#steve rogers hurt/comfort

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the smouldering scar

fused with the foe, chapter three

a/n: big reveal in this one, you guys. hold on to your butts!

summary: you didn’t know how long he remained silent, frozen in the depths of the answer your simple question apparently had, but eventually, you heard him say, “I wanna show you something.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, violence, gore, injury, crying

word count: 3430

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It nearly looked like snow. But you knew it wasn’t. It was ash that swirled around in the smoky air outside of the small windows. 

Sitting on the floor of the chamber that shot off of the grand throne room, your back was pressed back against the stone wall. Numerous servants, mostly elderly ones or others who couldn’t join on the battlefield, had, with a handful of wardens, all gathered in that meeting room. Some were seated at the round table in the middle while others had opted for the floor like you. 

Hugging your knees to your chest, one of your hands slowly slid up and down your shin in a self-soothing caress, the movement eventually came to a stop on the top of your knee. Glancing down, you couldn’t help but turn your wrist and stare at the symbolic scar that marked your palm. Without really realising it, your other fingers came up to trace it gently as the terrifying reality of what was occurring just outside of these castle walls nearly ate you alive. 

With every hellish thought that fluttered in your mind, you became nervous that you were mere moments away from throwing your breakfast back up. 

What if Steve didn’t make it back? What if he was lying dead somewhere right now? What if he was just charred enough to make his demise inevitable, but draw his last few moments out in a torturous wait? What if you had to rule this kingdom, that you’d barely even gotten your footing in, all alone? 

Suddenly, doors on the other side of the room were forced open so loudly that it ripped you from your paralysing thoughts and made you jump. Lifting yourself up to your feet, your eyes stayed glued to the exit.

But when the door to the chamber was pushed open, all of the air slipped out of your lungs in an instant. 

With soot and scrapes tainting their features, there stood the royal who wouldn’t escape your worries, alongside numerous soldiers behind him. 

“Turner, Hardy,” not even taking a second to breathe, he instantly called to the wardens who had been guarding the chamber, “go get some supplies, blankets, food and water, as well as some healing supplies to the throne room,” he commanded, “we’ll use it as a sanctuary and gather the people who lost their homes as well as prepare for some of the injured since the hospital is already dangerously close to full capacity–”

Before you even knew what was happening, you’d crossed the room and nearly tackled the king from how forcefully you threw your arms around him. A breath of air seeped out of his lungs at the blow. It wasn’t till his touch slowly found your spine that you realised what you had done. Scurrying back like his touch had shocked you, “I’m sorry,” your wide eyes blinked up at him and your stomach twisted at the reality of what you’d just done, “I didn’t–…” though when you met his gaze, your shoulders melted back down into place as you uttered, “hi.”

“Hey,” he breathed, staring down at you as guards rushed around him, dashing to fulfil his commands, “are you alright?” 

“I’m–…” for a split second you were gonna spill to him just how terrifying it had been, how scared you still were, but looking back at him and the other knights, seeing the obvious signs of the fire they’d just walked through, you instinctively withered down and replied, “yeah. I’m fine,” you tried your best to keep your tone steady, “are you? What happened? Did you–…”

“Steve,” haven already migrated into the chamber, Bucky then tossed the king a roll of bandages, “we’ve got this here, you go take care of your side.”

Watching Steve’s quick reflexes catch the cloth with one hand, your gaze then grew again as it scanned his frame, “your side? What happened to your side?”

“It’s nothing,” he tried to relax his clenched jaw as he said, “it’s fine.”

With chaos buzzing all around the room, you searched his steely eyes a moment before you then turned on your heel. Snatching up one of the healing kits resting on the central table, you then glanced over your shoulder and gestured with your head, “come.”

Weaving through the crowd, you slipped into the vacant war room. A thick table, littered with maps and little markers, grounded the space. Not glancing back at him as you heard him shadow you, he slowly began to lay down the weapons still strapped to him as you pulled out a chair and sat the wooden box down on the table, the glass vials within it clinked against each other at the force. 

“You don’t have to help me,” his deep voice was quiet as he stayed near the door, “this isn’t my first burn.”

Unlatching the lid, you glanced back at him as you opened the box, “do you not want my help?” 

“No,” he shook his head and lowered his shield and axe to a chair he passed when his feet finally began to shift. 

“Then take your armour off,” you nodded clinically as you returned your gaze to the herbs before you. 

As he began to near you, he slowly started to loosen the straps of his leather armour, gently shedding it as he watched you search through the kit. 

“Where is it, where is it…” you muttered as you plucked up the bottles and read the scribbled labels, looking for the right thing, “ah!” you exclaimed as you located the elderberry and milkweed salve, “there!” 

Steve’s brows knit together gently as he placed one of his layers on the chair beside the one you sat in, “…you know how to treat a burn?”

“Yes,” you met his eye, “why? Did you not think someone like me would know about the art of healing? That it would be too grotesque for my fragile little soul?”

“No, I just–… I didn’t know that about you,” he leaned back against the table. 

“So, what happened out there?” your eyes flicked down to the crimson stain on his ivory tunic. 

Letting out a low exhale, a moment passed before he uttered, “I don’t know if maybe we’d been more prepared that we would have been able to win… we tried everything, but it got away… flew out west… with barely even a fucking scratch…” his eyes stayed locked on the same crack in the floor by his boots, “people that I’ve known and fought beside all of my life got turned to ash in seconds… houses were burned down, fields were set a flame… it just doesn’t make sense… none of it does… I’ve studied dragons and never, anywhere, have I come across an account of them just stopping by a town to kill a few folks before up and leaving again. Dragons are greedy, they’re solitary, they’re highly intelligent, I–…” a heavy sigh then seeped from his lungs, “it just doesn’t make sense…”

A knock then echoed at the door. 

Clearing the thickness in his throat, Steve lifted his gaze and said, “yes?”

An elderly servant, balancing a tray, creaked the door open, “I thought some refreshments might do you good, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” the king mustered a small smile as she sat the pitcher and glasses down beside him before disappearing out the door once more. 

Carefully, Steve then peeled his soot and blood-stained tunic over his head and revealed the nasty burn that stretched across his left ribs. 

It was terrible, but for a moment you grew thankful for his distracting injury as you tried your hardest not to make the face that his burly physique conjured. 

As you began to smear the salve carefully over the burn, a stifled groan slipped out of him at your first touch. 

“Sorry,” the muscles in your body tensed as you could only imagine the pain he was in. 

“It’s alright,” he uttered through controlled breaths as he watched your fingers glide over the angry blisters that bubbled at his scorched waist. 

Popping the cork back into the stout glass container when the salve had been spread over his wound, you then picked up the bandage and your efforts almost caused you to hug him again as you wrapped it around his abdomen. 

When the clean cloth was secured and you’d turned to pack the supplies back up, Steve suddenly remembered, “oh, you should probably have this back,” and removed the borrowed chain you’d been too blind to notice dangling from his neck. Placing the necklace in your palm, a small smile twitched at his lip, “thank you for lending it to me. One could always use a little more bravery and not just when an actual dragon’s spewing off fire over your head.”

“I guess so,” your head cocked slightly, unsure what prompted him to say that. 

Searching your expression, he said, “you know, because of the rune.”

“What?”

“Because it means courage,” he pointed down to the scratch in the opalescent stone, “did you don't know that?”

“It does?” you glanced down at the necklace like you were seeing it for the first time. 

“Yeah. Is that not why you wear it?”

“No, I’ve just always worn it,” your head gently shook from side to side, “kinda thought of it as a good luck charm since it’s the only item of my mother's I’ve ever had…”

“Cosima, are you sure there isn’t anything more we can do to help?” Steve asked the farmer sincerely. 

Shaking her head, her grey locks were cropped so short that they only offered a silver shadow of hair, “you’ve already done so much, your majesty.” 

Glancing around at the charred remains of the farm that had gotten the brunt of the dragon attack, the king spotted the gloomy girl that shyly shadowed Cosima’s wife as her fingers stayed weaved in the spotted fur of a young sheepdog. 

“Is that your granddaughter back there playing with that puppy?” 

Glancing back over her shoulder, a sombre smile twitched at her lip, “yeah, that’s our little parsnip.”

“How is she taking it?” he asked slowly. 

“I think our attempt at distracting her is actually working, even just a little bit…” her eyes stayed on the dog a moment longer before she glanced back at the king and you beside him, “the attack turned too many children into orphans. We’re staying with the blacksmith and his wife while we rebuild the farm,” she spoke, “and his brother and sister-in-law didn’t make it as well, so now they are taking care of their nephew.”

“Wait, Mary and Richard?” Steve’s eyes widened slightly, “I didn’t know they were among the deceased.”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.” 

Standing by his side, you’d let Steve do most of the talking. Not just because he knew the people better, but you also just didn’t know what to say without bursting into tears. 

Staring at the kid slightly obscured by her grandmother, your feet couldn’t help but shift closer to her and Steve’s voice, “…I was thinking of gathering the town council again tomorrow if you could spread the word to the rest of the members,” slowly faded away as you neared.

Kneeling down before her, you mustered a gentle smile as you asked, “is this your dog?”

Staring up at you, her weary and bloodshot eyes were wide as she quietly replied, “yes.” 

“What’s its name?”

Scarcely breathing in your presence, the girl timidly said, “his name is Oak.”

“Hello, Oak,” you scratched the puppy’s fluffy ear, “aren’t you adorable…” 

“Excuse me, what?” you glanced up from the expansive map that screeched across the table of the war room and blinked back at the king. 

“I said, what do you think we should do?” Steve repeated, “what do you wanna do?”

“You want my opinion?” your shock shined clear through your tone, “really?”

“Of course, I do.”

Letting your gaze flutter to the seagulls flying by outside the window, you exhaled, “well… I’m not sure what I could do to help. I honestly feel kinda helpless,” you shared, “I’m not a carpenter, I can’t help rebuild the homes that burnt down…” but then an idea tickled the back of your mind, “where is it again that the orphanage is located?”

“In The Dandelion Quarter, down by the docks,” Steve’s chin tilted slightly, “what were you thinking?”

“Well, it’s not much, but I kinda wanna go down there, visit the kids if they’ll let me. I don’t know if that’s dumb, but maybe it wouldn’t be nothing if I put some effort into distracting them a bit or whatever they might need. Is that stupid? To do that for as long as they’ll let me?”

“No,” he shook his head, “no, not at all.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” letting his fingers ghost over the backs of the chairs, he slowly curved around to the side of the table where you stood, “we both have an idea of what it’s like to lose your parents. I think it’s a great idea.”

As your lips twitched up into a smile, so did his. 

Though as you stood there and momentarily let yourself disappear into his gaze, a thought struck you and you soon found your lips parting once more.  

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hm?” he simply hummed. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

Noticing that you were gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you forced yourself to stop before you uttered, “why is it that you call me dove?”

You didn’t know how long he remained silent, frozen in the depths of the answer your simple question apparently had, but eventually, you heard him say, “I wanna show you something.”

“Alright,” slowly nodded before following him out of the chamber. 

You’d never before entered the room he then showed you to, never even realised there was anything down this corridor. Though a bit dusty, the magnificent office he’d led you to only granted you more questions than answers. 

“This was my mom’s study,” Steve said slowly as he stepped aside and let you explore the space, “I haven’t changed a thing in here since she died. Everything’s still exactly as she left it.” 

As you glanced around the room, from the polished desk to the untouched tea set still sitting by a soft armchair, a painting on the far side wall caught your eye and made all of the hair of your body stand up.

The portrait was in an informal style, depicting a teenage girl with her arm around another. One of them you knew to be the same lady illustrated countless other paintings within the castle, but the other, the young plump woman depicted in a pair of billowy pants, her you recognised as well.

“Oh my–, is that–…” scarcely breathing at all, you tore your stare away from the painting, “Steve, why is there a portrait of my mother in here?”

Sucking in a breath, his low voice then found your ears once more, “because that is a painting of my mother and her best friend.”

“H-her–,” you felt as if the world might fall out from under you, “what?”

“Our mothers were friends,” he shared slowly, “they grew up together.”

With brows tightly knitted together, you blinked between the king and the painting, “she was born here?” 

“She was,” he nodded. 

“I–… I knew my mom wasn’t from Obelón, but I never knew she was from here…” tears began to blur up your vision as you stared up at the portrait, “this doesn’t make any sense… I always thought my mother hated this kingdom… she was on a diplomatic mission here when she died, trying to stop the war our marriage eventually put an end to.”

“No, she wasn’t,” he softly corrected. 

Whipping your head back at him once more, “what?”

“She wasn’t here for any political reason,” he disclosed, “it wasn’t unusual for her to visit her home, but even that wasn’t the reason why she was here when she passed,” he sucked in a breath before continuing, “Y/n, she was trying to escape. Trying to find a way for both her and her children to leave your father.”

“She was? I always thought they were happy together, that they loved each other.”

“They might have in the very beginning, I don’t know,” you slowly sank down into a chair as he spoke, “but I do remember the way that she spoke about him back then and it was with anything but love. I might have been young, but I wasn’t a complete idiot about what was going on around me.”

“You knew her?”

“I did,” he exhaled, “I mean, I was just a small child, but yeah, I remember her well.” 

Feeling your body tremble at the discovery, you hazily heard yourself ask, “would you–… could you tell me about her?”

Offering you a small nod, he then sat down in the armchair opposite the one you found yourself in.

“My mom always told me that she and Saoirse were practically attached at the hip as kids. Where the crown princess went, your mother followed and vice versa. But at my mother’s coronation, Saoirse met King Ivan and it didn’t take long before he swept her with him. They tried to keep in contact, the best that they could, but at one point the letters were so few and far in between that my mom had nearly lost all hope in the kinship. But then, one day, after I was born, your mother started coming around again. She became like family to me as well. Taught me how to skip rocks, how to throw a punch, she even told me stories of the gods. But the last time she was here it was different, everything was different… my memories from that far back are fairly spotty, but I still remember every single thing from that night… the night that you were born… when Saoirse realised her fate, she made my mother promise her that she’d look out for you, that she’d protect you no matter what. We tried to keep you here, to keep you from going back to the very place your mom had worked so hard at freeing you from, but at the end of the day, all we had to prove you staying here were the dying words of a mother, not the blood you shared with a king. My mom always kept an eye on you for the remainder of her life. And then she made me promise to do the same.”

Feeling a heavy tear drip from your chin and down into your lap, you uttered, “so, that’s why you married me?”

Meeting your eye, he uttered, “I married you to protect the daughter of a very kind lady I once knew. I married you to keep up a promise I made to my mother.” 

“I see…” the fact that he wed you out of kindness and duty somehow didn’t help how overwhelmed you still felt, “I still don’t understand though why you call me dove. I get why you told me all of this, and I’m-… thank you for doing so, but what does it have to do with that nickname?”

Weaving his fingers together, he glanced down at them, “your mom, uh… it’s what she called you whenever she’d talk to her belly,” unclasping his hands, one of them briefly fluttered up to scratch the nape of his neck, “hell, my mom even continued to call you that long after your father gave you a proper name. I didn’t really realise I was doing it, guess it subconsciously just kind of slipped out when I met you, but I can stop if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No,” you swiftly shook your head, “you don’t have to stop.”

Glancing up at you, he offered a light nod, “alright.”

Letting your vision flutter back to the youthful depiction of your mother, your eyes took in every little detail as a stomach-turning thought haunted your mind till you couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“…do you remember what chamber it was that she–…” turning your head to meet his gaze, you couldn’t get yourself to finish the sentence, though thankfully, the king didn’t need any more words to understand. 

“I do…”

Your eyes flickered to your lap to spot the few splotchy tears that had stained the silk.

“…could you show it to me?”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #eflorr au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers series #king!steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #chris evans x reader #steve rogers hurt/comfort #chris evans au

[heaven4lostgirls]

hope (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warning: angst, a little bit of comfort.

summary: the aftermath of reader leaving steve gives him clarity and has them both realizing that he needs to work harder to gain his girl back.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: I am so sorry this took so long to come out, I’ve been swamped with uni work but I’m so happy you guys liked part 1, I will probably post a part 3 to this, which other characters do you ship reader with??? Steve is looking at some competition soon!

part 1 , part 2, part 3

tags: @nouk1998, @spngingerbread21, @blackhawkfanatic, @immyowndefender (if I wasn't able to tag you that means your tags don't work!)

Steve,

If you’re reading this, then you have realised I’m not staying in the tower anymore. Tony helped set me up in safe house for the next few weeks, I can’t stay here. You chose Sharon over me Steve and you must know that I can’t stay with someone who would choose another woman over me.

I need you to know that although it’s been hard for me to accept it, I understand. It’s not okay that you chose to leave without talking to me, but I understand if she is who you want okay? I am so grateful to have spent the last 3 years by your side, but I can no longer watch on from the sidelines as you look at her like how you used to look at me.

When I come back, hopefully I’ll be ready to talk, but I am asking you that if you ever held any form of love and respect for me, to give me this time to heal.

Thank you, Steve, for everything,

y/n.

Steve crumples your handwritten letter in his hand, the paper squashed in the palm of his hands as he throws back the bourbon in his glass. His eyes are red rimmed and his face unshaven. He has been a mess since you left a week ago, unable to move from his room, and spending his time rereading your letter hoping that he could find some small sign that you still loved him, still wanted him.

He was unaccustomed to this feeling of pain, when he got out of the ice, he assumed the pain of knowing that he had missed his time with Peggy was truly the worst form of torture but the agony of once having your love and affection and having it so brutally stripped from him, may just be at the top of his list.

He sighs as he uncrumples the paper to place it on his desk as he moves to lay back in his bed, he had been part of a repetitive cycle for the last week, working purely on survival mode before he’s interrupted by a soft knock on his door.

He knows better than to feel excited at the small hope of it being you however he knows that it’s Bucky and Sam checking up on him and bringing him food before they annoy him into getting into the shower. He can’t stand the look of pity in their eyes as they hand him his food, so he slams the door shut as soon as he gets it, placing it on his desk, he moves to the bathroom.

He turns the shower head all the way to cold, hoping it will bring some shock into his system, however because of his super soldier abilities, his immune system is fried and numb to the coldness of the water.

His eyes burn as tears roll down his face, sobs wrack his body as he pounds his fist into the wall in front of me which breaks at the force of his strength. He hears the door quietly open before he feels Bucky’s metal arm tugging him from under the water into a towel.

This has happened nearly everyday for the last 3 days, sometime on the first day, Steve had stopped acting like you abrupt leaving hadn’t affected him and broke down during his training session, to which Bucky had been helping him through his depressed state however all he ever really wanted was you.

“I want her back” Steve sobs into Bucky’s clothed shoulder as he feels his friend cooing and soothing him like a baby before he is gently placed on his bed. His body shakes with his painful sobbing as he feels Bucky rubbing his back. “I know Stevie, I know” Bucky sighs as he tucks Steve in after he exhausts himself from crying.

Meanwhile you haven’t been doing any better, your mental health slowly deteriorating at the acceptance of the end of your relationship with Steve. You had known somewhere deep down that throughout the past month whenever you had caught Steve looking at Sharon that this was the beginning of the end.

However now it was time for you to face the reality of the situation, you may have spent the last week crying your eyes out at sad romance films with ice-cream and chocolate  but you knew that enough was enough, you needed to talk with Steve and hear what he had wanted to say the day you left.

Running from your problems was not the best solution however you knew realistically you did not have the mental capacity to hear whatever Steve had to say and that it would only end up doing more harm than good considering how high strung you both were about the whole situation.

Now, as you step off the quinjet, you are greeted with Bucky’s genuine yet sorrowful smile. “Hi Buck” you greeted softly as you stood awkwardly, worrying if you could still hug him even though you knew he probably spent the last week comforting your ex-boyfriend. Not than you could blame him, they had been friends for far longer than the both of you.

Bucky just rolled his eyes before his smile widened as he pulled you into a tight hug, you breathed a sigh of relief and slumped into your friend. Your moment was interrupted by a loud voice chiming in from behind the both of you.

“Y/N!!!!” you and Bucky both separate, you with a look of amusement and Bucky with a look of annoyance. Peter’s joyful gaze found yours as he sprinted towards you. “I knew when you didn’t respond to the meme I sent you this morning, something was up!” he said excitedly as he spins you in a hug as a laugh bubbles out of you.

“Hey kid, yeah I was on a flight back from South Africa” you smile and separate from him before you see his joyful gaze darken at something behind you.

“Y/N.” you hear softly from behind you, and you freeze.

You turn around and place a polite smile on your face, not quite ready for the conversation ahead.

“Steve” you say and nod at him, he moves as though he’s going to hug you but thinks again and moves back and you’re somewhat grateful, you don’t think you’d be able to compose yourself.

You all stand in awkward silence for a bit before you break it, “I should uh” you gesture inside and he nods before he opens his mouth, “Can I help with your bags?” he asks nervously.

You were hoping to have a few minutes to compose yourself, but Steve is probably right to get the conversation out of the way.

As you both walk through the tower, you realise how quiet it is and make note to thank everyone for steering clear of the both of you.

As you both reached your old room since you had been sharing with Steve, you place you bag down before you turn to Steve who is standing sadly outside your room. “You can come in” you tease him and that snaps him out of his mood as he moves to sit at the desk in front of your bed and you sit on your bed.

“So” you both start before you motion to Steve to carry on.

“I love you y/n, I don’t want this to be the end, can we please work on this? I promise I’ll do better, and I won’t choose Sharon over you ever again.” He rushes out in what you assume is an attempt to stop the inevitable.

You smile at him in pity and before you can start talking you see him shaking his head as tears fill his eyes. “Steve, if you really wanted me as bad as you say you do, where was all this attention and affection this last month? Why did it take me leaving for you to realise how badly you fucked up?” you question and watch as he breaks in front of you.

The last week must have been hell for him, the same way the last month was for you.

“Please just let me try y/n, let me try please” he pleads as he moves from sitting in the small chair to kneeling before you as he grasps your hands.

You move your hands to grasp his face as you wipe his tears.

“Love, I will always love you but you need to realise how hard it was for me to sit here on standby every time you left me for Sharon, I need to choose myself for once” you confess and Steve sobs into your legs as you thread your hands through his hair as you try and calm him down.

You watch as Steve tries to compose himself in front of you before he looks into your eyes in determination. “I’m going to prove it to you” he says seriously, and you nod to placate him before he shakes his head in protest. “No, you don’t understand, I am going to prove to you how much you mean to me y/n” he says and some part of you is hopeful he tries as hard as he says he’s going to be this time.

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to make it up to me Steve, you’re going to have to work for it” you say, and he deflates but nonetheless nods in understanding, realistically he acknowledges that he deserved worse treatment. He just can’t stand the idea of you finding love and connection with someone that isn’t him.

#juliwrites #steve rogers angst #steve rogers imagine #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers hurt #steve rogers hurt/comfort #steve rodgers imagine #mcu #marvel #marvel movies #bucky barnes #peter parker

[ronearoundblindly]

Warning Signs

um, I've had a miserable day, so I wrote angst that absolutely no one asked for. Partly hurt/comfort, too. Totally unedited. No descriptions of injury. Just feels and sweet, protective Steve. WC 1.7k

Summary: Your first bad mission shows Steve how you handle tragedy.

Silence.

The quinjet is flooded with it, thick and suffocating. You'd never know there were eight living souls on board.

Plus two bodies.

Steve's worked with everyone around (alive or dead) for a long time, but not you. He watches you follow the pattern of everyone else's grief. As much as he hates to be dismissive, this is standard stuff for the team.

If he had to guess, he's looking at the numb phase. They'll touch down at the base and go through the motions. You'll make it to your quarters, take an absurdly long shower, possibly have a meltdown, maybe blow off steam at the gym, and emerge 'feeling better.'

It won't actually be better. It doesn't actually get easier. He knows that very, very well.

He hears a sniffle and starts, thinking it's you, but in fact, Sam's broken first. That's not a bad sign; it's actually good. Sam Wilson likely broke on purpose, to set an example, to show it's okay to not feel okay, to begin the mourning properly so that you all can heal. He's a good man that way.

Sam wipes his eyes. He makes no moves to step away for privacy.

Your face is blank as you stand from your jumpseat. Steve watches with fascination while you gather bottles of water and the med kit. You make rounds to everyone, completely expressionless. You look over every person for injuries, cleaning every single cut before moving to the next. You walk a tight circle around him and, seeing no damage, step back without a word, handing him his water like a prize lolly at a doctor's visit.

Finally, you go to Sam, and he obediently stands to be inspected, holding out his wrist and forearm crusted in blood.

Arms clamp around him. Your hug is brutal, strong, and a push that sends Sam over the edge of 'example' into the deep end of reality. One by one, each member aboard breaks. Steve's never seen anything like it. They are all close. They are all comfortable enough to see each other and be seen by each other this way, but not around you.

Not yet, Steve would have thought, but he takes a seat and buries his face in his hands, too. He lets himself drown for a few minutes.

Collectively, the flood of emotion drains away, and it's a shocking difference. By no means has everyone healed, but they've vaulted several of the usual hurdles all on a single ride home.

You're still hugging Sam when Steve collects himself for touchdown. The door lowers, breaking another seal of silence, and you let go.

Steve stiffens.

Your face is still blank, eyes distant and unfocused, cheeks dry.

You let nothing go. Not a single tear. It looks like you drank down the grief of seven war-weary soldiers and are just holding it inside.

You walk out first after letting the med crew come in. Steve can't follow because the nurses fuss over everyone and bombard him with questions. You're gone by the time he looks back down the ramp.

He's only able to come to your door hours later.

You don't answer. F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms you are inside. Still no answer.

"Dammit," Steve whispers. He doesn't want to have to do this, but since you've never been on a mission like this one with him, he has no standard for how you process.

"Override the door. Authorization gamma four foxtrot."

"Override accepted, Captain," the AI gently announces, and the magnetic latch pops open.

Slowly, Steve's eyes roll over the whole room, trying to remain as calm as possible.

The place is trashed. Mattress flipped against the window, squishing and bending the blinds. Chair upsidedown on the unaligned boxsprings. A dent in the headboard above shattered lamp pieces. Dresser and nightstands face down on the carpet. You're nowhere in sight.

He can hear water running, so he immediately goes to the closed bathroom and knocks, shouting your name.

Nothing happens.

He tries the handle. Locked.

Steve's way past being nice about this. His shoulder cracks through the hollow wood easily, and he bursts in.

There's no steam.

Through the glass doors, he can't see you standing. There's a dark streak above the rim of the tub basin.

He leaps forward, careful not to grab the glass so hard he shatters it (and he knows he can because he's done that twice).

You're curled up, facing away, drenched and letting cold water run all over you, fully clothed.

Steve says your name gently, heart racing now with concern. He uses a grip at the back of your neck to check for a pulse as well as turn you.

Blank. Your face is still devoid of...anything. You're completely catatonic.

He reaches over to turn off the water.

"Okay," he soothes, "okay, sweetheart. It's okay. Here we go."

He slides an arm under your legs, supportive hold still at your neck, and lifts you out of the tub and straight onto his lap, soaking himself and the bathmat.

"Come on, sweetheart. I got ya."

Steve scurries to yank two towels from the rack above him and covers you loosely. Your eyes don't meet his. You don't appear to see him at all.

He's seen all sorts of versions of shell shock--poorly treated and well handled alike--and he knows several things he can do.

But he just waits. He watches you blink and breathe, and that's it. That is the sum total of what your body can muster for who knows how long.

Your hair is half dry and the pads of his fingers are wrinkled by the time you turn your head in towards the crook of his elbow and shut your eyes.

Steve sighs, wrapping the towels a little tighter and adjusting you closer in his hold.

"We're okay. We're going to be okay." He pets strands of hair off of your face. "You did everything right. You did everything you could. We all did."

Steve keeps saying aloud what he thinks to himself after each mission, except when he says it to you, he means it. He's proud of you, and he says it. He promises to take care of you, and he will. He keeps talking, slowly rocking back and forth until his own heart has calmed and you're sleeping.

He keeps holding you but stretches out his legs because they've fallen asleep, too. He can't carry you while his lower half tingles painfully. Soon enough though, he's standing, adjusting you to allow him to maneuver past doorways easily.

He can't get any of your clothes from the upended furniture and there's nowhere to lay you down. Steve barely thinks before heading straight to his own room, towels still dangling from you and his arm, but he finally hesitates when his twitching fingers remind him of your wet tac suit.

The whole point was not to take you to the infirmary while you slept, but he can't possibly change you without waking you.

He makes an executive decision. You have to rest, and the best way to get started on a proper rest is to get you comfortable and dry first.

Steve sets you down in his chair, leaving the towels bunched under you as he steps away to find a shirt and shorts for you to wear. He returns to see you awake with heavy eyelids, sitting up but slouching.

The blank face is back, so he asks you to change. You don't move.

He asks you to stand up, and you look down at your feet before pushing up off the chair.

"Can you give me those wet clothes?"

He turns around when you start to unzip the suit, waiting for the squelch of fabric hitting his floor to stop.

Offering the stack of clean things without looking, Steve says, "these are for you."

Nothing happens.

He peeks over his shoulder to find you staring at the wall, and he knows he'll have to do this himself.

T-shirt first, he bunches it open and ready while still turned away.

"Arms up."

He looks only at your hands to align the sleeve, lets it fall and drape to cover as much of you as possible, and then pops your head out. He sweeps away the hair that pushed over your face again.

Next, the shorts.

"Left leg, please. Good. Now the right. Thank you, sweetheart." Steve's kneeling, pulling the elastic wide enough to not drag his thumbs up your legs, but he still grazes the swell of your hips before releasing the band.

"Are you tired? You can sleep some more here."

You look over at the bed, his bed, completely unfazed. You don't even nod. You shuffle over and lay atop the covers, facing in, hands between your tucked-up knees, still staring.

Steve takes that as a win and sets about short tasks to get himself settled as well, checking on you after everyone, eventually laying on the other side of the bed.

Your eyes are closed, so he thinks you've fallen asleep and turns out the lights. He tries not to move around too much and disturb you until you speak.

Your voice is so small, so flat.

"Why them?"

Steve turns back to face you in the dark. "I don't know," he offers as honestly as he can. "I don't know."

Your breathing comes a little heavier for a while. "Why can't I feel anything?"

Tentatively, he lifts a hand to the dip of your waist, hiding his heartbreak deep down in his gut.

"Because you'll feel too much every other day--" his thumb sways back and forth over the worn cotton of his shirt over your skin "--and sometimes you need a break. It's okay. I'm right here."

"What are you gonna do?" The words choke you, laced with fear of having failed in some way so soon. He knows that judgment. He judged himself that way until the day he realized: mourning doesn't make him a better soldier but it does make him a better man.

Steve can give you the same gift. He can give you space to mourn.

"Watch over you, sweetheart," he mutters, "just like I promised."

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers angst #steve rogers hurt/comfort #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

[rookthorne]

Happy birthday my love ♥️♥️ could I please request a drabble with my beloved Stevie and the prompt: “let me take care of you today. don’t do anything in return, just let me.”

hello my sweetheart, thank you! I hope I did this justice, but it ain’t a drabble, my bad.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡

A bad start to the day only creates turmoil, but he’s there to save the day — and he always will be.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ❧ Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ❧ 1.5k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ❧ Hurt/comfort, tooth rotting fluff, period fic, Steve is adorable

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ❧ Prompt by @promptplanetblr.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ❧ Lana’s Birthday Celebration —  Masterlist

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Everything had gone wrong this morning. 

You had woken up from your hastily silenced alarm only to trip from the clothes strewn over the floor in your excitement to get up, only managing to catch yourself just in time on the dresser. It was a miracle the super soldier strewn over your shared bed hadn’t woken up with the clatter. 

Today was the one day where shit was meant to go right, after working all week and coming home too exhausted to even consider partaking in what you considered to be the best part of being Steve’s girlfriend. You had planned to wake up early, cook him breakfast in bed despite his insistence that his favourite meal was you - darlin’, please, I’m a starved man! - and once he had finished, you wanted to plant yourself behind him on the bed and massage the ropes of thick muscles down his back to help him relax. 

It was meant to be perfect. 

So why did mother nature decide to let loose a string of cramps through your middle, making you drop the bowl of pancake batter to the floor with an almighty clatter?

Because she was a bitch.

Your fingers had turned white with the force behind the grip on the counter as the cramps ebbed and flowed, the current taking your breath at its peaks. Of course this had to happen; nothing ever seemed to go to plan, but the fallout was never this fucking messy. 

“For God’s sake,” you groaned as another wave of pain crashed over you and pulled you under. The sight of the absolute mess of pancake mix all over the floor brought tears flooding to your waterline as though they knew you wouldn’t be able to stop them; they made their bid for freedom, streaking silently down your face as the cramps slowed. You took advantage of the brief respite to bend down and start to clean up the now wasted batter. 

The small hiccupping sob escaped from you before you could stop it, and the floodgates opened. 

Cold tile met the backs of your bare thighs as you sank to the floor - overwhelmed and very much in need of the man sleeping only a hallway away. But he was sleeping, and he didn’t sleep well these days, especially after such a long and gruelling recon assignment. You could not and would not wake hi-

“Sweetheart?” Steve’s husky morning voice never failed to make your heart swell, but right now, it was what you needed to hear the most. 

He stood in the doorway to your shared kitchen, his grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and his bare chest moving with his quick, confused breaths.. After a moment it was as though a switch flipped in his mind, and he dropped to his knees beside you and collected the now empty bowl by your feet. 

“Stevie,” you whimpered through a fresh wave of tears, the wet feel of them tracking down your face made your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you apologising for, sweetheart?” Steve whispered as he lifted his hands to cradle your face, desperately seeking to comfort you by any means he could give, touch, or the soft caress of his words on your screaming mind. “What happened?”

“I was trying to-to make you-”

“Stop, baby, it’s alright,” Steve soothed as he took in the sight before him; the mess of the pancake batter scattered all over the tile floor, and the bowl and spoon now lying at your feet, and he could not help the small fond smile that grew on his lips. “Let’s get you up, c’mon.” 

He wrapped his arms under your knees and behind your shoulders and lifted you from the floor, the heat from his muscled frame already brought an incomparable comfort to your now aching body. He didn’t miss the small wince of pain as he lowered you onto the couch and he paused to look at you with a brow raised. 

The feel of Steve’s hand on your thigh as he rested it there while his tall frame hovered over you only made you sniffle, the intensity of his stare with nothing but concern evident on his chiselled features made you feel exposed, like he knew it wasn’t just nothing. 

“I started my period.”

Steve hummed in acknowledgement and rose. “Wait there, please. That’s an order, sweetheart.”

He laughed at your salute and retreated to your room, emerging a moment later with a bundle of blankets in his arms. 

“But what about bre-”

“No, darlin’, let me take care of you today,” Steve interrupted quickly, a small frown on his face when you tried to argue back again. “Don’t do anything in return. Just let me, please.”

Those puppy eyes would be the death of you. 

“Okay,” you conceded softly, and he grinned, stepping closer and placing the blankets on the ottoman. “Can you please get me my heat pack?” 

“I’ll get you somethin’ better, sweetheart. Lay down for me.”

You settled down against the plush, comfortable couch cushions and smiled up at Steve as he towered over you, his huge frame almost obscured by your fluffy pink blanket in his arms when his muffled voice came from behind the wall of pink. “I swear this thing is as big as me.”

“It is, babe,” you chuckled as he threw it over you and tucked in the edges to make sure that no part of your body lay exposed to the outside world. The knitted square blanket came next, and a single tear fell from your cheek as he tucked that one in, as well.

Steve, of course, didn’t miss it. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he whispered, cradling your jaw in his hand while he wiped the tear away with his thumb. You sniffled and he gave you a small smile before leaning in, and the sudden tickle of his beard on your forehead as he placed a gentle kiss there made you giggle. “I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Steve emerged a few moments later from the kitchen with his arms full and a wide smile on his face. He came to a stop by your head and crouched. “I got you some chocolate,” he pulled free a bag of Malteasers and Milky Ways and placed them on the table by your head. “Your pain relief,” he continued, setting down a box of nurofen next. “And some chocolate milk.”

“Babe, you didn’t have to, I cou-”

“You do realise I said let me take care of you today, right?” Steve questioned, the tone of his voice unmistakably slipping into Captain territory. 

“Yes, sir.” You smirked, a small chuckle escaping you at the sudden blank look on his face before he composed himself. 

“That’s right, sweetheart.” Steve grinned and leant forward to kiss the tip of your nose. “I’ll make breakfast a bit later, but first, I gotta get in on that burrito.”

The pair of you laughed as he laid down behind you, the sudden warmth of his chest against your back an immediate relief from the cold while he draped the blanket over the two of you. His strong arms came to rest on your hip and stomach where he rubbed gently. “Helpin’, sweetheart?”

The nod of your head made him smile as he rested his head just behind yours. “What about a movie?”

“You pick,” you mumbled, slightly distracted by the feeling of his strong fingers kneading all the sore spots on your stomach and hip. 

“Okay,” Steve grunted as he reached for the remote, the sudden bright light from the TV made you wince. “There we go.”

The sudden roar of a lion and the sound of a boy coughing made your eyes fly open, almost unable to believe what you were hearing. The black screen faded onto a bright pixelated field of baseball players and you couldn’t help but grin happily.

“Princess Bride?” you questioned as you looked at him over your shoulder, almost unable to believe it. 

“Yup,” Steve replied, popping the P for emphasis as you looked back to the screen. “My best girl’s gotta have her comfort movie. Now shh, I wanna watch.”

Unable to keep quiet as the old man on the screen spoke to his grandson, you turned back to look at Steve over your shoulder. There was a slight tinge of pink on his high cheekbones as he met your gaze, the smile on his face rivalling that of Westley’s when he gazed upon Buttercup. “Steve?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I’m so glad you’re my stable boy. I wish we could do this more often,” you whispered, the thought of missing him while he was away on missions bringing on another wave of tears.

Steve chuckled and smiled warmly, placing a sweet kiss on your lips before wiping the tears away with his thumb. He nodded to the movie and you turned back to watch it, the warm feeling of love bloomed through your chest like the sun casting its rays over an infinite beach when Steve pulled you closer against his own. The scruff of his beard tickled your ear when he leant closer to you. 

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers hurt/comfort #steve rogers fluff #As You Wish #AYW #rookthorne's works #Lana’s Birthday Celebration

[thesugarclubs-blog]

The Boyfriend - AU Steve Rogers x OC

warnings: sick/comfort, sick OC, warm cuddles, sweet soft Steve

word count: 7.5k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/story/326693058-the-boyfriend

Masterlist

Steve pulled his bag out of the back of Sam’s truck and let out a deep sigh as he waved him and Bucky off. Their boy's fishing weekends were always fun, but as much as he loved them, getting home to see his girl was always his favorite part. He swung his bag over his shoulder and pushed his sunglasses up into his short golden hair, as a soft smile graced his lips. 

Home sweet home.

Since retiring as Captain America and passing the mantle onto Sam, Steve had begun to enjoy life. He started working at the VA and doing his best to figure out who he was outside of being a war hero. It was difficult for him, still seeing Bucky and Sam leap into action whenever a call came and not being there to help, but both of them assured him that it was for the best. That he actually deserved this chance to live his life. 

Tony had set him up back in Brooklyn with a two-bedroom apartment, and as much as Steve argued with him, the papers had already been signed. He made his way up to the second floor, digging his key into the door, and swinging it open. 

He was met with the sound of a deep, raspy cough drifting from the kitchen as he stepped into the home. Glancing around, he saw blankets piled on the couch, with two boxes of tissues on the coffee table. Steve placed his bag on the ground and threw his keys onto the table next to the door as he pushed it shut. 

“Sutton?” He called, walking into the kitchen and seeing his girlfriend sitting on the cold tile floor, holding her head. He rushed over and knelt beside her, brushing her hair away from her face. “Baby, what happened? Are you okay?” 

“I just wanted tea” She groaned, dropping her hands and leaning her head back against the cupboards. “Then I got light-headed, and the floor seemed nice and cold, so now here we are… Hi,” She smiled weakly at him. 

“C’mere,” he said gently, reaching out to wrap his arms around her but she batted them away.

“Nooo,” she croaked, “don’t get any closer!”

She tried to scoot across the floor to put some distance between them but failed miserably as her feet skidded ineffectively against the tiles.

Steve saw tears gather in her eyes. She looked so tired and weak. Sutton rarely got sick, she hated even the thought of having to stay still all day because of it. Despite the worry that flooded him when he saw her in that state, it came as no surprise that he found her sitting on the kitchen floor because she refused to lie down even for a few minutes. 

"You're not feeling well, baby, and I don't want you sitting on the cold floor. At least let me get you in our bed or on the couch. I'll make you some tea, okay?" He looked into her teary eyes, his voice soft. He knew what she was like when she was sick.

“I really can do it myself,” Sutton grumbled. 

He chuckled and cupped her cheek. 

“Always so stubborn.”

She pouted, her nose scrunching up and a disgruntled groan rumbled in her chest. And then she began to cough. 

“Shit.”

Steve sighed and scooped her up off of the floor, carrying her toward the living room.

“Language, young lady.”

“You weren’t complaining the other night,” she quipped. 

It was Steve’s turn to grumble and Sutton began to laugh, but that quickly turned into another cough as he set her down, wrapped her in a blanket and kissed her forehead. He smiled at her. Even when she was sick, she was still the most beautiful thing he ever laid eyes on.

“Let me go make you that tea sweetheart,” Steve murmured, standing up straight. He went to the kitchen, quickly assembled a mug of tea, and brought it back to Sutton. 

“Thanks, Steve,” she croaked as she inhaled the steam, cradling the hot mug in her cold hands.

He smiled warmly at her, his eyes running over her flushed face in concern as she slowly took small sips from her tea, careful not to burn her tongue. 

"You're very welcome, sweets." He replied to her, running his fingers over her cheeks slowly to savor the feel of her skin under his before heading to their bedroom to change quickly and bring her a warmer knit sweater of his to help her warm up.

Sweater in tow, he made his way back to the couch and sat next to her. He took the cup from her hands and placed it on the coffee table before helping her into the sweater. 

Steve ran his hands through her hair, pushing back some strands that had popped out of her loose bun. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick, baby?" 

"I didn't wanna ruin your guy's weekend over some silly flu," she whispered, peering up at him through her lashes.

“You could never ruin anything sweetheart. You always come first” Steve replied as he lay back against the couch and gestured for her to snuggle up to him.

Steve smiled softly, watching as Sutton curled into his side still wrapped in the blanket. As she settled he ran his fingers gently through her hair, careful not to tug strands from her mussed bun. 

He heard a soft raspy sigh come from her lips, watching her eyes flutter close for a moment. 

“Stop staring at me.” She warned, feigning annoyance but he could see the small corner of her mouth turn upwards ever so slightly. 

“Can't help it,” he whispered.

Time seemed to slow as they cuddled on the couch, Sutton’s heavy breaths laced with wheezes that led to more coughs and muttered curses. 

“Have you napped today?” Steve asked softly as Sutton buried herself further into his side. 

“No,” she replied, voice thick as she sniffled, “ugh, I just wanna be able to breathe!” 

The words caught in her throat as she coughed again. 

“Okay, up you get.” Steve peeled himself away from her and held his hands out. When she didn’t move, seemingly at one with the couch, he hauled her into his arms and carried her through the apartment.

“Where we goin’?”

"You, my love are going in the bathtub. I'm gonna wrap you up in bed while I fill the tub with some eucalyptus Epsom salts. " Steve brushed a stray hair out of her face as he carefully placed her under the blanket like she was the most precious thing in the world. Which to him, she was.

Steve walked away from her hesitantly, peering back over his shoulder to sneak a look at his girl. His heart squeezed tightly in his chest knowing she was sick, sometimes he hated the serum coursing through his veins. He could feel the memories surfacing, he flexed his hands as he made his way into the bathroom trying to shake off the guilt and grief. He couldn't stand watching the people he loved get sick when he couldn't do a damn thing about it, it wasn't a bad guy he could throw in jail or a god he could go toe to toe with. 

He inhaled sharply, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt over his forearms before he popped the top two buttons of his shirt. Kneeling down he ran the tub, as hot as he thought she could stand. He lit a few of the candles on the sink, brought a new cup of tea and pulled out her favorite shampoo, the bottle she hid for special occasions because it was expensive and Steve loved the sweet peachy smell of it. His dog tags bounced against his chest as he made his way back to her, still tucked in bed, her tiny body racked with cold sweats and trembling under the blankets.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss along her hairline. She grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. Steve’s heart felt like it was in a vice as he smoothed her hair out with his large hand. “My love,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s get you in the water.”

He picked her body up effortlessly, still wrapped in the blankets. She groaned as he sat her on the edge of the bed, carefully peeling some of the layers off her trembling body. 

Her skin was clammy and Steve felt tears sting the back of his eyes - the love of his life, struggling to keep her eyes open because she was too tired and sick. He needed to do everything he could to comfort her. 

His throat felt tight as he scooped Sutton into his arms, carrying her down the hall toward the bathroom. Setting her onto the edge of the bathtub, he knelt in front of her and grasped the hem of her t-shirt. 

"Arms up for me, sweetheart" Steve pulled it over her head, as she listened without hesitation. "Ok, hold onto my shoulders and stand up for me" 

Sutton let out a deep breath, placing her hands on him and standing up, using his large frame to steady herself, as he pulled her sweatpants and underwear down her legs. Her body let out a shiver, and Steve's heart twinged in his chest. 

Leaving her clothes in a puddle on the floor, he stood back up and helped her into the warm tub. Once she was settled, Steve sat back on the floor and scooped water onto her body. 

"How's that feel, baby? Are you warm enough?" He spoke softly, as a small smile graced Sutton's beautiful lips. 

She nodded and coughed again. "It's perfect, honey"

He smiled at her and kept scooping warm water onto her body and into her hair. She leaned back, closed her eyes and enjoyed the comfort.

Steve took her shampoo, put some of it into his hands and started massaging her scalp. It smelled good. Like her. Like home. 

After washing the shampoo out of her hair carefully, he stopped in his movements and looked at her. 

She noticed and opened her eyes to meet his blue ones. 

She smiled, “what?” 

“I missed you,” Steve said softly and leaned in to put a kiss on her lips. 

“Don’t kiss me. You’re going to get sick.” She coughed. 

“It’s worth it.” He smiled and brushed a thumb over her rosy cheek.

She giggled as his lips began to glide over hers. Steve missed kissing her. He told Bucky he couldn't wait to get home to her and Bucky elbowed him and called him "a goddamn sap." Maybe he is, but Sutton showed him just how soft and beautiful the world could be, even in all of its chaos.

He pulled back and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers.

"I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered. "Tell me about your weekend. How's Sam? How's Buck?"

"Well, Bucky pushed Sam off the fishing boat for making fun of his hair, and then Sam pulled Bucky into the water and they spent 45 minutes screaming at each other about whose fault that was. And then they smelled like a cannery for the entire afternoon-- and then a fuse blew in the cabin we were staying in, so they fought about that..."

"We should get them a couple's therapy gift certificate for Christmas," Sutton chuckled.

Steve laughed as he grabbed the bottle of body wash and began to massage her shoulders.

"Yeah, that'd go over real well." He sighed. "I can't believe you didn't call me and tell me you were sick. I would have come home, sugar."

She rolled her eyes.

"You needed a day off. You never take days off."

“I never need a day off from you,” Steve murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Sutton’s head, feeling her muscles release beneath his hands. 

“You’re a sap, you know that?” Sutton said as she took one of Steve’s hands and pressed a kiss to his palm.

His eyes crinkled when he chuckled, he could feel a faint blush flooding his cheeks as he shyly shrugged a shoulder.

"I know. I can't help it when I'm here, with you." 

He pressed a kiss to her temple as he felt her lean more towards him, her eyes closed in contentment as she tried to breathe in the salts. 

"You feel any better, sweetheart? Anything I can do?" Steve whispered, placing a gentle finger under her chin to look into her eyes after a few minutes of basking in each other's presence.

"I am," she hummed, "thank you for this." 

"Anytime, my darling," he whispered with a smile. 

He ran his finger softly along her jaw before he stood, extending his hands to her. 

"Come here, let's get you dry and into some warm clothes."

Steve helped her out of the bathtub and wrapped her up in one of the fluffy towels and got her to sit on the toilet as he went into the bedroom and grabbed her some clothes. He came back with underwear, her favourite sweatpants, fuzzy socks and one of his soft hoodies. He helped her into all the clothes and he couldn’t help but chuckle at how his large hoodie engulfed her making her look so small. 

“Why are you laughing at me?” She asked her voice sounding a little less groggy

Steve dipped his head, pressing a kiss to her warm forehead. 

"You're swimming in that sweatshirt." He grinned, grabbing her towel and gently scrunching it around her wet hair. "It's cute," Steve pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "You're cute." 

Sutton's gaze glanced up at him, her dark eyes still tired but glinting against the soft glow of the bedroom lights. "Ditto, Rogers," She replied in a raspy whisper.

“You want me to blow dry your hair?” Steve asked, gently running his fingers through the damp strands, untangling it. “Probably shouldn’t leave it wet for too long, sugar.” 

“Um…” Sutton sniffled, blinking up at Steve with wide eyes, suddenly dewy with tears.

“Hey, hey… what’s wrong?” Steve crouched down in front of her, hands on her thighs and his heart tight in his chest as he watched her lip tremble. 

“It’s stupid,” she replied through a shaky breath, “big ol’ Captain America offering to blow dry my hair and it makes me wanna cry,” she sobbed. 

"Hey, hey, my love. It's not stupid. I would love to do it. Now come on up." He sat down on the bed and patted his lap as he plugged the dryer into the plug next to the nightstand. Carefully he began brushing her hair while he moved the dryer around.

"Hey, Steve?" Sutton formed a question when the dryer was turned off.

"Yes, my love?" he cupped her cheek, so his thumb was resting on her soft skin.

"Thank you for loving me." She almost whispered.

"Easiest job I've ever had, angel." He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. 

He stared at her with her big, exhausted brown eyes as he ran the brush through her hair as gently as he could. He secretly wished she would ask him to do this more often, it seemed stupid to her but he loved running his hands through her thick red hair. Each brush through sent that sweet, peachy smell up into his nose making his chest feel light and his mind dizzy. 

When it was dry he climbed around on the bed behind her, settling down against her back. She was still running a fever but there wasn't much he could do about it. He started slowly and carefully running his fingers through the hair and parting it like Nat had shown him. His heart squeezed as he thought about her. He worked his fingers methodically, roping the strands over and under each other. 

"That feels so good I might fall asleep," she cooed, leaning back against him as he looped the elastic around the end of the braid. 

"You need the sleep," he hummed, tucking his hands around her until his fingers pressed against the opposite sides he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. He kissed the hot skin of her throat, "I'm not going anywhere, take a nap and later I'll make us dinner."

"The last time you cooked baby, you blew up the microwave," she started to laugh but it turned into a harsh throaty cough. 

"How was I supposed to know that spoons don't go inside?" He rubbed his fingers against her rib cage, trying to soothe her.

Sutton groaned, arching her back and pushing herself further into his touch. Steve felt his breath hitch. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His entire body ached with the need to care for her. 

He continued rubbing his calloused fingers into the soft skin around her rib cage, wrapping them around the curve of her side. She was so soft and warm underneath his sweatshirt - he was worried he might actually melt away. He nuzzled his nose further into her neck and Sutton immediately started coughing.

Steve kept his hold on her as coughs wracked her fragile frame. “It’s okay my love, I’ve got you.”

When Sutton's cough subsided, she let out a pained groan, nuzzling herself into Steve as she sniffled, "I hate this. Make it go away" She mumbled. 

A breathy laugh left Steve's lips, as he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head, moving his hand to tuck a stray piece of fiery red hair behind her ear. "Believe me, I really wish I could" He whispered into her hair. "I'm gonna grab you the Tylenol and heat up your tea okay? Do you need anything else?" 

"Don't leave me... please" She spoke softly. 

"I'm just going to the kitchen, I will be right back I promise" Steve smoothed out her hair, and shifted himself from behind her. When she scooted herself down to lay on the pillow, he pressed his lips into a thin line and pulled the blanket up over her body.

She groaned and Steve smiled, heading to the kitchen to stick her tea in the microwave and fish the Tylenol out of the little plastic container that sat on top of the fridge. He looked out the window at the leaves falling gently from the trees and smiled to himself. As much as he missed the thrill of the fight, it was nothing compared to being at home with Sutton. They read together on the couch with her little body tucked against his. Sometimes she smacked him while Steve used the back of her head as a makeshift table to do crosswords. He loved the sound of her laugh.

"Steve!" Her raspy voice cracked as she cried out for him. "I miss you!"

He chuckled as the microwave beeped and he filled up a small glass with water and headed back into the bedroom, handing her liquids and the Tylenol. She popped two of them and slumped against the pillows, reaching out for him with both hands. He chuckled, unable to resist as he slid into bed next to her and grabbed her tablet off of the nightstand.

"If you start watching baseball, I'm going to lick every item you own," she threatened.

"I'm not!" He laughed as he loaded up one of her favorite romcoms. "See? I'm behaving myself."

"A rare occurrence," she whispered as he kissed the tip of her nose.

Steve just smiled and tucked her into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around her ill body. He couldn’t stop his smile when Sutton started quoting the movie along with it, at her favorite parts. 

“I can practically feel you grinning, Steve,” she rasped, turning to face him. 

“What, I can’t smile when my girl’s being cute?”

"I'm not cute," she turned to him with a pout that only proved his point, "I'm sick," Sutton told him with a sniffle and tired eyes looking up at him.

His heart couldn't handle the sight of her like this, Steve wished he could swap places with her and be the bedridden one. His body could take it. Sutton was the strongest woman he knew but still, her body wasn't built as his. 

"Oh, baby.." he cooed at her while his arms tightened around her and his face buried in her neck, "you're the cutest and I love you," he placed a kiss on her warm shoulder in between murmurs, "so, so much." 

"I love you too, Steve." 

Steve smiled into her neck, placing one last kiss there before maneuvering her on her back so he could get up, wrapping her up in a fortress of blankets.

"I'm gonna go make you some soup."

He wandered into the kitchen and pulled out a can of chicken noodle soup from the cupboard, getting everything ready to heat it up on the stove. His mind drifted while he waited for the soup to cook, turning to the dish rack to grab a bowl to pour it into. A bubbling sound pulled him from his thoughts and he turned only to find the soup had boiled over the top of the pot. 

“Great,” he said under his breath. “How do you feel about a grilled cheese sandwich instead of soup?” He called back into the bedroom.

"With no crusts?" He heard her rasp down the hallway followed by a soft cough that made him wince. 

When the coughing stopped he smiled, "With no crusts." He repeated in confirmation. Steve set the overflowed pan into the sink, before turning to the fridge and grabbing every cheese he could find. Checking to make sure it was still good before grabbing the butter and bread. 

He found the frying pan he knew she always used to make herself the sandwich and set it on the stove, turning the burner on low before beginning to assemble everything.

The apartment fell quiet as Steve set to work, one ear on Sutton and the quiet thud of her heart. He was sure to cut more of the sharp cheddar she loved and with the sandwich built, a gentle sizzle filled the room as he placed the bread butter side down and waited for it to crisp. 

As much as Sutton was sick, and he absolutely hated it, this was what drove him to retire. The time he had gained, a home life, the ability to actually be there for the person he loved the most. It was like with his life quieting down into sweet domesticity, so had his mind. It wasn’t until he actually got this life that he realized how much he needed it.

Lost in thought, the smell of burnt bread filled his nose.

"Shit." He said loud enough that he was sure the downstairs neighbor heard him curse.

"Language." he heard Sutton's hoarse voice call from the bedroom.

A smile spread on his lips. Damn you, Tony. That would never ever die down.

"How do you feel..." he called again to the bedroom dumping the grilled cheese into the trash can.

"The menu for the Thai place is on the fridge," Sutton called out. He turned to pull the menu from the fridge, flipping it over he considered it. 

"I saved the world...more than once..." He sighed, flipping a towel over his shoulder and turned back to the stove. He pulled a fresh can from the cupboard and opened it. He focused this time, he wouldn't let the soup win. He left it on low heat, talking to himself as he started the process of making her a new sandwich. 

"Did you slip and fall? Press your life alert button," Sutton teased padding from the bedroom wrapped in a blanket. Her smile softened as she saw him remaking her dinner. She fumbled her steps, clearly dizzy from getting up Steve watched her pensively through his lashes, "How am I supposed to tease you when you're being so sweet."

"Sit down," he pointed while he flipped the grilled cheese in the pan. "If I lose my focus the stove wins," he mumbled.

"Don't tell me what to do" She grumbled, leaning against the door frame. "Babe, I really appreciate the sentiment but I'm fine with takeout! I like this apartment and you with eyebrow, you don't have to fight with the stove" She giggled. 

Steve let out a deep breath and clenched his jaw as he stared, his eyes dancing between the sandwich and the soup. "No. I'm cooking for you" He said sternly, pointing the spatula at the meal. "I can do this all day"

He could hear in his mind Bucky and Sam making fun of him. Going from fighting literal aliens to arguing with a kitchen appliance but he didn't mind. He would make 100 grilled cheeses if it meant making Sutton feel better, or even just making her smile. 

Sutton waltzed across the kitchen and wrapped her blanketed arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, "Yeah you tell 'em, Cap"

“Sweetheart, I love you but…Go. Sit. Down.” he pointed at one of the kitchen chairs with his spatula.

Sutton raised her blanket-wrapped hands in defence and shuffled over to the table. He stared after her for a second before shaking himself and turning back to the stove. The bread had taken on that golden-toasted aroma and he knew it was just right. He flipped the sandwich onto a plate and grinned in triumph.

He placed the plate down in front of her and put his hands on his hips. 

"How's that?" He asked as she bit into it, her eyes rolling back in her head. 

"Fogood," she muttered with a mouthful of food. 

Steve felt incredibly proud of himself. He could be domestic, despite Bucky teasingly telling him otherwise. That guy only ate takeout and frozen pizzas. As Steve beamed and watched her devour the sandwich, the smoke alarm started going off. He jumped up and ran toward the stove as smoke seeped out from beneath the burner.

"SHITSHITSHITSHIT!"

"Language, Captain!"

Steve let out a high-pitched yelp as the pot burst into flames and he tossed it into the sink, running the water immediately. Sutton was doubled over laughing, her face red as he slumped against the counter and wiped the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand.

Steve's shoulders slumped in defeat before he left the kitchen, grabbing the handful of take-out menus on his way to his laughing beauty. 

"I saved the world ya' know?" He grumbled when he sat down next to her.

"I know baby, it's okay. Not everyone is made for the kitchen." Sutton pouted teasingly at him watching him grab the phone and look through the menus.

"Yeah, yeah.." Steve rolled his eyes playfully at the redhead before pulling her into his side and tightening his arm around her.

"Come on, tell me what you want to eat so we can order and I'll wrap you in a blanket burrito after, that sounds good to you sweets?" He handed her a couple of menus in her hands.

"It sounds perfect to me," she whispered to him before starting to look through them.

Once the food was ordered Steve guided Sutton to the couch again so they could snuggle up as they waited for the food. Sutton curled up into Steve. 

“What did I do to deserve such a wonderful boyfriend? I truly am the luckiest girl in the world” she yawned. 

“I think it’s me that is the luckiest guy in the world” Steve responded only to notice that she had fallen asleep in his arms.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, feeling the warmth still radiating off of her as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and grabbed the remote from the cushion next to him. Steve turned on the tv, jumping slightly as voices began to blare through the speakers. He fumbled for a moment before slamming his finger onto the volume button, turning it down so far that Sutton could no longer hear it. 

That was the nice thing about his enhancements. Enhanced hearing allowed him to re-watch the baseball games he missed over the weekend without disturbing her. He felt her settle next to him, his entire body freezing as deep blue eyes flickered down to her. Her lips were parted slightly and a soft wheeze escaped them with the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His heart swelled at her flushed cheeks and small tendrils of red hair falling from her braid. He had never felt this way about someone before and deep down it scared him. Steve had spent years losing people he cared for, having them ripped away from him without so much as a goodbye. 

It was different with Sutton. There weren't any wars or big fights he felt the need to join. He was content with her at home, their home.

The baseball game he was watching was just heading into the second inning when he heard footsteps outside. His own stomach was feeling a little empty and the thought of decent food perked him up. 

Bucky had convinced Sam to pull into some sketchy roadside diner on the way home. Steve had watched as his best friends gobbled down damp looking fries and burgers in buns that had definitely seen better days whilst he sipped at his safe bet of an old fashioned Coke float. 

Glancing down at Sutton, he tried to figure out how to get to the door without disturbing her too much. As much as she needed to eat, sleep was just as good of a remedy right now.

He slowly wound himself out of her grip, like he was on an undercover mission. Sutton stirred when he stood but continued her well-deserved sleep. 

After paying the delivery kid and adding a fat tip, his stomach growled in response to the delicious smell it was giving off. 

Passing Sutton on the way to the kitchen, she stirred again, this time her blanket-covered figure sat up and looked at him with the biggest, cheesiest grin on her face.

"Food," Sutton said in the most adorable silly voice.

God, he loved this woman.

He open the lid to the hot wonton soup and brought it over, "scoot," he winked and settled down beside her. She wiggled closer settling her legs between his knees and digging her toes into the couch under his bum. 

He laughed, squeezing her tightly and lifting the spoon to her lips. She swallowed and tossed her head back in satisfaction. "Please don't worry about my broken pride, enjoy your take out louder." He teased. 

Sutton looked at him with her big chocolate eyes and pouted, "I'm sorry, it just makes me feel so much better."

"That's all that matters," he kissed the bridge of her nose.

They ate in comfortable silence- Steve would feed her a few bites of soup, then inhale some of his pineapple fried rice. He loved the crunch of the little cashews that they put in it- it reminded him of when they first moved in and ate Thai takeout for the first week since the entire kitchen was packed into boxes. 

At the top of the fifth inning, Steve placed their empty takeout containers back on the coffee table and settled further into the couch. Sutton’s eyes were drooping closed as she snuggled into his shoulder. She coughed and it sounded more productive than before- a good sign! 

A sense of relief washed over him. He knew it was just the flu, but it didn’t matter. Anything that put her well-being in jeopardy was a threat, and he knew he couldn’t rest until she was at least feeling a little better. 

“There we go, ‘atta girl,” he cooed as he wrapped his arms around her. His stomach was as full as his heart- and the fact that the game was on was just an added bonus.

Steve let his fingers lightly dance up and down Sutton's arm, as they settled into each other. He let out a satisfying breath and looked around his home before landing his eyes on the beautiful girl in his arms. 

"You turned on baseball on purpose..." She breathed quietly, as her eyes fluttered closed again. "You knew it would put me to sleep. I see your game here, Rogers" She teased. 

A smirk grew on his lips as he shook his head once and placed a kiss on her hair, "Shh... I don't know what you're talking about" He whispered.

His fingers trailed through her hair, stopping at the braid he had done, his fingers massaging her scalp gently. She moaned and Steve found himself no longer paying attention to the baseball game. He was thinking of the ring he bought her that was sitting in a suitcase in the closet... and wrapped in a sock. Sam and Bucky helped him pick him out. 

Bucky even pilfered one of her rings at a housewarming party, "putting his assassin skills to good use," he said so that Steve could get it sized.

His heart began to pound, the words sitting in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow them and dipped his head. 

"I love you more," he whispered.

Sutton sighed, and Steve pressed his lips to her barely warm forehead. He felt his chest loosening from a knot he didn’t even realize was there knowing she was going to be alright. 

“I would do anything for you, Sutton. Anything to always make you laugh, to see your beautiful eyes, feel you in my arms.” Steve kept his voice quiet, not wanting to disturb her as she breathed deeply and somewhat clearly for the first time in hours.

And he would. Steve would do anything and everything she would ever ask of him or need him to do, be anything she needs for as long as she'll let him be in her life. 

He felt himself choking up at the mere thought of asking her to marry him, to spend her life with him and all his quirks and complications, all of the weight on his shoulders and hers to be shared together. 

He knew, running his hand down Sutton's arm to hold her hand, linking her ring finger with his own before lifting her hand to his mouth to place a delicate kiss on top of each finger and lingering on the one where he hoped a ring would adorn it soon. He knew he would give his life to her. 

"I wanna spend my life with you.. for you," Steve murmured to himself as his hold tightened on her hand.

He felt her stir slightly next to him, her soft fingers clutching his hand softly. His eyes went wide when she lifted her head from his chest. 

Sutton met his gaze with glistening eyes and whispered, "Steve I-". A tender smile graced her lips as she held back her emotion. Steve could feel her heart hammering wildly inside her chest. This is it, buck up Rogers it's time.

Steve’s entire body froze as her dark eyes stared up at him, tears threatening the corners. You’ve fought Aliens, you can do this. 

He shifted slightly, turning his body so they were face to face with each other now. His hands rested on her shoulders before running down her arms to find her hands. Somehow still willing the words to leave his lips. 

He hadn’t been this nervous since before the serum but lifting his gaze to hers and watching her perfect features furrow slightly yet still graced with only the sort of softness that Sutton could have, Steve knew. This was it for him. She was it for him. She was his endgame. 

Steve took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “This was not how I planned to do this,” he started, giving her hand a slight squeeze, “I wanted to do some big hoorah with the candles and your favorite flowers and make Bucky dress up in a suit I know he’d hate, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that it wouldn’t be us.” 

He gnawed on the inside of his lip for a moment, gauging her reaction as he spoke, still deeply terrified that now definitely wasn’t the right time even if he thought it was. “I’d do anything for you Sutton. I’d be anything for you. I‘ve been through hell and back but heaven doesn’t compare to the woman I get to call my own.” 

Steve lifted her hands, pressing them to his heart as he dipped his head to catch her gaze, smiling softly at the sniffle she tried to hide, “Sutton, will you do me the honors of makin’ me the luckiest man around and spending forever with me?”

His heart was in his throat as she blinked at him, his words sitting heavily between them. 

Please say something, please say y— “Ouch, hey!” Steve yelped as Sutton swatted him across the arm, eyes glistening. 

“Steve Rogers…” she started, her words laced with the tone that usually meant he was about to get cursed out. But instead, her voice softened and her face scrunched to create the adorable divot between her eyebrows that Steve loved so much. “You couldn’t have waited to do this when I wasn’t pumped full of flu medication and didn’t look like death?” 

Steve shook his head, chuckling softly.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, “ and anyway, would it change your answer if I had? I’ve been around a long time, sweetheart. Don’t leave an old man waitin’.”

Sutton took her bottom lip between her teeth, tears spilling out of her deep, chocolate eyes. He couldn’t stop staring at her - he just couldn’t believe he was here to bare witness to this goddess in front of him. She sniffled, a smile overtaking her whole face. 

Steve’s hands still enveloped hers, pressed reverently against his chest. He had waited so long to find her- to find peace- that he could stand to wait a few more seconds to hear her say-

“Of course, I’ll spend forever with you, Steve!” she gushed, pushing her small frame fully against his. He thought his heart might burst. Their foreheads met as they merged into a giant mess of blankets and tears.

Steve pressed his lips to hers, fitting them together the two perfect pieces of a puzzle as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. His lips moved from her to kiss away her tears, unable to stop the grin that formed as he pressed into her skin. Sure, it wasn't exactly how he pictured but this moment was perfect nonetheless. 

"Wait, wait, wait..." He whispered, moving Sutton back onto the couch, kissing her quickly one more time before leaping off it, as he took off into the bedroom. 

"What the hell Rogers?" She laughed, calling after him as she wiped her tears with the sleeve of his sweater. 

Suddenly, Steve appeared in the hallway, trying his best to keep a stern face as his blue eyes locked with hers. "There's that language again, missy" He quipped, walking slowly back over to where she was sitting. 

He sucked in a deep breath, as Sutton's eyes watched him carefully. He knelt on one knee, and extended the navy blue, felt box in front of him. "I had to do one thing according to plan..." He whispered as a soft smile crossed his lips. 

Upon opening the ring box, she was presented with a beautiful gold band, that had a piece of sapphire nestled between four tiny diamonds. Exactly like the one Steve's mom had from his father. It pained his heart a bit that he couldn't actually give her his mother's ring, but this was the next best thing. 

"Steve... it's perfect" She whispered, stifling a cough to not ruin the moment.

"I wanted to get something that looked like my mom's ring. Kind of like I was passing it on to you," he whispered as he slipped it onto her finger. Tears filled his eyes as the ring fit like a glove. He would have to tell Bucky-- Maybe leave out the "glove" part. 

Sutton sniffled and reached for a tissue, dabbing at her nose as Steve looked up at her. His chin began to tremble. His mother always wanted to see him settle down and marry someone nice, someone good for him. 

"She would have adored you, Sutton," he whispered. "You're everything--"

Steve had to cut himself off before he began to weep. Sutton burst into tears, crying enough for the both of them as he wrapped her in a tight hug and rocked her from side to side, the emotion caught in his throat. 

"I love you so much," she sobbed.

"I love you too." He pulled away and looked down at her, brushing the hair away from her eyes. "Thanks for making me the happiest man in the world."

Steve’s heart felt like it was overflowing, he was so full of emotion. He pulled Sutton back into his arms, trying to contain himself but she turned and faced him, resting a hand on his cheek. 

“You’re everything to me too, Steve,” she said and as she kissed him, he let a few tears fall. This, this was what he gave up the shield for. This moment and this woman in his arms. 

When they separated, Sutton thumbed at Steve’s wet cheeks before settling back against his side, holding her hand up so they could see her ring. 

“It’s perfect,” she murmured, the light shining off the stones.

"you're perfect. I love you." Steve whispered fervently to her, watching how the ring reflected the light around as Sutton admired it. 

"You're still a sap but, I love you too," she giggled and he felt her arms wrap weakly around his waist as she tried to hug him as best as her body allowed.

Steve met her strength halfway and pressed her flush against his chest. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck pressing a soft kiss just below his ear. 

He felt her smile against his skin before mumbling, "I can't believe I get to marry the sexiest man alive." 

Steve's brows shot up as he broke out in laughter at her comment. His hold grew tighter as he shook trying to hold her still and not make her dizzy. Sutton laughed softly along with him, a muffled sound against his neck. 

"Okay, I think the meds are definitely working. I am not the sexiest man alive." 

She pulled back and gave him a stern look, "Hey, I'm in my full faculties Rogers and I say you are." 

"Sorry, sorry, whatever you say future Mrs. Rogers." he mused.

She laughed, her nose scrunching just slightly making his heart flutter for the millionth time that day. The two of them settled back into the couch, his arms practically engulfing her petite frame. The game was still playing, they had made it to the 8th inning and looked to be going into extra innings. After a few moments of silence, Sutton nuzzled her cheek further into his chest with a sigh. 

"By the way," She started, her fingers tapping lightly on his chest, "You can tell Bucky to put my rings back now."

Steve let out a laugh, straight from his belly. He reached his hand up to his chest, fingers finding hers and lacing together lazily. 

“You should have seen how proud Bucky was. Though to be honest,” Steve paused, a smirk on his lips. “I think he may have snagged a couple earrings, too.”

Sutton pretended to gasp, but a small cough escaped halfway through. “My pretty girl,” Steve sang, sitting them both upright. He wrapped the blankets around her a little tighter and stared down at her big, brown eyes. “We still need to take it easy. I need my fiancé well-rested, so I can parade her around town tomorrow. Show her off.” He winked as she rolled her eyes. It felt cheesy, but this woman made him want to spit out the lamest pick-up lines he could muster. All in the name of love.

"Gross, no one wants to see this right now" Sutton grimaced, sniffling and squeezing his hand. She smirked up at him, "It's alllll yours though, captain" She winked, and wiggled her eyebrows, before breaking out into a coughing fit. 

Steve chuckled again, and brushed her hair behind her ear, placing a light kiss on her forehead. "Okay, okay, easy there tiger! Let's get you better first, and then we can talk about alllll that" He mocked. 

With a chuckle, the two of them settled back into each other, cuddled up under a mountain of blankets. Steve aimlessly traced his fingertips along the back of her neck, as he listened to her breathing and watched the movie that Sutton had put on the screen. A soft smile graced his lips as he pictured the rest of their lives. 

He settled in his contentment, breathing out a sigh of relief. It was as if the weight of the world he had been carrying for so many years was finally washing away. The guilt he had carried with him, and the endless exhaustion from fight after fight, all felt so much lighter and easier with Sutton by his side. 

This was his life. This was exactly where he was meant to be.

#steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers fic #steve rogers hurt/comfort #steve rogers x oc #steven grant rogers #captain america #one shot #oneshot #hurt/comfort #fluff #steve rogers fluff #marvel imagine #marvel au #marvel oneshot #marvel one shot #marvelous

[welldonebeca]

Miss, PhD (XXVI/Final)

WC: 2.4k words Warnings: So much fluff. College AU. Hurt/Comfort. Christmas. Family fluff. A/N: The End.

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Masterlist

Steve kept his eyes right on you as you dried yourself, standing completely naked in front of him with your curls half-heartedly pined up as you left your shower.

He wasn’t surprised to know that your family wore matching pyjamas for Christmas. When he was a kid at home, his own family had their own set, and he had even spent some time growing into his own onesie when he was a teen, not wanting to ask his parents for something that fit him better - these days, though, he was a tad too big for them. Personally, he expected it to be something conventional, but considering your family wasn’t that conventional, he shouldn’t be surprised he was met with not one, but two silk pyjama sets. There were pants and a long sleeved shirt for cold nights - and probably this night - and a sleeveless shirt and shorts, probably for summer, both in deep green and red. Very Christmas-ish.

“No long sleeves for you?” he asked, realising you were picking up a thin-strapped top.

You shook your head, putting on your bralette.

“The back,” you reminded him. “It’s… weird.”

He frowned a little.

“Weird?” he asked.

You stopped, pouting a little as you thought about your words.

“It’s warm,” you told him, at last. “In the bad way. The texture way.”

He nodded along, resigning to not quite understanding the feeling.

“Okay.”

You smiled a little and put on your panties and pants, and he pulled you close when you walked to his side, where you had left your robe.

“So soft,” he hummed, holding you close, and kissed your stomach gently over the fabric. “You should wear silk more often.”

You giggled a little, putting your hands on his shoulders.

“I’ll be sure to get some silk stuff,” you brushed his hair with your fingers. “You want to fuck me in silk?”

He let out a mixture of a snort and a laugh.

“Under your parents’ roof?” he asked, blushing a little. “No, I don’t think so.”

You laughed, sitting on his lap, straddling him.

“Are you afraid of Happy and Jarvis hearing us from across the hall?” you teased him, kissing his jaw.

Steve hummed along, enjoying the sensual affection, but not the image in his head.

“Please, don’t make me imagine that,” he closed his eyes.

You giggled.

“I’ll let you know, Mister Rogers,” you moved back, raising your chin. “That my room is soundproof. The whole house is.”

He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised.

“Really?” he asked.

“I can have a band recording rock music here and no one would hear anything as long as the door was closed,” you assured him.

Steve chuckled, holding your hips and rubbing his nose on yours, teasing your lips with a not-kiss.

"Why would you want to have a rock band recording here?" he teased you. "I can think of a lot of things that are way more entertaining to do on this bed."

You giggled, pecking his lips.

“After Christmas Eve,” you told him. “We can test how soundproof the walls are.”

He chuckled, relaxing in your arms., and you pecked his lips.

“Alright,” you sighed, stepping back. “Time to go down, come on.”

You wrapped your robe around yourself and put on your slippers, waiting for him to follow along before opening the door, and you two walked down to the living room, where everyone already was waiting, and you were all quick to start eating.

There was no turkey or ham or anything conventional. No. You were eating seafood and sushi.

Very good seafood and sushi, but it was different anyway.

“Seafood?” he asked you just as you two ate a shared plate of sashimi, with you holding it while seated right on your lap.

You chewed your bit, offering him one too, and he ate along.

Any food you ever introduced to him was so damn good.

“Christmas means seafood,” you told him, shrugging. “It’s our little tradition.”

“Always?” he asked.

“You wanna hear the story about that?” your father offered.

He looked over at him, and your parents were seated together the same way you two were, and your mother was drinking something from a big mug - which was a little weird, cause there weren’t any soups around - as your father rested a plate of sushi over her thighs.

“Yes, sir,” he confirmed, and you shifted to his other side, so you could look at him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Tony exchanged a little look with your mother.

“I was 20 when I had Y/N, I think you know that,” he offered, and Steve nodded.

Yes, he knew he had been a relatively young parent.

“Well, her first Christmas was very normal,” he explained. “But when she was a little over one and I was 21, I lost my parents.”

Pepper kissed his temple affectionately in a bit of comfort.

“I always had Y/N for Christmas, it was my agreement with…” he stopped himself, looking a you, and pressed his lips together for a second before continuing. “Well, it was the agreement back then. Christmas was mine.”

You moved a little on Steve’s lap, looking uncomfortable, and he caressed your knee gently. Your biological mother was a very sore subject.

“So the day came, and… well, we had gifts for her, Happy had sent her gifts, all of the friends of the family had, and Jarvis was staying with us for a bit like he has since… forever, I guess,” he continued.

On the couch in front of the two of you, Jarvis a glass of scotch in confirmation and agreement..

"And I didn’t have anything up," your father told him. "No tree, no decorations… especially no Christmas food."

Jarvis chuckled.

“He bought sushi. For a baby!” he pointed in your direction.

The room erupted in little laughs, and Steve squeezed you close. While imaginig you enjoyed sushi since you were little wasn’t surfing, maybe he didn’t quite imagine a toddler of just over a full year of age eating it.

“I was careful,” your father argued. “And she liked it. It’s her favourite food.”

Steve looked at you, and you shrugged.

“It has always been my favourite food,” you confirmed. “You’re gonna have to pry it from my hands if I’m ever pregnant.”

He chuckled. Well, the two of you were still in the talks about that.

“So the next year I did again,” Tony continued. “And then the next year. And by the time Pepper came around, it was already a family thing. A Stark tradition, if I may.”

“It’s also a Stark tradition to have all Stark couples all over one another during Christmas,” Happy remarked, walking to the food table to get himself food too. “And I see you are already getting used to that, Rogers.”

Steve flushed a little and you just giggled, kissing his cheek.

“You are an honorary Stark,” you teased him.

“Don’t forget the day you gave her wasabi by accident,” Jarvis added, and Steve turned to him, surprised.

You laughed, and your father blushed.

“It was once,” he tried to defend himself.

“She was three!” Jarvis argued. “It took her a whole week to trust him to feed her again.”

You giggled more, and your godfather shook his head.

“I’m sure we have pictures of that day. When she finally stopped crying, Y/N spent the rest of the night shoving food into her mouth with her hands, she was a mess.”

When Steve turned back to you, you were just eating a piece with your bare hands just as well, and rolled your eyes.

“I’m not messy anymore,” you reminded him.

Steve laughed and raised his body to reach your face, kissing your cheeks all over.

"Yes, you are, honey," your mother corrected you. "I've seen your workspace. You are the only one who understands whatever order that has."

"Mum!" you whined.

Steve chuckled.

"Try her house," he spread kisses in your cheek. "I don't know how she finds things there."

Your mother shook her head.

"It's the Stark ADHD gene," she told him. "Get used to it. We have to work around their systems and not the reverse."

"It's a good system," your father insisted. "Things are where you are going to use them."

"And if you take them out of there..." you tried to add.

"You forget!" he finished your sentence along with your mother.

Everyone laughed, even you and Tony - though you were both shaking your heads - and Happy sat down on the couch with Jarvis.

“No, no,” your father raised a hand. “You all don’t get to mock us! Especially when I, the daddy, got all the presents.”

Pepper scoffed.

“No, you didn’t,” she corrected him. “I picked them, and you said ‘yes, dear’.”

“Which is basically the same,” he shrugged. “Come on, let’s get to the gifts. Who wants to start?”

“Oh, stop that,” Pepper stood up. “Everyone, go get everything. Pink is from me, red with robots is from Tony, Steve is blue, Jarvis is yellow, and… Y/N and Happy, remind me?”

“Black with the rainbows,” you stood up.

“The same package it came when Amazon delivered to my house,” Happy said simply.

You chuckled and Steve did the same, just reaching for the presents, and he checked the labels, passion yours along to you and taking what was supposedly his.

“Here,” you passed him a yellow gift.

Steve opened them one by one. Jarvis got him a hydro flask, Happy bought him a S’mores roaster, you got him a new leather wallet - which looked very sophisticated, and was very useful as he kept forgetting to replace his actual wallet, and it was pretty much falling apart - and Pepper got him a bottle of wine.

“It’s a Château Corton Grancey,” she told him. “Y/N said you like your red on the acidic side.”

He blinked a little, nodding. Those were… a lot of words for wine.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her.

“Alright, thank her later,” Tony interrupted him. “Get mine now. I’ve been waiting for you to open it since we started opening the gifts.”

Steve shook his head, but picked the small box, and you sat by his side, waiting as Happy got up to his feet.

“What is that?” you turned to your father.

“Let him open it, sweetheart,” Tony waved a hand. “We all got the chance of being surprised. Let Steve have his own too.”

The room fell into a little bit of silence as he opened his gift, and Steve frowned at the branded box.

“Is this…” he mumbled.

He opened the box and his eyes widened.

Fuck. No.

“Is this a Rolex?”

Your father was giving him a Rolex?!

“Welcome to the family, pal,” he patted him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth.

A Rolex?!

“This is-” he stuttered, turning to your father. “I… I can’t-”

“You can,” Tony interrupted him. “And I’m glad you liked it.”

He opened and closed his mouth, and you squeezed his hand.

“It’s a Rolex,” he hissed.

And a very beautiful Rolex too.

But a fucking Rolex?! It was so much money for a single watch, and he didn’t even know where he could wear that.

“Thank you,” he looked at him, not knowing what else to say. “Thank you very much. I’ll… I’ll wear when I find the opportunity.”

That was probably the biggest gift he had ever gotten in his life.

“Hey, what is this,” Happy asked, bringing the packed painting to them.

Oh. Your gift.

He had forgotten your gift.

Steve turned to you quickly.

“It’s your Christmas gift,” he told you. “I… uh… I made it.”

Your face softened slowly and was completely unreadable as you stared at him.

“You made it?” you asked.

Steve nodded, and stood up, taking the painting from Happy, looking at you nervously.

What if you hated it?

What if it sucked?

Maybe-

“Open it,” your father told you. “Go on, honey. Lets us see it.”

You stood up, looking at Steve with hesitant eyes before moving your hands to rip the paper, and he lied the box down, so you could open it safely.

You opened the box and took off the protective layer, and your shoulder fell.

It was a painting inspired by the picture he took of you on your bed, with a different back, with you laying on a garden of flowers, with your curls spread under you and a happy look on your face, the little smile on your lips just big enough to show it.

“It’s beautiful,” your father exclaimed. “Steve, you made this? I didn’t know you were so talented.”

“It’s gorgeous,” your mother put her hand over her lips.

He had seen that look on your face many times. It was a mixture of peace and bliss. The look you gave him when you were comfortable together, cuddling after a long day or just eaten. He had seen it when you sat on his lap just minutes ago, eating with your family and just being all together.

“Y/N,” he turned to you. “What do you think?”

Your lips trembled, and Steve’s eyes widened when you started crying in your spot straight-up sobbing, and he was quick to move to you.

“Sweetheart,” he reached for you.

You grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight, and moved your mouth, trying to babble.

“Steve,” you gasped.

He watched your face, and you just grabbed him, squeezing him close, hugging him and sobbing into his shirt.

Your mother reached for you, rubbing your back gently.

“Y/N?” he asked.

You sobbed more into his neck, and Steve waited, looking at your face when you pulled away, sniffing and shaking a little.

He turned to your side when Happy came to you, and you took the glass of water from his hand, drinking it.

He watched your face, and he squeezed your hand as you did, and you turned to him.

“All that I’ve ever wanted,” you looked at your face, face still covered in tears as they streamed down your cheeks. “In my whole life was to be loved by someone who didn’t have to love me.”

Steve felt his heard swelling in his chest, tearing up just as well, and reached for your face, drying your tears, and you took his hand, kissing his palm.

“Steve, I never thought I could be this happy,” you sniffed.

He rested his forehead on yours and you put your hands on his face, cradling his jaw.

“I love you,” you told him. “I love you so much.”

Steve gave your lips a gentle peck.

“I know,” he assured you. “You show it to me every day.”

You cried a little more, and he rubbed his nose on yours.

“I love you,” he affirmed. “So much.”

“I know,” you kissed his palm. “I know.”

Steve caressed your cheeks, feeling more than embraced by your reaction.

Maybe you weren’t exactly a woman of words - you spent all your letters with your calculations - but he certainly knew he could count on you.

Whatever happened, he knew he would be safe and happy, and that he would have you.

. .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

. . .

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#Miss PhD Series #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers hurt/comfort #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x reader fanfic #steve rogers x reader fic #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers x reader imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x you fanfiction #steve rogers x you fanfic #steve rogers x you fic #steve rogers x you fluff #steve rogers x you angst #steve rogers x you imagine #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x y/n fanfiction #steve rogers x y/n fanfic #steve rogers x y/n fic #steve rogers x y/n fluff #steve rogers x y/n imagine #steve rogers x y/n angst

[ellie--eille]

What was Lost

Chapter 7: When the Levee Breaks

You reflecting this heart of mine...

#captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers fandom #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers/ofc #moodboard #collage #marvel fanfiction #chris evans #steve rogers ofc #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers hurt/comfort #steve rogers ptsd #steve rogers angry #anger issues #ptsd #romance #slow burn #original character #justin timberlake #what was lost by elle

[breakfast-with-a-side-of-angst]

It’s a Thursday when she finds Steve Rogers standing on the edge of a bridge.

“I’ve been on this bridge before.”

And the way she says it, Steve Rogers knows that she hadn’t been here for the view.

#fanfic #avengers fanfiction #fandom #ao3feed #spider man fanfiction #the avengers #ao3 fanfic #penny parker #female peter parker #peter parker #spider girl #spider man #tw gun mention #domestic avengers #iron dad #spider son #avengers family #steve rogers #steve rogers hurt/comfort

[happy74827]

Let Me In

[Steve Rogers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Steve is persistent in a lot of things. But when he catches fear in your eyes, he wants nothing more than to help you heal.

WC: 2230

Category: Hurt/Comfort {TW — Implications of SA}

The “who did this to you” trope has my whole heart.

『••✎••』

Seeing the pain in Steve’s eyes was more than enough to make your own heartache. The confusion on his face turned into a deep-set frown as his hands hovered over your body, too afraid to touch. Too afraid that if he touched you, the rest of you would crumble to the ground.

The silence between you was deafening, yet Steve said nothing. He just stared at you. You felt his gaze move from the top of your head and down the length of your body. His jaw clenched tightly when your expression faltered, and you tried your hardest not to show the pain you were feeling.

He wasn’t even reaching toward you in the first place; he was reaching for the water that was sitting by his punching bag, but the damage was done the second his hand came into your view.

Out of all the things that could’ve happened, flinching from Steve… of all people was the worst thing possible. The look of hurt on his face was enough to make your own heart drop to your stomach.

You knew he would never hurt you; he would never cause you pain. It was Steve, for goodness sake; he was a big teddy bear who wouldn't cause harm unless absolutely necessary. He had the biggest heart you'd ever seen. And yet, here you were, cowering away from him.

When his hand came into your peripheral, you jumped back, almost tripping over yourself as you stared up at him. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

It was so loud. So, so loud.

Steve, ever the hero, immediately pulled back. The water was forgotten and all of his focus was on you now. He even tried to reach out to you again, but seeing the flinch on your face was enough to stop him in his tracks.

He didn’t know what to do.

Steve was the guy who knew exactly what to do in every situation. He was Captain America.

Captain America.

But seeing you cower away from him made him feel helpless.

His hands were still hovering, his brow was still furrowed, and his lips were set in a firm line. He wanted to touch you, to hold you, but he was so scared that you would push him away and run.

It broke his heart.

The last time he saw you, you were happy and laughing and smiling. But now, it was like someone had taken all the happiness from your face. The smile was gone. Your laughter was gone. The light was gone. And Steve hated it.

He hated it with every fiber of his being.

He was the first to speak. A small whisper. A whisper that would've been missed if you weren't hanging onto every single one of his movements.

"What happened?"

He took a small step forward and watched as you tensed up, your fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. You swallowed thickly and shook your head.

He deserved the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him.

You didn’t want to tell him. Not after you had flinched away from him.

"I’m fine, Steve."

He gave a low hum and looked you over, trying to gauge the situation and find the best way to approach this. He needed to get you talking, but he had to be careful. He couldn’t make the same mistake twice.

"You don't look fine."

The way his voice came out, it was like a breath. His words were soft and comforting. His eyes never once left yours, not even to see where he was stepping.

You wanted to scoff. You wanted to tell him that you were perfectly fine and that he had nothing to worry about. You wanted to lie and say that the flinch was an accident, a momentary lapse in judgment.

You wanted to lie.

But you couldn't. Not to Steve.

Never to Steve.

"Who did this to you?"

It was the way he said it. The tone he used. It wasn't accusatory; it wasn't harsh. It was gentle. It was caring. It was full of concern. Full of love.

But the question brought you up short.

You could feel his eyes on you. You could feel his gaze burning through you, his worry evident. You could feel him staring right into your soul.

You knew he didn't mean to ask it, but the question slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Before he could pull it back.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at the floor, not being able to bring yourself to meet his eye. You could see his boots; you could see his toes.

But not his face. You didn’t want to see his face. You couldn’t handle the concern.

You could hear him shuffling closer, his hand reaching out slowly and hesitantly. When his finger brushed against your arm, you jerked back, but he didn't let you get too far.

His grip was gentle. So gentle, but it was enough to hold you. Just enough.

It was just your name, just a whisper, but the way he said it made you weak. The way he breathed it out had your knees shaking. You could feel the tears burning the back of your throat; you could feel them gathering in your eyes. They were going to spill over soon, and Steve was the only one who was going to be there to see it. No one else.

"Tell me"

There was a moment where you wanted to fight it. To shove him off and run to your room. To lock yourself away and never come out. But when his thumb rubbed over your cheek, it was the moment that you broke.

Tears spilled over. They flowed freely down your cheeks, dripping from your chin.

Your breath came in harsh pants.

Steve's hands moved to your shoulders. He held you firmly yet gently. His thumbs rub slow circles on the top of your arms.

“Damn it.” You breathed out. “Damn it! Of all the people I slip in front of, why did it have to be you? Why couldn't it have been Tony? Or Nat? Or Sam? Or hell, even Bruce? It had to be you, didn't it, Rogers? It had to be the guy I was trying to avoid. The one person I didn't want to know.”

Your rant was cut off when you felt Steve's fingers under your chin. He tipped your head back and forced you to look at him. He looked down at you with those soft blue eyes, the ones you had been trying to avoid since the start.

They were the only thing that could ever get through to you. They were the only thing that could make your walls come down.

His hand was gentle. It was like he was trying to hold a piece of glass. If he pressed too hard, you would break. And god, did you want to break. You wanted to feel the release, the freedom.

You wanted to feel something, anything other than this pain.

"I'm sorry." You breathed out. "I didn't mean to."

"Don't apologize," He murmured. "Just talk to me."

"Steve-"

"Please." The word was a broken plea. It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

You bit your bottom lip and looked down at the ground, unable to hold his gaze.

"Please." He repeated. "Let me help."

"It's not that easy." You whispered. You couldn't believe that you were even considering telling him.

"Yes, it is. I'm right here."

You were going to regret this. You didn't want to, but you were going to.

"I can't." You shook your head, a sob rising in your chest. "I can't, Steve. Please don't make me."

“Then tell me how I can help you."

You didn’t know how to respond. How could you possibly tell him how to help?

"I- I don't know."

He sighed and stepped back. For a second, you thought he was going to leave, that he was done with you, but with the way his gaze never left yours, you knew that wasn’t the case.

He reached down and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, tugging you behind him.

You let him. You were too tired to fight back.

Too tired.

Too weak.

He led you out of the gym and through the tower, his pace never once slowing. Not until the both of you were in front of your bedroom door. Then he released his hold on you and stood back, looking at you. His jaw was still clenched, and his hands were balled into fists. You didn't know if it was because of the fact that someone had hurt you or the fact that you were hiding the truth from him.

"Let me in." He said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If not today, then some other time. Let me in."

"Why?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Because I care."

"Why?" You repeated, your eyes narrowing. "Why do you care so much?"

"I know what it’s like," He murmured. "To feel the need to hide from the world. To feel the need to bottle everything up inside. You don’t need to do this alone. I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it is, you can talk to me. Let me in. Tell me the truth."

You shook your head and turned, reaching for the handle, but Steve was faster. His hand shot out and curled around your wrist. He kept you in place.

"Please." He murmured.

The desperation was evident in his voice. The sincerity was, too.

“You want the name that much?” You questioned, keeping your gaze trained on the door.

It was better than facing him.

It was better than seeing the disappointment in his eyes.

It was better than seeing the pity.

It was easier to hide the emotions behind the door, not having to see his reaction.

"I want you to be honest with me. I want you to talk to me. If you’re comfortable giving me the name, then that's your choice. It's always your choice. I won't force you to do anything, but I want to help."

"It's a little late for that," You scoffed, yanking your hand out of his grasp.

He stepped forward, crowding you against the door. You could feel his warmth against your back.

"I didn't know." He murmured, his hand reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of your neck. "Had I known, I would've put a stop to it."

"There's nothing you could've done."

"I could've killed him." He murmured. "That's what I could've done.”

“You don’t kill people, Rogers. It’s not who you are. You know that.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that I would stop at nothing to keep you safe. Whoever this is, they aren’t going to lay another hand on you. I promise. They aren’t going to hurt you again, not if I can help it. You have my word."

You could feel the tears pricking the back of your eyes. God, did he have to say such sweet things?

You weren’t sure if it was because he was being a good friend or because he wanted something more, but whatever it was, it had you melting.

"I didn't mean to push you away." You whispered, resting your forehead against the cool metal of the door.

"I know."

"It was instinct. I couldn't-"

"I know."

"How do I fix this?"

"You don't. It takes time. Healing isn't an instant process. It took me a long time to get back to normal… somewhat normal.”

“But—” You began, but the look on Steve's face told you that arguing wasn't going to do you any good.

So you stopped.

"It takes time." He repeated. "But I'm not going anywhere. You can take all the time in the world, and I'll be here waiting. Whenever you're ready."

"I want it to go away."

"I know. Believe me, I know." He murmured.

You felt him shift behind you. His hand pressed flat against your back and rubbed slow circles, the heat seeping through the thin material of your shirt.

You had never felt so safe, not even when you were a child.

Steve's presence alone was enough to calm the anxiety running rampant through your body. You weren't sure what had caused this particular attack, but now that Steve was here, you were hoping it would pass soon.

"What do you need?" He asked softly, his hand running up and down the length of your back.

"You." You croaked out, the words almost getting lost in the fabric of his shirt.

"You have me."

"Promise?"

"Promise," He replied without missing a beat.

You took a deep breath and leaned further into his touch.

"It'll go away soon," He assured. "We can sit down and talk about it when you're ready."

"What if I never want to talk about it?"

"Then we won't. You set the pace, okay? Just… please, don't shut anyone out. Don't shut me out. We— I care about you."

You nodded your head, unable to form the words you wanted to say.

The feeling was mutual. You cared about him too. And maybe, just maybe, you would be willing to open up about this. Maybe even share the name.

Steve does throw a good punch, after all.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers/reader #mcu #mcu steve rogers #mcu fic #steve rogers fic #x reader #reader #fanfic #fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x female!reader #steve rogers x yn #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x yn #steve rogers fandom #steve rogers imagine #hurt/comfort #protective steve rogers #angst #marvelfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #bucky barnes x reader #tony stark x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #thor odinson x reader #mcu fanfiction

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take). 

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?” 

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go. 

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.” 

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout. 

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?” 

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen. 

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.” 

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?” 

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.” 

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue  “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.” 

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains. 

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch. 

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway. 

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?” 

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.” 

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.” 

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?” 

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?” 

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay. 

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?” 

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?” 

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods. 

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here? 

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out. 

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*This chapter would've had the "breaking point," but I don't like to post chapters of more than 4-5000 wordcounts on Tumblr. So the next part will be up in a bit once I fine tune and add to it.

**And to anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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the soaring arrow

fused with the foe, chapter two

a/n: we getting somewhere in this one... progress... and by progress, i of course mean that we are one chapter closer to when they finally get to be happy and in love.

summary: “…do you still wanna learn?”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, violence, gore, injury, weapons, big scary dire bear, a bit of a cliffhanger of an ending to this chapter (the drama is here, it has arrived, in the majestic for of [spoiler])

word count: 4706

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Rising yet again from the plush stool, your feet carried you the short distance back around to the opposing seat. Your elbow came to rest against the edge of the small games table as you glanced down at the chequered board and your chin swiftly found your propped-up palm as a bored breath seeped from your lungs. 

As you moved one of the ivory pieces, the thoughts you’d been trying to keep at bay for weeks slipped through ever so slightly. The king hadn’t talked to you since the wedding, in fact, whenever you’d been in the same room with each other, his gaze never found you. 

You might as well have been invisible.

The arm beneath your face slowly melted down till it layed flat against the table and you let your head follow along. Slumped over, your cheek pressed against your forearm. 

Raising your gaze from your up-close perspective of the chess pieces, it fell upon the man leaning 

against the wall by the exit. Dark locks only half tied up, a crossbow was strapped to his broad back as his stormy gaze stayed low and locked on the small dagger he absentmindedly twirled and flipped in his fingers.

Letting out another sigh, you didn’t bother straightening out before you asked, “so, is this just how it’s gonna be?”

Halting his fiddling, Barnes’ eyes met yours, “pardon me, your majesty?”

“You just lurking wherever I am, is that how it’s gonna be for the rest of my life?” you lifted yourself only slightly so that both of your palms pressed into your soft cheeks to prop it up. 

“No, I’m just here till you get settled, then I’ll go back to my usual business,” the advisor stated. 

“And when will that be?”

“I don’t know, your majesty,” he sheathed the short blade at his side, “why? If it’s because you don’t care for my presence then please just say so, I won’t be offended if you’d rather have a different warden looking out for you.”

“No,” you sat up properly, “it’s not that, not at all, I just–… could I maybe go for a walk?” the question hesitantly left your lips. 

“Sure, you can,” he nodded slightly, “where do you wanna go? I could show you the Valarian Ward in town, there are lots of museums there you might like–”

“No,” you cut his offer off, “I meant if I could go for a walk on my own.”

“Oh… well, I’m not entirely sure that’s the best idea…” he uttered carefully. 

“I am your queen, aren’t I? So, can’t I just command you to let me go by myself?” you tried, blinking up at him like a little puppy, “please, Barnes.”

A low sigh then flowed from his lips as his stare raked across the floor. A moment passed before he opened his mouth again, slowly saying as his gaze stayed averted, “your majesty, I am gonna leave for a moment, I suddenly remembered that I forgot something in my chambers this morning. Please excuse me as I momentarily won’t be here watch where you go,” his eyes flicked up to meet yours, “you got that?” 

“Yes,” a bright smile stretched across your features, “I understand what you’re saying,” as you instantly shot up to your feet, “thank you, Barnes.” 

Though half regretting his choice already, he still offered you a half-hearted smile, “you’re welcome, your majesty.”

Bending down, you plucked a long-stemmed daisy and added it to the bouquet of wildflowers your left fist was tightly enclosed around. As you lifted yourself back up, your vision washed over the blossoming meadow you stood on, located on the hill directly north of the castle. From here only parts of the seaside community were perceivable, as from this angle the mountainous fortress blocked off the vast majority of Borün city, only the edges closest to the main road, like the city stables and the water mill, caught your gaze. But the farmlands that curved over the rolling hills west of the town had no obstructions in their path. The vision of golden fields as well as wide pens that housed both fuzzy brown cows and round little sheep, that blissfully soaked in the mild afternoon sun, couldn’t help but bring a smile to your lips. 

Peeking over your shoulder, the warnings of the king’s right-hand man faintly echoed in your mind as you glanced at the thick forest. Temptation had swayed your feet to carry you dangerously close to the edge. The Noll woods didn’t seem that dangerous from this angle, perhaps it was safe enough on the perimeter and it was just the dangers deep within it that they were so terrified of. So, the next thing you knew, your leisurely stride had crossed the meadow and the dark wilderness had swallowed you whole. 

Extending an arm as your feet slowly walked over the crunchy leaves and the pillowy moss clusters, you felt the cool leaves brush against your open palm, almost as if you were greeting each and every one of them as you passed. The chirping birds high up in the dense treetops sang a pleasant melody that caused a bright smile to bloom on your lips. 

You weren’t sure how long you ventured forth, deeper and deeper into the twisted forest, but eventually, a small and speckled bush caught your eye, ripe with the vibrant berries you recognised from the layered cake that you had been served for tea just a few days prior. The fabric of the long burgundy cloak you wore billowed behind you as you rushed to pluck the small fruits. A soft hum vibrated at your lips as you tasted their tart sweetness, popping them in your mouth one by one. 

Though just as your head was up in the clouds, over the moon about this little slice of paradise you had discovered, a low growl emanated from the tall shrubs just behind the berry bush. Your fingers froze in an instant and the fruits in your berry-stained palm rolled to the ground. Slowly, you raised your gaze as a giant snout pushed through the dense plants and the creature’s rotten breath fanned across your cheeks, causing your stomach to churn. 

Holding your breath, petrified with fear, you willed your feet to shuffle back at a terrifyingly slow pace. Your entire body trembled like a leaf on the wind as your eyes stayed glued on the dark animal slowly creeping into the clearing. 

A bear, though at least three times the size of any normal one, came stomping into the light. Its footsteps were heavy enough to make the forest floor quake. Long and gnarly teeth curled up over its drooping lip as viscus slobber, and what looked like blood, dripped from its gums, staining the blades of grass below with every hefty step. Nowhere on its scarred skull were something that resembled eyes, so as it sniffed loudly, your hair nearly rustling in the gust, the blind monster detected precisely where you stood.

A snarl rumbled out from its toothy maw as it clawed closer to you like a predator playing with its food just before it pounced. Eclipsing the dabbled sunlight that streamed in through the tree canopy, the massive creature blocked off any chance you had of escape. The petrifying roar it then let out caused your hands to instinctively shoot up in front of your face. 

Falling back, you collided with the thick tree trunk right behind you. Adrenaline pumped so furiously throughout your body that the tree almost felt like a pillow, as your body was so filled with terror that it didn’t let you notice any of the pain. 

Through your shielding fingers, you caught sight of a swift movement, though it wasn’t the ravaging bear before you. From out of nowhere a broad figure suddenly appeared, slipping in between you and the creature. 

Your eyes widened as you saw the king hold a shield up high, groaning from the strain as he blocked the monster’s mighty attack. Drawing a stout axe at his belt, he sliced it low, catching one of the bear’s legs and causing it to reel back enough for him to bash the shield against its snout, sending it back a few paces. The arching blows he then landed on the gnawing beast were a brutal blur to your eyes as he didn’t yield till the monster was slain and its blood stained the mossy forest floor. 

Slowly turning to face you, crimson dabbled his features and tainted his beard as he stared you down and roared, “what the hell were you thinking?” his broad chest still heaved from the battle as he took a step closer to you, “you’re not in Obelón anymore, you can’t just wander off!”

“I–… I’m sorry,” you said weakly, your eyes felt heavy as you stumbled to distance yourself from the tree trunk, “I didn’t–”

“You didn’t what?” inching closer, he sheathed his weapons, “think you’d bump into a dire bear? What if it had been something worse, huh? What then? Do you have any idea of what kind of dangers lurk in these shadows?”

Black spots dappled your vision as you just managed a faintly utter, “I’m s-sorr–,” before you collapsed. 

As the king caught you in his arms, your cloak unfurled to reveal the silks of your gown ripped and peeking out from the shreds was a grave wound on your waist. 

When you finally woke up, you weren’t in the forest any longer, but warm under the covers in your own bed.

You weren’t sure what you noticed first, the familiar surroundings or the sharp sting that throbbed at your side. Wincing silently, you pulled down the blankets and saw the clean cloths that bandaged the injury. As you carefully ran a fingertip over the dressing, a figure at the foot of the bed caught your hazy gaze. 

Slumped over on a small stool with his head resting against his folded-up arms, there sat the king, completely out cold. 

A clay pitcher of water stood on the adjacent bedside table beside a few empty cups that had a deep green tint to the glass. Carefully, as to not rouse the slumbering monarch, you reached for the jug in order to quench the thirst that scratched at your throat. As your fingertips brushed against the handle and moved it just a tad, an aching wave suddenly washed over you as the attempt stretched and disturbed your injured waist enough for you to recoil back, accidentally tugging at the decanter in the process and retroactively knocking over one of the nearby glasses.

As soon as it smashed to the stone floor, the king bolted up like he’d been struck by lightning. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you rushed as you clutched your throbbing side and leaned back against the pillows, “I just wanted something to drink.”

Still groggy, he sucked in a breath as he squinted over at you in the bed, “don’t move,” his voice was deep from sleep, “I’ll get it,” and he reached over to fill up the glass that didn’t fall to its doom, “here,” handing it to you, his eyes stayed on you as you took a sip, “how are you feeling?”

Lowing the drink to your lap, you watched the water ripple gently in the glass as you uttered, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking I’d run into any monsters, I just wanted to see the forest. I’ve never been in a real forest before, so I just–… I’m sorry…”

A low sigh flowed from the king’s lips before he asked, “how are you feeling, dove? Does it hurt badly? Because I can fetch you some herbs if it does.” 

“It’s not pleasant, but I’ll manage,” as you always did. Your pain tolerance was through the roof when it had to be, “I’m sorry.”

“Would you please stop apologising?” your tense gaze finally flickered up to meet his, “I understand you wandering out on your own, I even understand you wanting to explore the forest, but what I don’t understand is why you didn’t bring a weapon with you. I know you don’t know too much about this kingdom, but you must have a basic understanding of just how dangerous it is, especially The Noll Woods. So why didn’t you bring anything to protect yourself with?”

“What?” you blinked, “I don’t own a weapon.” 

Eyes widening, his brows shot up, “you don’t?” 

“No…” you shifted lightly under his gaze, “why are you looking at me like that?” 

Leaning forward slightly, he asked, “dove, do you not know how to fight?” 

“Why would I know how to fight?” 

“Why would you–…” he echoed faintly before lowing his gaze to the blankets spread out on the canopy bed, “gods, I knew that Obelón’s high walls helped protect its people from many creatures, but I know even that doesn’t stop the citizens from knowing the basics at least. Why didn’t you ever?” he found your eyes once more, “you’re of royal birth. Why haven’t you been in lessons since you were a child?” 

Shifting your grasp around the glass, you uttered, “…my father wouldn’t let me…” your brows were still deeply knitted as you said, “I thought it was improper for fine ladies to have such skills.” 

“It’s not,” he shook his head, “trust me. Some of the best fighters I’ve ever known were fine ladies such as yourself.” 

“Really?” you couldn’t help but inch forward a bit. 

“Yeah, my mom for one taught me a lot of what I know, as well as–…” an unreadable expression briefly washed over his features as his sentence suddenly crumbled, “well, others…” 

“I always wanted to learn,” you thought back, “used to spy on my brothers when they were training, even tried to convince Callum to teach me in secret, but none of it ever worked out… my dad always found out and then he’d–…” your gaze stayed locked on the outline of your legs beneath the covers as you felt a shiver run down your spine, “I, uhm… I learned to stop doing that. Going against his rules.” 

After he helped you place the glass back beside the pitcher, the king’s deep timbre filled the chamber once more, “…do you still wanna learn?”

The gentle wind kissed your cheeks as you squinted your eyes at the circular target close to the ivy-covered outer wall of the front courtyard. Though the training area stood nestled between the warden’s barracks and the royal stables, the king’s right-hand man had ensured that there wouldn’t be as many people crowding the common area as there usually were, a gesture you’d become thankful for as the act of learning an entirely new skill was intimidating enough without having the added commotion of experts in the field directly next to you, granting you the perspective of just how green you were. 

Over countless days, bedridden in your chambers, the wound to your side had scabbed over and healed nearly completely. Though the wait was significant, it hadn’t felt that dreary, since at the first dawn you woke, the king’s presence had been exchanged for a tall stack of meticulously selected books. The majority of them were factual records about Eflorr, the land, the history, everything that had been out of your fingertips in the library of your birthplace. But occasionally in between the tomes of the kingdom were books of completely different genres. There was a wide and worn book of fables that had whimsical illustrations on each page, a pocket-sized novel counting the mystery of a fictional rogue, as well as a collection of flowery poems. 

Letting the nocked arrow fly, it didn’t pierce itself into the bullseye your eyes were boring a hole into, but instead joined the cluster lodged in the ground. 

“I am never gonna get this,” you muttered, nearly tossing the training bow from you. 

“Oh, don’t lose hope yet, your majesty,” you twisted your neck to see Barnes standing by the small, open-style stables adjacent to where you stood, petting the cheek of the black horse that stuck its head over the fence, “you’ve only been going for a few days.” 

Drawing another arrow from the quiver not yet strapped to your back, but simply resting on the small stool scooted close, you attempted once more, and though it didn’t hit the target, the arrowhead did wedge itself in between two of the stones on the wall behind it. 

“Not bad,” your body jumped at the unexpected voice, “you’re getting closer.”

Spinning around, you saw the king, arms crossed and leaning against the building directly behind you, “your majesty!” your eyes grew to the size of saucers, “h-hello.”

“You need to relax your bow arm more,” he pushed himself off of the wall and walked up to you. 

“What?” you blinked, still slightly stunned and scrambling to catch up to the fact that he was even there. 

“Here,” he stepped up behind you and a sharp breath of air filled your lungs as his touch found the limb clutching the bow, “you need to relax this arm,” his presence ghosted against your spine as his touch adjusted your appendage to the proper angle, “and lower it just a bit,” plucking up an arrow, he too nocked it for you and let his fingers linger over yours as you drew the string back tight, “use the corner of your lips as an anchor,” as the feathery fletching tickled your cheek, you could have sworn that you felt his curled knuckle shyly brush against your features as well, “and since you’re not very brawny, try and keep a bit of tension right here, it’ll help,” his hand slid down to your waist, the other palm briefly joining on the other side before he let go of you. You could feel the gentle gust of his breath on the shell of your ear as his low voice instructed you, “give it a try.”

The arrow then soared through the air and lodged itself into the outermost ring of the target, “oh my gods,” you squealed, your body victoriously wiggling at the sight, “I did it!”

“Atta girl,” he smiled at the result, and you turned your head to gaze back at him, the fact that he hadn’t shifted back yet caused a shiver to crawl up your spine, “see? I knew you could do it,” his eyes finally flickered down to yours, though when the close proximity dawned on him, only a second passed before his feet began to move, “anyways,” clearing his throat, his vision now seemed to wander over anything but you, “uhm… good job,” he offered your upper arm a small pat, “keep it up,” then turned to the high warden still off to the side, “Buck, I need you to take a look at something for me, up in the war room.”

Giving the horse one last scratch, Barnes answered his friend, “sure thing.”

“You know the king well, correct?” you asked the soldier as he walked with you down to breakfast. At this point, you’d gotten fairly used to Barnes acting as your shadow.

“You could say that,” the corners of his lips curled up in a soft smile, “my mom was a servant here at the castle, so I essentially grew up alongside him. Then as soon as I was old enough, I joined the wardens, partly just to stay at his side. So yes, I do know him well,” he nodded slowly, “I know him very well.”

Rounding the corner, you walked down a long hallway with windows facing out toward the sea all along the right wall. Motes of dust hung suspended in the morning sunbeams that spilt into the hall, perfectly still, like flakes of gold leaf trapped in resin.

Glancing over at him once more as you stepped through one of the golden rays, you slowly opened your mouth once more, “can I ask something?”

“You can ask me anything you’d like,” he met your eye. 

“Does–…” you hesitated a moment before averting your gaze to gather up the courage to utter, “does the king have someone else?”

Gently cocking his head, Barnes echoed, “someone else?”

“Does he have someone else?” you repeated, sensing heat creep up in your cheeks.

“Oh, uh,” he breathed as you reached the end of the hallway and he stretched out his arm to push open the door you’d arrived at, “no, not that I know of.”

As he opened the door to the smaller of the dining rooms for you to enter, you noticed that you’d been unconsciously gnawing at the inner part of your bottom lip till it nearly bled and you forced yourself to stop, “alright…”

When you crossed over the threshold, Barnes stayed put on the other side, though offered you a small nod before the heavy doors fell shut behind you. 

Turning to face the long table centred in the chamber, your eyes suddenly grew wide as an unexpected figure sat on the far end. 

“Good morning,” the king glanced up at you as he popped the piece of strawberry lodged on the tip of his fork into his mouth. 

“Your majesty! I–, I–…” you blinked a second, finding it impossible to get your feet to move the last few paces over to your set place, “I thought you took your breakfast up in your personal chambers.”

“Felt like a change in scenery today,” he plucked up a porcelain cup filled with steaming tea and brought it to his lips, though paused before taking a sip, “is that alright?”

“Of course, it is,” a shudder ran through you as you shook yourself out of your stupor and sat down at the table. 

A generous spread of options layed arced around your empty plate. From seasonal fruits, cut up and arranged on an oblong platter, to hearty bread, sliced and toasted, propped up for it to stay crisp, the selection never ceased to make your belly rumble in want. 

When your plate was filled up and you slowly began to pick away at it, the king’s voice suddenly echoed from the other end of the table. 

“Are you busy this afternoon?”

“Busy?” you lifted your gaze and sent it down past the short floral centrepiece to look at him, “no, your majesty, not in particular. Why do you ask?”

His elbow was propped against the edge of the table and his hand gently rested against his beard as he continued to stare at you, “I was wondering if you’d care to promenade with me.”

“I know it doesn’t look like much from this angle,” the king pointed to the dark cave entrance on the cliff that the castle stood upon, “but that emergency exit has saved countless monarchs.”

“So, the tunnel leads up to the basement?” you glanced down to the part of the coastline still a ways further down the pebbly beach.

“Yep, opens up into the wine cellar, it’s actually one of the racks that’s concealed as the door down.”

Glancing up at him as you slowly walked beside one another, an amused smile curled up on your lip, “clever.”

“Yeah, my mom thought so, she was the one who implemented it.”

The corners of your lips then dropped back down, and you waited a second before asking softly, “when did she pass?”

“A while ago now…” his vision briefly flickered down to look at the waves foam at the shore, “anyways, I’d recommend taking a guide with you if you’re gonna go exploring in the cave because it can be easy to get lost if you didn’t grow up with it as your playground.” 

“I’ll remember that,” a faint chuckle bubbled out of you.

The pebbles crunched beneath your slow stride as you made your way down the beach, closer and closer to where the fort loomed and the docks beyond flourished into the bustling city. 

After he’d bent down to pick up a smooth, dark rock, the royal then spoke in a slightly apprehensive tone, “hey, I actually wanted to talk to you about something…”

Noticing that his stride had halted, you stopped as well, “yes, your majesty?”

His gaze stayed on the small rock in his palm as he turned it a few times, “I know I haven’t exactly been the warmest towards you, I haven’t given you any solid reason to trust or even like me,” his ocean eyes then lifted to meet yours, “but we are supposed to rule together, be a team. So, I propose that we call a truce. Let’s start over and try and be friends,” his broad hand then extended. 

Clasping your fingers around his palm, you shook on it, “truce,” and a small smile bloomed as you then returned to your walk.

Your eyes didn’t stray long from him, staring at him inquisitively till he, on a glance, noticed.

“What?”

“It’s just,” you squinted over at the man walking beside you, the water gentle and calm behind him, “I don’t even really know you…”

“Well,” he breathed, as if that setback was easy enough to remedy, “what would you like to know?”

“I don’t know…” as you continued to stare at him, your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the opalescent stone attached to the chain hanging from your neck, “tell me everything.”

“Everything?” his eyebrows raised a second before he exhaled lowly, “alright… uhm,” he then lowered his gaze as he scrambled his brain, “my favourite colour is blue. I can’t stand pears,” he began to list off, “I know I don’t look it now, but I was a very scrawny kid, sick all the time. I’m excellent at skipping rocks, actually learned how to just down there from an old family friend. What else… uh, I don’t have a lot of free time, but the little I do, I tend to either read, history in particular, as well as draw or paint, whenever I have the chance.”

“Paint?” you chuckled as that was one of the last things you thought he’d say. 

“Yes,” he nodded, “not many, but a few of my pieces are strung up around the castle.”

“I will have to keep my eye out for those, your majesty,” you smiled. 

“Oh, and please, no more of that,” he pleaded, “you shouldn’t call me your majesty any longer, we’re friends now,” he momentarily turned to toss the rock into the rippling sea, and a small ring bloomed on the surface as it delved in, “you are my wife,” the corners of his lips tugged upwards as he faced you once more, “you should call me by my name.”

“Alright, Steve,” the name felt oddly intimate on your tongue, “I’ll try my best to do better.”

As he smiled down at you, a shadow suddenly soared across the sky above both of your heads. Lifting your eyes to the clouds above, they swiftly went wide in fear as you saw the creature that flew straight towards the village. 

“Oh gods, is that a–”

“Dragon,” Steve uttered before you could. 

The winged behemoth of a beast had scales like the darkest tree bark, but in the sunlight it soared through, they shined regally like an oil spill. 

Grabbing you by the hand as warning bells rang out over the seaside community, Steve dragged you with him and he addressed the two wardens that had lingered a few paces back while you both were out, “take her inside, through the cave, stay low, away from any windows.”

“Yes, my liege,” they swiftly replied and moved to defend you, but as the king’s grasp left yours, you reached out to halt him.

“Wait!” your fingers rushed to snag your lucky charm off, “here,” and you layed the fine necklace into his open palm before finding his eyes one last time and uttering, “please don’t die.”

Closing his fist around the jewel, he offered you a grave nod before the wardens led you into the cave and the king rushed down the banks and up the algae-slick steps that led up to the harbour. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #eflorr au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers series #king!steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #chris evans x reader #steve rogers hurt/comfort #chris evans au

[heaven4lostgirls]

reconciliation (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader, billy russo x reader implied

warnings: angst, jealousy, kind of toxic?

summary: your conversation with steve has left him reeling to try and get you back, and you've just dropped the biggest blow to his chances of trying to win you back.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i'm really sorry this took so long to get out, uni has swamped me with work but here i am ig! maybe another update will get out during the weekend? dont hold me to that tho lmao

tags: @blackhawkfanatic , @buckys-wintersoldier , @witchychanel , @nicoline1998enilocin

part 1, part 2, part 3

You weren’t sure what you were expecting after your conversation with Steve if you could even call it that. It had been a couple of weeks and surely but surely you had started warming up to him again, it started with small nods in his direction as a greeting but that soon moved into small conversations. It had been a slow and torturous process for Steve, but he knew just as well as you did that, he was nowhere near even being able to exercise the ability to complain about his situation after what he had put you through.

The real heartbreak hit him when he realised, you’d been looking for apartments and job hunting, for some reason he had assumed that although you no longer joined the avengers for meeting briefings and were off the last few missions, you were just taking a break. Evidently, he was quite wrong, you had been spending your time responding to ‘work-related’ emails regarding a company called Anvil run by Billy Russo.

Now, Steve hardly kept up with any news that was not regarding his position as Captain America and very loosely he kept up with the NFL, so he knew next to nothing about Billy Russo until he was listening to your conversation with Tony in the kitchen.

You had walked in to make your breakfast and just as Steve and you had good morning to one another, Tony strolled through the open door on the phone with Pepper, adamantly in an argument with something to do with Tony’s public appearance at some gala.

“Pep-honey-, yes I understand but-“ Tony rolls his eyes and what Pepper says next and as you make your way to give him some privacy, he holds up his hands to make you wait and as your quirk an eyebrow, you lean against the kitchen counter waiting for the conversation to end. “Fine! Whatever you want! Just please don’t seat me next to that mayor” he pauses “yes! That one! He always smells like cheese” Tony shivers and you and Steve share a quick smile of amusement before you look away with flaming cheeks.

Tony hangs up the call and looks at you with a sly smile.

“Anvil huh?” he asks as he makes his way around you and Steve to the coffee machine, with a quick good morning to Steve, he looks at you expectantly.

“Oh, come off it Stark, I put in my two week notice ages ago, knowing Friday, he probably already told you when I applied” you reply with a joking eyeroll.

An automated voice floods through the system and you nearly jump out of your skin” I would never Miss Y/L/N” you’ve still got to get used to that. 

“Anvil?” Steve questions tersely with pursed lips, you can’t tell if it’s out of anger or worry.

“Yeah! It’s a private military firm and since I used to be in the Navy, Billy reached out to me and offered me a position as his personal assistant!” you reply enthusiastically and through your excitement, you fail to notice how Steve’s face falls and Tony’s eyes light up with humour.

“Billy huh?” Steve’s strained smile makes you pause for a second before Tony snorts into his coffee and as you turn to glare at him, he shrugs innocently.

“Yes. Billy. He asked me to call him that because we’ll be working together” you reply curtly and fight the urge to lash out at Steve and let him know he has no right to be jealous because he no longer has anything remotely more than friendship connecting the both of you.

“Doesn’t hurt that he’s good looking either” Tony remarks and yelps as you swiftly throw one of the knives near you towards the cupboards right next to his head.

You shake your head and move to leave the kitchen before you turn around to the both of them and remark “I shall now be going to set up a meeting time with my boss if that’s okay with you two idiots?” you smile sarcastically, and Tony just waves you off.

Steve frowns as he watches you leave with an ugly feeling of jealousy bubbling underneath his skin, he glares at the counter in front of him before his anger is interrupted by Tony’s voice floating through the silent room.

“You know, you were her boss once” he remarks, after he had comforted you as you sobbed in his arms, he had been particularly harsh and unwelcoming to Steve even though you had spoken to him about Steve trying to work whatever your relationship with him was.

“I’m aware” Steve responds as he grits his teeth whilst fighting the urge to break the granite counter under his fingertips. He scoots his chair out as he makes his way to ask Bucky to train with him, he’s got some anger to work out and Bucky is realistically the only person that could handle his full super soldier strength pummeling at them.

You had successfully set a meeting time to go over your contract with Billy with his current personal assistant since she’d be taking her maternity leave in the next couple of weeks.  Your mind had kept wondering to Steve’s reaction to you getting a new job, you understood his jealousy all too well since that wasn’t even the beginning of your deep-rooted jealousy and insecurities that affected you by Steve’s relationship with Sharon.

Still, you knew that it was no longer your responsibility to worry about his own emotions and how he coped with them. You no longer felt complied to comfort him whenever you saw his sorrowful longing gaze towards you whenever you walked into a room, or when hurt and pain flashes through his gaze whenever you referred to him as ‘Rogers’ in front of the others.

Meanwhile in the training room, instead of focusing on the hand-to-hand combat Steve had asked Bucky to help him with, he was basically interrogating his friend.

“What do you know about some guy called Billy Russo?” Steve panted as he tried to dodge Bucky’s jabs as he moves swiftly and quickly around the mat.

“Not much mate, just that he’s stinking rich for his age- hey! stop fucking jumping around like a goddamn bunny punk” Bucky huffs out at Steves insistent buoyancy.

“I’m just light on my feet!” Steve defends.

“Yeah, if you were on a fucking bouncy castle” Bucky rolls his eyes and winces as he doesn’t dodge Steve’s punch in time.

“Is he good looking?” Steve asks and Bucky has to pause to look at his friend with a weird expression. Steve just stands there with a serious expression and widens his eyes as if to say go on.

“Sure pal, the dude’s good looking, he was in that fuckin Forbes magazine for Millionaires under 30” Bucky says and watches as Steve loses focus, Bucky aims for his weak spot on his right shoulder and watches as his best friend collapses onto the mat, out of breath.

“What’s with all the questions punk?” Bucky frowns as he holds his hand out for Steve to take and as he pulls him up, he watches as his friend’s winces at the question.

“Y/N is going to work for him” Steve says and Bucky nods with a pitying smile on his face that Steve hates. He doesn’t want pity, he wants to fix this, except he doesn’t know how.

You’ve never looked better the past couple of weeks after yours and Steve’s separation, it’s almost as Steve was constantly sucking the life out of you and now you looked just as good as the first day, he met you.

He hates the idea of you going out into public and working under someone else just for someone to see what he once saw in you, now that he knew that you were unattainable for him at the current time but attainable for people like Billy fuckin Russo made him feel closer to possessive and feral than he’s ever felt.

“Then we’ve got work to do mate” Bucky slaps a hand on his shoulder as he maneuvers him out of, the room, chatting away about a plan to win y/n back. Steve is hardly listening and is planning to kill Billy Russo in 300 different ways before he’s even able to think about having a chance with you.

#juliwrites #mcu #marvel #billy russo #billy russo x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers hurt #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers hurt/comfort #steve rogers #tony stark #billy russo fanfic #biilly russo imagine

[ronearoundblindly]

Hello darling! No pressure (I fukin tried to write this anon and YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN), but I keep thinking about a workaholic reader who needs cared for! It’s the beginning of a new year but she’s already worn out from last year.

You write such a real Steve, can he be stern about it? Tough, rewarding love? And you can request (that I stfu) anything from me, I wish you the whole world 💚💚💚💚

Drag me kicking and screaming :P

Dear bestie,

You bish. Fine. I see what you did there. Be warned, I'mma tap you back for this. Oh, it'll happen...

Not Today

Warnings for...Steve is a bit of a hypocrite? and that might be it? Oh, and Steve uses completely canonical profanity. It's literally the exact same line. You're welcome. WC 3.1k

The tech support department is a team. There are about a dozen people who are tasked with directly answering any Avenger's call at any time, day or night or holiday. You know your own team but not socially since you all rotate and shift hours. It's a fairly lonely job, and that's fine.

The world's superheroes don't know your names, can't distinguish your voices, and don't really care which of you picks up as long as they get the information they need. Steve Rogers is guilty of this, too. It's not on purpose, but he still struggles to remember more than just a 2-D connection can come from technology. Old habits are hard to break.

Then came Thanksgiving, and Steve took several for the team by coordinating casual progress on a few upcoming missions while the rest of the Avengers scattered to celebrate with family. He still saw people; he still enjoyed the festivities. He just also worked.

That's when Steve noticed.

He called your department at 1900h after the big dinner because a document scan was cut off oddly and he needed to see the original. You answered. 

He called again after the house was quiet and everyone slept. At 2300h, you answered. 

With barely-bridled irritation, Steve called instead of a morning run because he needed clarification on a recon analysis. You answered at the ripe 0500h, but he was too distracted to notice it was the same voice until that afternoon.

When it occurred to him that the same person answered four calls in a row, Steve asks for your name, but you politely remind him you aren’t supposed to say it over the line.

“Plus, it’s not important, Captain Rogers. Answering your questions is.”

He doesn’t like that one bit.

After the holiday though, it’s you picking up less often. The others are back in rotation more, and perhaps it was just a fluke, he thinks. If you can’t say your name, you certainly can’t tell him that you filled in for coworkers hoping to spend just a few extra hours with their families.

Your team works out of one central computer lab which Steve knows, but since it’s all by phone and online, remote shifts are common. Steve wouldn’t have time to stalk around the facility anyway.

He lets it go.

On his way out to the landing pad one night, Sam Wilson joins him in the elevator, suited up, ready, and on the phone.

“Thanks, Genie, I’ll call if there’s anything else,” Sam says before hanging up and nodding at Steve. “Ready?”

“Always,” he grunts back. “Who’s Jeannie?”

“One of the techs.”

“She told you her name?” Steve looks stunned. One of your coworkers doesn’t seem to follow the rules.

“Didn’t. She’s just particularly magical…and effectively trapped in a bottle since she’s always on the phone, I guess.”

Oh—Steve gets it now—Genie is like a nickname. That doesn’t explain why it is still you (because he just knows it’s you) answering calls so frequently.

“Are they short-staffed or something? People out on leave?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know, Cap. She just tells me what I need to know.”

They head off on their mission.

Steve Rogers doesn’t have much of a social life. Ok, fine, he doesn’t have any social life, but he’s a curious sort of man. It bugs him to not understand what’s going on around him, and in theory, this isn’t a huge mystery. He pulls up the time logs for the on-call analysis team and glances over it.

Whether he expected a simple coincidence or a mostly-female staff now that could sound similar, Steve’s not sure, but what he finds infuriates him by proxy. He stops himself from looking up the personnel file for your employee number though. He’s not so mad as to break that protocol.

For another week or so, he fights the urge to hang up on you and call again since he knows there are likely at least three other people available. It probably wouldn’t make his point clear because Steve doesn’t know what his point is yet. Instead, he grits his teeth and does his work, oblivious to his annoyance growing.

Until Christmas Eve when he walks by the lobby coffee bar just as he’s dialing your team’s hotline.

He doesn’t notice at first but the woman next in a long line to order scurries out to hold the phone to her ear, pinning it to her shoulder and opening her laptop right there as she stands. He hears your response echo in both his ears and looks up.

“You gotta be shitting me,” he huffs, stomping over.

It’s only when he snatches your phone away that you realize he’s there. “Oh, gosh, sir—I mean, hello, Captain.”

“What are you doing?!”

He’s downright terrifying when angry, and his fury coupled with your alarm makes you shrink in your own skin.

“I—I just—“

“What is this? Day nine? In a row?!” His voice cracks slightly as he barks out questions he already knows the answer to. He sees people staring around you, so he points down the far hall. “Conference room, now.”

He keeps your phone in hand and ignores it ringing three times before you even make it to the giant table. You look tired. He complains it’s unhealthy but when you try to say something he cuts you off and asks when you last ate. That’s simple, right? You have to feed yourself.

“I was in line, sir. That’s what I was doing.”

“Then you shouldn’t have answered the phone. Sit there, no, right there.” He points and presses one finger against the wood for emphasis. “You don’t move. You don’t leave this room. I’m taking this—“ he pockets your phone “—and you sit there.”

As he’s about to let the door close behind him, he turns. “And if you so much as touch that laptop…”

It’s explicitly clear that you are still terrified, but you nod.

He comes back with food from their private lounge, a variety since he doesn’t know if you have restrictions or allergies. There’s water and coffee already in the room. He sits and eats something with you, staring until you munch on a few things.

When he’s satisfied, he stands and hands back your silenced phone. “I don’t want to catch you overworking like this again, you hear?”

Your very wide eyes blink twice.

He takes that as yes, wraps his knuckles on the table, and goes back to his own work.

Steve gets exactly what he wants. You log long—but no extra—shifts all the way through to New Year. He never hears your voice when he’s not supposed to.

Except…he celebrated the clock striking midnight with Wilson, Torres, and some other employees on the roof, and after the crowd dissipated, Steve couldn’t get to sleep. He walks (wanders) the halls when this happens. The building is empty.

Of course, the building is not empty, so Steve smacks the glass door open in frustration.

“Nobody works in this lab for third shift.”

You’re startled, ripping your headset off and half-rising from a rolling chair. “This is my shift, and…I’m not nobody.”

“Agreed,” he spits before realizing how that sounds. “Gah—“ he runs his hand through his hair, pulling harder than necessary “—this is insufferable.”

“Agreed,” you mumble, sitting back down with a questioning gaze.

Thinking of nothing else to say, Steve then bursts, “have you at least eaten?”

“Uh…it’s two in the morning. It’s not a meal time.” You flinch at his powerful huff. “Have you? Do you need to eat, Captain Rogers?”

You point him toward a tiny table.

Of course, the phone rings, but he stares you down. “Are there other people working remotely?”

“Yeah but—“

“But what,” he says in a very specific way to indicate there is no correct response except—

“Nothing. I am actually supposed to work though.”

“Seventy-plus hours this week and you still think it’s required?” Steve kicks himself internally. He just showed his hand.

“No…?”

“Just stop—“ He doesn’t get to finish.

His phone rings, and he suddenly can’t say squat. Steve simply answers it, wearing the most sternly disappointed face he can muster, and leaves.

He gets bold. Something about the anger boiling up inside him at the whole situation makes him far more aggressive at trying to change your habits, more so now that he’s seen your face. You’re not a 2-D sound anymore. You’re real, and you really work too much.

He keeps a closer track of the time logs and sees you’ve, in fact, reduced your hours. Then he hears Torres say something about ‘you rock, Genie’ on the phone…nine hours after he spoke to you that morning. So he checks and you’re not on-call. That’s when he realizes you’ve been working after and before clocking in so it looks like you have no overtime.

That’s nonsensical to Steve. He’s livid.

He picks out one of the burner phones constantly available to his Team and does something he’s not super proud of but feels justified in: he looks up your address in your file. It ends up not being a huge deal because you live in an apartment complex almost entirely rented out by compound employees. Still. Steve folds in his own self-condemnation with his fury at your deceit.

And you lied. You lied to him.

He drives over and stands by the door, flips open the phone, and calls the hotline.

“Ready,” a female voice chirps. It’s customary. No chit-chat just immediately prepared to listen to and research the caller’s question, but he can’t be sure it’s you from one word. Then Steve realizes he can’t say anything because he’ll give away that he also knows you have screened his calls from his normal number during times you are supposed to be off.

“Unclear. Weak audio connection. Boosting in three, two—“

Steve pounds on your door because goddamnit, stop working, woman. There’s a very sharp squeak from the phone (and through the entry) before the line cuts out. His heart rate and breathing spike in anger when he hears a muffled, “what do you want?”

It’s sad, not quizzical or alarmed. You’ve looked through the peephole at him.

“Open the door,” Steve says in his Captain voice, and you do, right away, unable to not comply. He wiggles the phone. “I know for a fact three other people are on-call. Explain yourself.”

You’ve also straightened in anger, but the posture is defensive and fragile. “It’s not like my work suffers, and I can keep going—“

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” he barks back, stepping over the threshold and blocking the entire doorway. “And you suffer even if the work doesn’t.”

You have no rebuttal for a long moment, frowning at his intrusion until you try again.

“Well, you…you’ve been up since at least five—“

“I have a physical advantage to handle more than you on less sleep.”

Your face sours further. “And that makes you better than me?!”

He’s defeated by that, having first scared the daylights out of you by yelling in the atrium, then interrupting you at the lab, and now showing up at your home to yell some more. Steve isn’t at all sure what’s gotten into him.

His shoulders sink. He finally takes a second to look around.

“You’re done. You are off work for the night. Do not pick up that phone.” He snatches it away again. “Just do something else.”

Without moving your feet, your whole body swivels to look around your apartment. You fill the silence with a short sniffle before confessing, “I…I don’t have anything else to do.”

Neither does he. Steve has not a single clue what he’d do if he were told the exact same thing.

“It won’t fit,” you gasp in frustration.

Steve sighs. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” He continues to watch you struggle, leaning forward just enough so his breath fans over your face. “Go on. You can do it. It’s meant to be.”

“Shut up,” you whimper before dropping the slippery piece in defeat.

“You know in real life—“ he clucks his tongue “—they make cars big enough for your brood there.”

“Steve, this is the game of LIFE. I don’t know that anyone is supposed to end up with five children and a spouse. I’ll just have to strap him to the top of the van.”

As you delicately lay the little man to the side, Steve frowns.

“That’s no way to treat your beloved second son!”

“Who said it was my son I kicked outta the car?”

He barely stifles a laugh and goes to spin for his turn, but not Steve’s turn.

In order to make the game last longer, and because you both have somewhat alter egos, you are playing with Steve, Captain America, Genie, and yourself.

Genie has apparently been super busy having five children. It’s ridiculous.

So Captain America scores one for his perfect little life: a mansion.

“Look at you, Mister Two-Kids-and-A-White-Picket-Fence,” you chide.

One boy and one girl, of course. It’s now the running joke of the game that everyone’s life is terrible compared to Cap’s, even Steve’s.

Steve has three sons, and he keeps grumbling that he wants a daughter. You have offered him one of yours. He feigned offense. He openly hopes to avoid ending up like Genie though.

“I guess I’m just very dedicated to servicing my customers,” you joke in your best phone voice.

Steve sputters and blushes, putting down his to-go container in favor of sipping more water.

He withheld your phone to order, too, and insisted on paying for the obscene amount of food (because he eats like a horse, it seems). In addition, you are required to have half a glass of water every time your phone goes off. Self-care, he says. Hydration is good.

His phone has vibrated a few times as well, and because he’s him, Steve always answers to make absolutely sure it’s not urgent. He talks in his Captain voice, which gave you the idea to make him play the board game like that. He’s actually quite funny trying to get it together and ‘act the part’ while he spins a tiny rainbow dial that he’s already broken twice.

The air of irritation he arrived with has dissipated, and he smiles more. It makes you smile to see him relax. He’s more animated than you would have guessed. He holds himself very straight and still as Cap; Steve is a lot more approachable and a lot easier to make fun of.

He almost left in a completely flabbergasted huff when his original suggestion was for you to have a hot bath or something. Your quick “what are you gonna do? Watch me?” made Steve nearly crawl out of his skin in apology, but you decided to put him out of his misery and suggested eating instead.

“Right. Food,” he muttered under his breath, “that’s a good, basic life requirement…”

And that’s when you also had the idea for this game.

Best decision ever.

He’s never played, so you only made it through a few turns before the delivery arrived. Steve is practically a natural…a natural loser, that is, and it somehow makes him even more perfect. As Cap, he fights for justice, but he doesn’t fight over game rules or what’s fair about random cards and moving in an arbitrary pattern on the board. He doesn’t care if he wins, and oddly, you feel like the gleam in his eyes says “I’m winning by just being here.”

You feel the same. This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time, and it’s just a stupid foldout piece of cardboard. He’s just that magical.

So you both hide away in your own little bottle all night.

More jabs, more setbacks, more triumphant returns from behind later, and you barely care who wins. You chat absently between every spin. You have too much fun going wild with your alter ego’s stories. Then it’s past the three-hour mark of no-calls and quite late.

The food isn’t all gone, so you hop up to make Steve a doggy bag to take home. He shifts from relaxed to wildly awkward in the space of your walk back over.

“So,” he drawls, staring at your two phones on the coffee table, side by side and silent.

“So,” you mimic with a smirk, “I promise to not work until tomorrow, logged in or not. You have my word. Scouts’ honor.”

“I’d say I trust you—“ he bobs his head around, thinking “—but I don’t, so I might have to check up on you.”

“Oh dear,” you gasp. “A home visit? Expected or unexpected?”

He clearly feels bad about how he ended up here for the night, but Steve steps forward to take the wrapped offering of leftovers.

“Maybe expected. Next week? Same time?”

“Sure. I can survive on eating once a week.” It’s cheeky and a little forward of you, implying you might only eat with him and so he should see you that much more, but Steve beams.

He squints a little. “Or maybe sooner?”

“I’d like that. This…this was fun.” You step closer to gently kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Captai—Steve. Thanks.”

“Next time, I want a daughter,” he laughs, tilting to kiss your cheek, too, and then he jumps back and slaps his forehead. “No. Not like. I’m so sorry. That came out all wrong.”

You cackle while he still tries to correct himself.

“We can play the game. And in the game, it would be nice if—would you stop? I didn’t mean it like that.”

A few big breaths has you settling but just barely.

“I know, but hey, maybe next time you’ll be the one tied up?”

Steve swallows hard with huge eyes.

“To the top of the van, that is, because you would give up your seat for the children, right?”

Yeah, he would, he agrees and sees himself out, adding one more good night as he plucks his phone back, pushing it into his pocket next to the burner.

On his ride home, he already has the urge to check.

“Hey,” you answer immediately. “What’s up?”

“You aren’t supposed to pick up. You promised,” he snorts, smiling.

“But I knew it was you.”

He’ll be mad at that eventually. He should be mad at that. He could give another Captain speech about overworking and caring for yourself and yadda yadda, but not today.

No. Not today.

Today, you cared for each other, even though you didn’t know how, even though you didn’t want to, even though it was hard. Tomorrow, you can both care even more.

Immediately started bawling. Whoops.

Reminder to self: it isn't even the big things that make you feel cared for. Sometimes it's just a very simple joy.

[Main Masterlist]

#ro answers #hypocrites unite! #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers hurt/comfort #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader

[imthebadguyyy]

Coming Back Home To You

pairing : steve rogers x reader

fandom : marvel/avengers

synopsis : after a new threat wreak havoc on the team, steve suggests a safehouse with a surprise awaiting them inside.

a/n : inspired majorly by clints house!!

warnings : mentions of mind control and injuries etc. typical marvel stuff

the quinjet is completely silent, apart from the quiet hum of the engine. the entire team is still, dark shapes in the dimly lit cabin, everyone in varying levels of disarray.

natasha sits completely still, eyes staring unseeingly at the large console while a worried bruce sits beside her, combing her short red locks behind her ears. thor sits across from them, hand trembling slightly as it gripped mjolnir, mouth pressed in a thin line.

clint sits on the other end of the space, eyes squeezed shut as his wife spoke softly from the phone, reassuring him the 4 of them were all okay. tony sits a little away from him, his hands gripping his phone, staring at the picture of pepper and him peeking out at him.

wanda sits next to steve, her eyes wet with unshed tears, glimmering in the fading sunshine. steve casts worried glances in her direction from time to time, as he commanders the jet, the coordinates set in as he informs maria about where they're going. bucky sits on the other side, quiet, but not as badly affected as the rest. he had stayed on the jet for the majority of the time.

"i think we need a small break. some time to reset. whatever these things are, we need a break okay?" he says, voice firm. his team is down and he needs to look after them.

"where are you going to take them?" maria hill's voice fills the empty space. "a safehouse. fury knows where" is his cryptic response and she furrows a brow, but decides if fury knows, it's safe enough.

"okay. keep me posted" she replies, and logs off. steve takes a deep breath and wonders how it all went so wrong. one minute they were taking down the hydra base, and the second, they had all been blasted black, minds trapped in a simulation of them carrying out their deepest fears.

even wanda had been caught off guard, and before they knew it, bucky had brought the jet closer and steve was struggling off the ground to get the others back into the jet, back to safety.

they had all remained entrapped, until one by one it broke and they all snapped out gasping and shaking.

the sky is fading, a soft orange shade similar to ripe peaches, streaks of golden sunshine peeking out occasionally, as they sped away from the city, white clouds becoming more and more prominent as they reached the countryside.

after what felt like hours, steve landed the jet in what seemed like an isolated farmland, acres of green land and small dairy farms in smatterings across the area.

"where are we?" thor asked, helping wanda get to her feet. "yeah cap, are you sure this place is safe? it seems deserted" tony said, hiding the slight quiver in his knees.

"it's safe" he confirmed, helping bruce get natasha to her feet. "just have to walk for 5 minutes to the left" he continued, leading the way.

the team followed silently behind, trudging like a pack of kicked puppies, exhaustion laced on every line on all their faces.

"how do you know this place is safe?" clint asked, striding up to catch up with steve. "you'll see" he responded, smiling softly when a large house came into view.

"oh.." clint said, eyes brightening as he looked to steve for confirmation. he gave him a small smile in response.

a beautiful rustic, wooden house stood surrounded by what seemed like never ending green farmland. a beautiful wooden shed stood beside the house, and pretty flower pots and trees trailed around the house.

a beautiful patio was at the back of the house, with a small outdoor fire place and covered in fairy lights and small light bulbs, with a small table and couches.

it seemed to scream homely and comforting,and seemed to exude an aura of warmth. clint took in the place with a smile, noting the swing set and slide in the yard, and assorted collection of children's toys in the backyard.

"what is this place?" wanda muttered groggily, holding onto thor for support. "you'll see, but please wipe your feet on the mat" he said, gently pushing the front door of the house open.

what greeted them was the scent of vanilla and musk, oakwood and patchouli, and the subtle whiff of pinecones. the hallway was bright and sunny, pretty paintings and photos decorating the walls. there were small figurines made of ceramic, that looked hand painted.

as steve turned the corner, natasha noted the way he kept glancing up the long staircase, eyes glimmering with what looked like endless adoration.

"sweetheart?" he called softly, taking off his shield and setting it down on a shoe rack, that looked like it was made for his shield.

he neared the kitchen, the scent of cinnamon filled the air, and thors tummy rumbled loudly.

"steve?" came a honeyed voice, and the team was able to put a face to the voice when a gorgeous woman made her way out from behind the stove. she had eyes that sparkled softly, crinkled in a bright smile as she looked at their captain. she had an elegance to her, an aura of gentility and kindness that seemed to radiata in the brightness of her smile.

she was clad in a soft summer sundress dress, a pretty white dress that was covered in blue flowers, flowing just below her knees. they watched her eyes widen in joy, and rush towards steve, who pulled her into his arms, head burying into her neck, wrapping his arms tightly around her plush waist, pressing soft kisses to her shoulders, before pulling away and pressing his lips to her own, a deep, passionate kiss that took his breath away.

"hi sweetheart" he murmured against her lips before drawing back, suddenly hyper-aware of his team. "you're home!" the woman exclaimed again a soft laugh leaving her lips. "yes I am, and i have a few guests darling, i hope that's alright?" he asked, gently cradling her head in his palm

"uh sure! hi!" you said, waving kindly to the disheveled team. bruce smiled at you, confusion still present in his eyes, while thor and wanda gave you warm smiles. natasha looked at you giving you a once over, before flashing you a weak smile. she decided she liked your kind eyes.

"y/n!" bucky exclaimed, rushing forward to pull you into a tight hug. you laughed, squeezing him, before pulling back to assess him. "hi buck! how are you?"

the super soldier grinned at you, eyes flashing with an odd expression as he shook his head sadly. "I'm okay"

"care to introduce the rest of us?" tony chimed in awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

"guys, meet my wife, y/n l/n rogers." steve said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in close to him.

"i know all your names" you confessed, playing with the string of your dress nervously as they all said hello softly.

"how long have you been married?" bruce asked, slowly warming up to his captains wife.

"about five years. fury helped me set this up like he helped clint. didn't want her getting involved in the dangers of being married to an avenger. thats why I don't wear my ring around everyone" he said, answering the questions on everyones lips.

"it's nice to meet you" wanda said shyly, and you gave her an encouraging smile.

"why don't you guys go and get changed and bathed? there's three bathrooms in here and a wash room in the shed in case you don't want to wait" you said , going towards the oven to turn it off. "I have some fresh cinnamon rolls and chocolate chip cookies in the oven, and i can have a cold jug of lemonade ready for you by the time you're done getting changed" you said, leaning down to make sure everything was done baking.

"where are my two troublemakers?" steve asked quietly, not wanting to spoil the biggest surprise of all. you smiled, pointing towards the staircase. "let me call them for you-" before you could finish, the thundering of footsteps became audible and you shared an amused glance with bucky.

"daddy!" two gleeful voices filled the air and two blue eyed, pigtailed figures came running into the kitchen, clad in denim dungarees and white shirts.

"hi my loves!" steve said, scooping both his daughters into his arms, laughing when they squealed and kissed his cheeks.

"we missed you!" the girl on the left said, burrowing into her dad. "so much!" the girl on the right completed, squishing his cheeks.

"guys, meet sarah marie rogers and stella jamie rogers" steve smiled proudly, to an awe struck group of avengers who had their jaws on the floor.

"you have children?!?!" natasha said, mouth agape as she stared at the twins in steve's arms. "actual puny little humans?" thor said, eyes as wide as saucers.

clint just laughed, waving to the little girls. stella buried her face in her dad's neck, clearly the more reserved of the two, while sarah waved brightly back at him.

"uncle bucky!" sarah exclaimed, reaching for the man who took her with a laugh, spinning her around. "hello little angel! I've missed you!" he laughed, ruffling her hair softly.

you watched your daughter's reuniting with their father, a soft smile on your face. how you had missed him!

"well, I guess captain america's got more than just his shield to protect now! who knew old cap could multitask? i wonder if he still gives the 'I can do this all day' speech during diaper changes." tony chimed in, smirking at steve.

you laughed at the comment, shaking his hand warmly. "yeah he does sometimes" you smirked, earning a look of betrayal from your husband while wanda and clint laughed.

"woah you're black widow!" sarah said, looking wide eyed at natasha. "you're my favourite avenger!" she exclaimed, earning a chuckle from the assassin, who raised her hand up for a high five.

"whose your favourite?" clint asked stella, his fatherly instincts kicking in.

stella mumbled something softly, still holding on to her daddy. "tell him sweetie, thats hawkeye, remember i told you about him?" steve urged gently, softly pushing his daughter's long locks away from her eyes.

"my favourite is thor" she mumbled, eyes widening as she took in the asgardian. steve watched as the god visibly melted, a bright smile on his face as he strode over to the little girl.

"it appears that i am the mightiest avenger in the eyes of the smallest mortal! dear child k if you require any tips on wielding a tiny hammer or battling bedtime monsters, you know who to call. i humbly acclaim myself your immortal servant" he said seriously, holding out his large hand for a handshake.

stella just turned away, shy and flustered at the hulking avenger before saying a soft "okay" earning a laugh from bucky.

"she's just a kid thor" bruce said, looking up from the paintings around the room. "did you guys paint these?" he asked, looking in awe of the paintings. "daddy did some and we did some" sarah responded, still happily snuggled in her uncle's arms.

"wow" wanda said, examining one of a field of tulips. "which one of you painted this?" she asked, looking over at you. "me" a shy voice responded as stella spoke up. "oh you're so talented!" wanda said, voice still soft. she related to this quiet child, and felt an immediate connect with her.

"t-thank you" she said, offering her a sugar sweet smile. "do you want to see my other paintings and crafts?" she asked, slowly clambering off her dad's lap, and walking carefully over to the sokovian.

"I'd love that!" she said, leaning her hands towards the little girl, who took her hand in her own.

"uncle bucky, do you want to help me build my trampoline?" sarah asked, arms looped around his neck. "sure sweetheart, we can do that".

"darling, let's let them all get comfortable first okay?" you interrupted, smiling when your younger twin (sarah) came bounding over to you for a hug.

"okay mama, I'm gonna go and show stella and auntie wanda some of my drawings too!" she said and she was shooting off like lightning again, but not before hugging her dad's knees and saying "i love you daddy!" again to steve.

as the team dispersed to the various bathrooms, steve led you up to your bedroom, closing the door behind you two.

"my sweet baby, I've missed you so much" he said, advancing towards you, cupping your cheeks in his hands, tugging you close, forehead resting gently against yours.

"I've missed you more. are you okay? how come you're here?" you asked, brushing his sandy blonde locks away from his forehead.

his blue eyes clouded over and his grip on you tightened. "i thought i-" his voice broke and you immediately wrapped your arms around him, hearing him take a deep stuttering breath.

"there was this new hydra variant. some element of mind control. I saw you and the girls...lying here... cold and..." his voice broke and he pulled back, thumb grabbing your chin to yank you into a kiss.

he needed to feel you. to physically feel and make sure you were alive and right there with him.

"I'm right here steve, right here my darling. I'm okay, the girls are okay. and were all right here." you chanted like a mantra, stroking his hair.

he pulled you into a kiss again, messy, teeth and tongue clashing, hands roaming your waist, hips and finally resting in your hair and one hand on your waist.

"i love you" he murmured, eyes never leaving yours as he leaned back. "i love you more" you whispered back, slowly pushing him to sit down. "let's get you changed honey" you said, drawing a warm bath as you slipped into the bathroom.

steve took a deep breath.

it was all going to be okay.

he was finally home.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : let me know if this should have more parts!! was thinking of one with multiple scenarios of them bonding together, explaining their names etc etc! let me know!! I'm always open to chat too xoxox

happy reading!! ♥️

TAGS

all writing - @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove @bluesongbird-blog

marvel -

to be added to the taglist send me an ask or a dm specifying which fandom 🩷

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader comfort #steve rogers x reader hurt/comfort #marvel #marvel x reader #avengers age of ultron #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america x female reader #captain america x reader fluff #captain america imagines #captain america x reader imagines #steve rogers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers x y/n #avengers x you

[wingheadshellhead]

Tony Stark & Steve Rogers in Earth's Mightiest Heroes 2.19 Emperor Stark

#marveledit #stevetonyedit #stevetony #superhusbands #stony #steve rogers #captain america #tony stark #iron man #earth's mightiest heroes #type: gifs #universe: emh #episode: 2.19 emperor stark #& #original: gifs #original: emh #emh has no business going this hard #they really were That Bitch #serving stevetony mind control hurt/comfort 'i believe in you iron man' in 2012

[welldonebeca]

Miss, PhD (XXV)

WC: 950+ words Warnings: Fluff. College AU. Angst. A/N: For those who are curious: the house

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Steve had a bag of marshmallows and a chocolate bar as he climbed the stairs up to the second floor and strode to your bedroom, ready to cushion the bad news he was about to give you with your favourite treats.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you to get the news normally. You were both adults, and he trusted your relationship to know you wouldn’t break up with him over such a little thing, but there was a little part of him - Stevie, the skinny boy who watched his father struggling to feed his family and skipping dinner and breakfast so he and his mother could eat three meals a day - was scared. Very much terrified of what the future meant now that he was unemployed.

“Hey,” you stretched lazily on the bed just as he closed the door. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”

He smiled a little and sat by your side, giving your lips a little peck and pulling away, but going right back when you pulled him, kissing him for you and bringing a minty taste into his mouth.

“There,” you rubbed your nose on his. “Now you’ve kissed me.”

Steve chuckled, giving you a new peck.

“Can we talk?” he asked. “About earlier today?”

You moved back, caressing his cheek softly and sitting, and he opened the bag full of marshmallows, offering it to you and also taking a few for himself, but you just looked at the bag.

“Did Jarvis tell you to bring me the sweets to soften something bad?”

He grimaced, embarrassed.

“Maybe,” he confessed.

You shook your head.

“What is wrong?” you asked him.

He sighed, eating up the sweets as you waited for him, not eating at all.

“When we were out and, you know, my phone rang,” he told you. “And it was Phil. Coulson.”

You sat straighter, no doubt seeing where he was going.

“Your boss?”

Steve nodded and sighed, squeezing the squish treat in his fingers.

“He fired me,” he told you, not wanting to go around and around in circles about it. “Because I am entirely replaceable as a teacher.”

Your face turned sad, and he chuckled, just as sad.

“There is nothing I can offer them that any other professor can’t do.”

Steve closed his eyes and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him close, and he found himself slowly lying down and letting you cuddle him, laying his face on your chest and sniffling a little as your fingers moved to caress his hair.

“What do you need?” you asked gently, lips pressed against his temple.

He sighed, surrounded by the soft smell of you, feeling a little less alone now.

“This is nice,” he confessed.

You chuckled quietly, just a little bit, fingers running on his hair and massaging his scalp.

“I’m sorry for not telling you right then,” he sighed. “I guess I just needed time to process that.”

You just hummed a little confirmation.

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve thought with himself.

What was there to say?

Teaching wasn’t his passion. If anything, it was a means to an end and nothing more. But now… well, now he was a little screwed.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked. “I need to find another job.”

He was met with a little bit of silence and then you stopped moving.

“Well, do you?” you asked.

He raised his head to look at you, and you were already looking at his face when he did.

“Maybe that’s your chance,” you remarked. “Maybe this is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for, to try your dream out.”

Steve stared at you, unsure.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I’ve never sold any painting in my life, how can I just start being a painter now?”

He was 35, way too old to go chasing some dreams of being an artist. The two of you wanted to get married and have kids before the decade ended, and those things needed planning and money, he couldn’t expect you to fund everything while he failed at making his own money.

“Starting!” you said simply. “My mum knows some galleries and collectors and we can get you in contact with people inside the art world! And you have enough material for a couple of new pieces or so already.”

He blinked, surprised at how you weren’t even worried about things.

“Well, what if that doesn’t work?” he asked.

“Then we find some university looking for a new art teacher.”

Steve squinted, looking at you, but couldn’t help softening when you took his face in your hands, looking so sure that it made him feel like he could do almost everything.

“I know you don’t believe yourself sometimes,” you told him. “But do you trust me?”

“With my life,” he confirmed simply.

You smiled, and pressed a little kiss to his nose.

“Then trust me with this,” you caressed his cheeks. “I know you’ll do great.”

Steve watching you. It was hard to believe he could do it, but the way you even looked at him and sounded so sure of everything - that even if he failed, you would be there and would help him succeed in a different way - just warmed him up and made him feel invincible.

“Alright,” he chuckled, looking down. “Alright. We’ll try.”

You kissed his lips softly, pecking them before kissing his cheeks and chin over and over again.

“Y/N!” he giggled.

“Shh,” you shushed him, giggling along, and looked at his face with a smile on your lips. “I’m proud of you.”

Steve relaxed, feeling less tense now.

“Thank you,” he spoke softly. “I don’t think I’d do this without you.”

You just kissed him once more, smiling.

“You’re welcome,” you rubbed your nose on his. “I do my best.”

. .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

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