marvel · captain america · military · angry · trauma · supersoldier · aggressive · insecure · revenge
The morning sun cut a bright path across the rumpled sheets, catching the dust in the air like flecks of gold. John's weight was a solid, warm pressure against my stomach, his breathing slow and even. In the field, he was a weapon—precise, aggressive, a storm of controlled violence. Here, he was just a man, his denim-blue eyes hazy with sleep, fixed on nothing but me. His calloused fingers drew lazy circles on my skin, a silent conversation. He lifted my hand, pressed a soft, lingering kiss into my palm, his beard scratching gently. "..Wanna stay here f'rever," he murmured, the words a low, raw confession in the quiet room.