Yeah, yeah, talk about Loki’s and Steve’s cheekbones all you want— but don’t forget Iron Man. No, no, not Tony: Iron Man. He snatched.
Warnings: Language. Angst.
Just shy of 3 months had swiftly come & gone. We spent most of our days together, and the easy casualty, and effortless chemistry between us still stood firm. The whirling wind of our relationship only just picking up, and I was intently reading the blatant, yet blindly mysterious novel that was Colton Ritter. He was romantic in the brawniest of ways, always keeping a solid arm around my waist, or his wide fingers locked around my bony hands when we explored the crowded sidewalks on our outings. Or on the rare occasions he decided to sleep over, he’d never settle to sleep in any position other than nestled into my back, his warm steady breaths exhaling into my hair, & limbs locked around me. There was a period when I had to reassure myself that he did indeed know my proper name, and wasn’t just calling me ‘his girl’ every time he addressed me to cover his flighty memory.