughts now. It’s the same old bullshit Linda Drysdale spews about you, about Ransom, about you two together and it seems to get to Ransom every time, because his whole damn life, he’s been made to believe he is unlovable and thus no one will ever stay.

Your body is already pliant, but your voice softens further as your heart flutters and aches.

“Ransom-“

His fingers wrap around your throat, a threat he doesn’t quite mean; a threat you could easily beat by uttering your safe word. He could get rough, but he would never physically hurt you beyond what you’d allow him. He could hurt your feelings when lashing out when hurting, but he learned how to apologize and make up for these too.

He holds his hand around your throat but doesn’t squeeze; if anything, he tips your head back and you go willingly, his gaze smouldering; the shadows of lust in his eyes cover, but do not completely hide the fear of you not wanting to say it, because it’s not true.

And suddenly, you understand why he hasn’t tied you up tonight, whether it’s been a conscious decision or subconscious only.

He doesn’t want to force you to stay, doesn’t want you to stay because he told you to. He wants you to want to stay. For him.

His fingertips brush over your pulse point and he snaps his hips several times, making you feel him all over you, inside you.

His. Entirely his. Forever.

Please.

“Say it, baby.”

“I’ll stay with you,” you whisper.

There’s a little satisfied smile on his kiss swollen lips, a flash of smugness in the corner of his gorgeous mouth.

And profound contentment.

One he thanks you for by an onslaught of pleasure and a hoarse whisper of Good girl, the words tipping you over the edge with a sob.

It’s too much.

And you want more. For yourself and for him. You feel it’s not over yet and not just because you can feel him still hard as rock inside you.

Ransom is watching you when you flutter your eyes open, eyelashes damp with your tears. He is watching you like you’re his fucking everything and to be that for a man with enough money and more money promised that could buy him anything, is nothing short of intoxicating and overwhelming.

“Good girl,” he repeats, petting your cheek, catching another stray tear with his fingertips. His voice is quiet and almost surprisingly vulnerable, the plea devastatingly raw; the rotten root of all trouble. “Tell me you’re not with me just ‘cause of the money-“

Your hands – bless him for not having bound them – grab his face firmly, as much as you can with your body wrecked and all strength stolen by one mind-blowing peak after another.

You might be barely able to string together a sentence, but damn will you try because the weight on your chest has nothing to do with how much muscle is Ransom made of, completely still above you as he awaits your answer and judgement.

Because his heart is soft. By god it has its tears and cracks repaired by rusty steel when they had tried to rip it apart – and he had tried to protect it by pushing you away before until he understood that was not the way – but he’s trying so hard to keep it soft. For you most of all people.

“I love you. I’m not going anywhere, because I’d miss you,” you say and his hands on your flesh twitch and squeeze and his mouth descends on yours, but you’re not done and you try to speak even as he starts moving again, lips devouring yours. You whisper any second he lets you come out for a breath. “You, it’s you---- Ran—You and I, love-AH-- you’re not—alone.”

“Fucking can’t live without you,” he growls or maybe sobs, you don’t know anymore, and you don’t care.

He’s everywhere, riding out his high, spilling inside you to make you his as much as he can and once he’s done, he wrings another peak from your wrecked body, this one almost more pain than pleasure, but oh so satisfying to your both.

It takes you forever to catch your breath.

But he lays over you like a weighted blanket and you know he’ll treat you like a princess, not just in terms of spoiling you with his money, but with care; and hopefully, hopefully he’ll believe, once more, that it truly is the latter that makes you stay.

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(Sexy) September Scribbles Masterlist

I’m not saying being loved and loved on like this could fix me, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to try...