steveshaped - Tumblr blog

steveshaped · 4 months

Text

Resolutions

Title: Resolutions

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing

Summary: Steve and Y/N recover from their night out for New Year’s Eve.

A/N: Happy New Year! Here’s some short fluff to kick off 2024, just in case you already need it. Thank you for supporting me all of 2023. I’m excited to see what this year brings!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The soreness and stiffness of your muscles is the first thing you notice as you blink awake. The second is that Steve is no longer in bed. Slowly, you sit up and groan as you do. You grab the blankets from the inside and pull them with you, doing your best to stay covered by their warmth as you peer around the room and search for him.

You clear your throat, then call, “Steve?”

A moment later, he appears in your doorway, already dressed in his running gear. Steve smiles once he sees you staring blearily at him from under the covers.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

You sigh and snuggle back down in bed now that you know he’s okay. “Good. What time is it? Are you really going to run? We were up all night.” Yawning, you pull the blankets as far up to your chin as you can, and Steve laughs in response.

He closes the distance between himself and the bed, then sits beside your legs. You turn on your side and shift slightly towards the center of the bed to make more room for him. From under the covers, you reach out a hand, and he takes it. Steve’s fingers are warm, which more than makes up for the blankets you almost immediately miss once you stick your hand out. The room is far too cold for your liking.

“I promised Tony that I’d run with him,” he replies. “New Year’s resolutions and all that.”

You hum and close your eyes, enjoying the heat that radiates from Steve’s body and warms up your legs.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You peek open an eye.

“Are you going to fall asleep again?”

Grinning, you let go of his hand and stretch underneath the blankets, reveling in the way your muscles lengthen, then relax. After the long night of standing, walking, and dancing that you’d had the night before, it feels sublime. You let out a groan as you relax back against the mattress.

“No,” you reply. You flip onto your back, watching Steve as he bends over to adjust the laces on his shoes. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

He sits back up. “Maybe an hour or so. I’m not sure how long Tony’s going to want to run.”

“Has he ever been running with you before?” you ask, tsking when Steve shakes his head. “That’ll be fun, I’m sure. He’s probably just gonna end up mad at you.”

Steve laughs and shifts so he’s facing you more than before. “That’s what I told him. You gonna be up by the time I get back?”

You grin and he laughs again, knowing that you’re likely to stay in bed as long as you can. It’s not often that you have the day off work and have no appointments or errands to run.

Leaning down, Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. You tilt your head to the side and close your eyes when he does, reveling in the sweet gesture. As he pulls away, you open your eyes again and watch as he gets up to go.

“Run fast! Faster than Tony!” you call after him, and Steve shouts something you can’t quite make out in response. It makes you smile nonetheless, and you snuggle back under the covers once more, ready to doze until he returns.

When you finally do get out of bed an hour and a half later, Steve still isn’t back from his run. You don’t worry, but you do shoot him a text that you’ll know he’ll see on his watch, no matter how fast he’s running. He’s set up a special vibration pattern for the alerts when you text or call so that he always knows when it’s you.

FRIDAY picks out an upbeat, motivation-boosting playlist when you ask, and you get ready as you sing along to some of the high-tempo songs she’s gathered from your music library. You stretch, pop a pain pill to help with your sore muscles, and pull on your comfiest house clothes before you brush your teeth and wash your face. You’re just starting to make breakfast when the front door opens and FRIDAY alerts you to Steve’s arrival.

“Hey!” you call out, leaning back from the stove so you can peer at him past the fridge.

Steve’s kicking off his shoes at the front door. He’s drenched in sweat and is moving stiffly, and you have to suppress a wince. You know that whatever effects he’s feeling from the long run, Tony’s probably feeling them tenfold.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

He looks up and meets your eyes, and this time you let yourself wince so that he can see you’ve noticed the weary look on his face.

“That bad, huh?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Steve finally answers, panting slightly. He tilts his head back, then lifts his water bottle and shakes the last few drops into his open mouth. “Just long. I didn’t stretch as much as I should’ve, either.”

“Well, you haven’t run since before Christmas. Most people probably feel the same way you do today, too,” you say.

You flip the last protein pancake you’ve made for him, then go back to chopping up the fruit. Steve pads across the living room and into the kitchen. He immediately discards his water bottle into the sink and pulls a glass from the cabinet.

“There’s juice in the fridge,” you tell him, not glancing up from your work. “Or I can make coffee, if you want.”

“I just need water,” he replies.

Steve fills up his glass three times from the water dispenser built into the Stark Industries mega fridge. You’re thankful that Tony had it built into your apartment. Otherwise, you’d have to go grocery shopping three or four times a week just to make sure that both you and Steve are well-fed. Between his high metabolism, the extra food he needs after his long workouts, and your own meals, you’re certain that the two of you go through several hundred dollars worth of groceries a week.

“Breakfast should be done once you’re out of the shower,” you say.

You look over at Steve then, and he nods as he finishes swallowing the water and sets the empty glass down on the counter. He leaves you to go shower then, and you finish cooking as you listen to the shower start.

Steve sings while he showers. It makes you smile, just like it always does, as you set the table and open the blinds, peering out at the city. The snow from Christmas Day has almost melted, and the cleanup from last night’s festivities is almost over. You’ve lived in the city for years and it still amazes you how quickly Times Square gets cleaned up, then the streets that surround it.

“What are you looking at?”

You turn to find Steve standing in the doorway to the kitchen, drying his hair with a towel. You hadn’t heard him stop singing, nor had you heard him finish up in the shower. He must’ve been quick today.

“Just amazed at how quickly everything got cleaned up, is all,” you say, moving away from the window. “The street was a mess when we got home.”

Steve chuckles and drapes the towel over the back of one of the wooden chairs at the table. “Well, Tony did host his own party last night, in addition to the one in the Square,” he replies.

You grin, remembering how you’d snuck out of Tony’s over-the-top party to take Steve to see the ball drop. Given that it was your first New Year’s Eve together, you’d wanted it to be special, and he’d confided just before Christmas that he’d never seen the ball drop. He’d never managed to see it in person before he went into the ice, and once he was back, he’d been too overwhelmed to bother watching it on TV. You’d held his hand the whole time, and once you’d gotten to the VIP spot you’d managed to reserve after some serious name-dropping, you’d stood in front of him so he could wrap his arms around you to keep you warm.

Steve had been amazed by all the technology involved in the performances and the actual ball drop itself. He’d asked a billion questions during the show, enough that you’d spent more time explaining who Miley Cyrus was than you did actually watching her set. You didn’t mind, though. You’d answer Steve’s questions for a thousand years if it meant spending time together.

“Which one was your favorite?” you ask as you pull out your chair to sit at the table. Steve does the same.

“As much as I liked the one here, I liked the one in the Square.”

You heap pancakes onto both of your plates. Once you do, Steve starts dishing out toppings.

“Yeah?”

“I got to be closer to you.”

Heat flames in your cheeks and you mutter something about liking the same thing as you dig into your food. You know that Steve is smiling to himself as he starts to eat too—he always grins like a little boy who’s just kissed a girl for the first time whenever he successfully flusters you. It’s endearing.

The two of you eat, talking about the parties and his morning run in between bites, and Steve cleans up while you queue up the most recent episode of your show. Once the last dish is on the drying rack, he takes up his normal spot beside you on the couch. He drapes his arm behind your shoulders and stretches his legs out in front of him as you press play and set aside the remote. You pull a blanket over your laps, the massive fluffy one that Clint had bought you for Christmas.

Halfway through the episode, Steve looks over at you and asks, “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

You glance in his direction, then scoot closer so you can cuddle against him. “I don’t know. I don’t think I really have one this year. After everything that’s happened, I guess my goal is to have a calm year, but that’s not really something I can control, you know?”

He hums in acknowledgement and shifts his arm so his hand is resting on your shoulder. His thumb rubs a steady back and forth movement as you continue to watch the show, but after a few minutes you tilt your head back to look up at him.

“Do you have one? A resolution?”

“I do,” Steve says. He looks away from the screen to meet your eyes, and he smiles a little. “Maybe it’s a little old-fashioned, though. Tony said it was, at least.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“I want to spend more time with you. And when I’m with you,” he adds, “I want to be fully focused on you, not thinking about whatever mission they might send us on next or whatever’s happening halfway across the world.”

Smiling wide, you reach up with one hand to touch your fingertips over Steve’s cheek, turning his face more towards you, and then you pull him down for a kiss. His free hand moves to cradle your face as his lips move against yours.

“That has to be the sweetest, most romantic New Year’s resolution I’ve ever heard,” you murmur.

Steve chuckles. His breath is warm as it fans across your face. “Yeah?”

“Did you practice that this morning with Tony?”

He bursts into laughter and pulls away. You’re grinning and watching him as he tries not to seem flustered by your seemingly innocuous question, and you have to force yourself to hold in your own laughter so you can pretend to be serious about it.

“I’m just saying, he’s more of a ladies man than you,” you continue, “so it only makes logical sense that you’d try to convince him to teach you some moves!”

“Teach me some moves?” Steve repeats, smiling wide. He shifts from his spot on the couch, easily moving until he’s stretched out across it and you’re on your back underneath him. The blanket falls to the floor and one of his legs is braced on top of it, because you haven’t been able to order a couch that’s wide enough for him to lay on comfortably.

“Yeah, you know. Flirting! Did you forget what that is?”

He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss you, but it’s sweet and cut short because you’re both smiling too much. You give in to the laughter. He rolls his eyes, though he still smiles even as you throw your head back, your whole body shaking.

Steve presses another chaste kiss to your lips when you calm down enough to breathe properly. “Do you really think I need help flirting with you?” he teases.

You shake your head and pull him down to lay on top of you, then wrap your arms around him. One hand goes to play with the hair on the back of his head while the other rubs up and down his spine, and you feel him practically melt against you a few moments later.

Smiling to yourself, you answer, “You know I don’t, lover boy.”

He falls asleep sometime during the next episode, but you don’t mind. You turn your head to watch the show as you continue to rub Steve’s back, and every once and a while you close your eyes just to soak in the moment. It’s the perfect, most peaceful start to the new year. You want to relish every second of it.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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steveshaped · 4 months

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Resolutions

Title: Resolutions

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing

Summary: Steve and Y/N recover from their night out for New Year’s Eve.

A/N: Happy New Year! Here’s some short fluff to kick off 2024, just in case you already need it. Thank you for supporting me all of 2023. I’m excited to see what this year brings!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You clear your throat, then call, “Steve?”

A moment later, he appears in your doorway, already dressed in his running gear. Steve smiles once he sees you staring blearily at him from under the covers.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“I promised Tony that I’d run with him,” he replies. “New Year’s resolutions and all that.”

You hum and close your eyes, enjoying the heat that radiates from Steve’s body and warms up your legs.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You peek open an eye.

“Are you going to fall asleep again?”

“No,” you reply. You flip onto your back, watching Steve as he bends over to adjust the laces on his shoes. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

He sits back up. “Maybe an hour or so. I’m not sure how long Tony’s going to want to run.”

“Has he ever been running with you before?” you ask, tsking when Steve shakes his head. “That’ll be fun, I’m sure. He’s probably just gonna end up mad at you.”

Steve laughs and shifts so he’s facing you more than before. “That’s what I told him. You gonna be up by the time I get back?”

You grin and he laughs again, knowing that you’re likely to stay in bed as long as you can. It’s not often that you have the day off work and have no appointments or errands to run.

“Hey!” you call out, leaning back from the stove so you can peer at him past the fridge.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

He looks up and meets your eyes, and this time you let yourself wince so that he can see you’ve noticed the weary look on his face.

“That bad, huh?”

“Well, you haven’t run since before Christmas. Most people probably feel the same way you do today, too,” you say.

“There’s juice in the fridge,” you tell him, not glancing up from your work. “Or I can make coffee, if you want.”

“I just need water,” he replies.

“Breakfast should be done once you’re out of the shower,” you say.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just amazed at how quickly everything got cleaned up, is all,” you say, moving away from the window. “The street was a mess when we got home.”

Steve chuckles and drapes the towel over the back of one of the wooden chairs at the table. “Well, Tony did host his own party last night, in addition to the one in the Square,” he replies.

“Which one was your favorite?” you ask as you pull out your chair to sit at the table. Steve does the same.

“As much as I liked the one here, I liked the one in the Square.”

You heap pancakes onto both of your plates. Once you do, Steve starts dishing out toppings.

“Yeah?”

“I got to be closer to you.”

Halfway through the episode, Steve looks over at you and asks, “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

“Do you have one? A resolution?”

“I do,” Steve says. He looks away from the screen to meet your eyes, and he smiles a little. “Maybe it’s a little old-fashioned, though. Tony said it was, at least.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“That has to be the sweetest, most romantic New Year’s resolution I’ve ever heard,” you murmur.

Steve chuckles. His breath is warm as it fans across your face. “Yeah?”

“Did you practice that this morning with Tony?”

“I’m just saying, he’s more of a ladies man than you,” you continue, “so it only makes logical sense that you’d try to convince him to teach you some moves!”

“Yeah, you know. Flirting! Did you forget what that is?”

Steve presses another chaste kiss to your lips when you calm down enough to breathe properly. “Do you really think I need help flirting with you?” he teases.

Smiling to yourself, you answer, “You know I don’t, lover boy.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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steveshaped · 4 months

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when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

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steveshaped · 4 months

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hii can I get whiskey w Steve Rogers for oral/face riding?

Adjusting.

warnings - smut. cursing.

nomad steve makes me feral. that's all. I was feeling this one.

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

He's adjusting, to this new life.

He's shy. Taking it one day at a time. Reminding himself to breathe when things get overwhelming.

Soon, he finds his feet. Regains his confidence. Starts asking for things, setting boundaries, taking what he wants a little more.

He keeps surprising you. With his knowledge, new slang he uses, his ability to use a phone. He's a fast learner.

He's braver, now.

He's adjusting.

Trying to get used to the fact that women aren't as seemingly fragile as they were. They run the world more openly, now, and Steve loves it.

He loves you.

Tries to show you how much when he's got you between his sheets, kissing every inch of skin he can find. Gentle, tender, careful.

You tell him that you know he loves you, no matter what. He doesn't have to be so tentative. It doesn't change the way you look at him.

He's in a lust fuelled haze when he finds the courage.

"Sit on my face."

You choke on your breath, gasping for air.

"What?"

"You heard me, honey. Sit on my face. Now."

You've never seen him like this. Frayed at the edges, feral almost. His eyes are as dark as the wet spot between your legs.

You quirk a brow at him in challenge, but he doesn't back down. So you grant him his wish. Crawling up his body until you're hovering over his pretty face, deep gaze focused on you.

"Is this what you want?" you whisper.

"More than anything."

He's practically growling, voice lower and rougher than you've ever heard it. You owe a thanks to whatever has got him so riled up.

He tugs you down to his mouth with two strong hands around your thighs, grip hard enough that you know you'll bruise tomorrow. You can't wait.

You tangle your fingers through his golden blonde locks and tug, whining when he groans, from the depths his chest. The two of you are animalistic, finally tapping into the carnal desires that have been there all along.

You're practically riding the gorgeous ridge of his nose, reveling in the way his tongue slips inside and curls. He might not have much experience with this, but he's always been naturally gifted. He's one of those people that's good at everything.

He's groaning, humming, murmuring, enjoying this just as much as you are. Your hands almost splinter the headboard, skin pulled taut across tense knuckles. You're so close you can taste it, honey sweet and saccharine.

"Good girl. Good fuckin' girl. Come on my face, honey. Please."

It's the broken please that gets you, the desperation in his tone and the tightening grip on your hips. You see stars, dizzying and clear, blood rushing to your head. Steve doesn't let up, determined to see how pretty you look when he finally pushes you to your limit.

You collapse against his chest, leaning into his touch like a kitten. Rough fingertips trace patterns across your back, your arms, your hips. He's waiting for you to give him the green light.

You kiss him with force, tongue sliding into his mouth with no room for protest. You bite his lip and grin. America's golden boy. Lying under you with your come smeared across his face.

He leans up to whisper in your ear, rough tone filled with promise and mischief.

"I love you," he murmurs, tongue gliding across your neck. "Let me fuck you like I don't."

You've never been one to deny him. You're not about to start now.

He's adjusting, after all.

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steveshaped · 5 months

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lrt one of the best steve x reader fics i've read in a while.

@pedrito-friskito you don't know me, but i love you for writing "walking the wire" <3

#so... i have a thing for nomad!steve #it's very obvious #steve rogers x reader

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steveshaped · 5 months

Text

walking the wire - nomad!steve rogers x fem!reader

❄️‘tis the season❄️

summary: you’re a new addition to the team, and steve can’t seem to keep away from you.

word count: 5.9k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, canon-typical violence, mentions/depictions of scars, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it even if ur a super soldier ok), fingering, steve is a soft boi and I wanna sit on his dick 😇 also this is WILDLY UNEDITED IM SORRY

a/n: I’M LIKE 10 MINUTES LATE FUCK I’M SORRY OK here is my entry for the TFC (thirsty for cox 😏) december writing challenge! steve rogers my one true love. that’s all I got goodbyeeeeee! (also canon what’s that?)

When Nat meets them in Amsterdam, she has one condition to her joining up with Steve once again. A condition that comes wrapped up in a manila folder, Russian letters scrawled across the front. Steve doesn’t speak the language, but he’s got a head enough to know that the word stamped in red means classified. Confidential. Secret.

Danger.

“I thought you didn’t have any more secrets,” he says to Romanov, peering at her over the rim of his coffee cup. Bucky’s sat beside him, twitchy and nervous, and had been glancing around the entrances and exits every few seconds until Nat sat down at the table. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her since. “I thought they all went out the window when we exposed HYDRA. Blew all your covers.”

She reaches across and flips open the folder, revealing it’s contents. “This secret isn’t mine, not really.” She points a finger at the photo on top of the pile of papers in the folder. Her nails are jagged, like she’s been biting them, not the manicured edge Steve is used to. Paired with the obviously hasty change of hair colour, the short bob tucked behind her ears, the almost wild look in her eye, and it’s easy to see. Agent Romanov is shaken, and not in a good way. They’re all shaken, but it does nothing to ease Steve’s nerves to see Nat sharing his feelings. “You want to find this one, Steve. Trust me.”

Steve lets his eyes drop, scanning the photo, the wordy papers beneath. It looks like something out of a sci-fi movie, a large tank with a body suspended inside. Hair wild in the liquid, eyes tightly shut, something covering your nose and mouth, presumably to pump you with oxygen, keep you alive beneath the surface. Steve’s brow furrows as he looks it over. Even through the liquid, turned blue he presumes by the glass of the tank, he can see the scar — starting at your heart, a jagged line that drags across your chest, up your neck, disappears behind your ear.

He moves the photo aside, scans the paper beneath. Sees your name written in English letters, spelled out in a way he can understand. He tastes the name on his tongue, mutters it under his breath before his eyes move back to the photo. There’s more beneath the papers, snapshots that look almost like mugshots — you pinned against a wall, held in place by bulky men in tac gear, your hands curled into fists. He doesn’t have a name for the colour of your eyes, but the ferocity in them makes his gut twist. What did they do to you?

“Who is she?” he asks Nat, not looking up from the folder. He chances a glance at Bucky, but his best friend’s gaze is still glued to the woman across the table. He nudges him with his knee, and he flinches, eyes immediately dropping to the folder.

“An old friend,” Nat replies, and snags Steve’s coffee from across the table, lifting the cup to her quirked lips.

“What is she?” Bucky asks, taking the question out of Steve’s mouth.

Nat leans over, brushes a few piece of paper aside until he finds what she’s looking for. It’s all in Russian, but she points to two words toward the bottom of the page.

Зимний солдат.

Bucky swallows so hard Steve can hear it. “How.”

“What?” Steve asks, looking between the two of them. “What does it say?”

“HYDRA wasn’t the only one trying to create more super soldiers,” she says, the words rolling off her tongue with ease, and Bucky grows more and more bristled with each one. “Dreykov made a deal. Common interest, what have you.”

Bucky’s hand curls into a fist on the tabletop. “I said, how.”

“A bit of blood was all it took,” Nat says simply, polishing off the rest of the coffee. She sets the cup back down. “They called her Phoenix.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asks, still staring at the photos.

“She’s the only one that survived,” Nat replies, tapping a finger against the edge of the cup. “Dreykov’s process killed three girls before her. Even her heart stopped, but a minute later, she was back.” She smirks. “Rising from the ashes.”

Bucky starts shaking his head. “I don’t know about this, Nat,” Steve says, shuffling the file back together, flipping it closed. “We’re walking a wire as is.”

“She’ll be useful,” Nat says, staring back at him, her gaze hard. “And she…” Her voice trails off, and her gaze shifts to Bucky for a moment before moving towards the cafe window. “She needs us.”

“How do you figure?”

Nat seems to deflate, tapping the cup again. “Because I just killed the only other person who knew she was still alive.”

Steve nods once, brows twitching, hears Bucky’s angry huff beside him. “You’re sure?”

“That folder is all that exists about her,�� she replies, jutting her chin towards it. “Nothing digital, no trace. She’s a ghost.”

“I don’t like this,” Bucky says, fist clenching further. “How do you even know you can trust her?”

“I was her handler, for a while, before I left Dreykov,” Nat says, and Steve doesn’t miss the pinch behind her eyes, the slight shift in her expression. The Widow is different now, easier to read than every before. It throws him. “She knows me.”

“Where?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chair, gesturing towards the folder.

“St. Petersburg. Eighty clicks outside.” The corner of her mouth quirks. “You still got the Quinjet?”

Steve reaches into his pocket, tosses a few crumpled euros onto the table. “Let’s go.”

The extraction is almost too easy. Goes off without a hitch, much to Bucky’s dismay, Nat’s excitement. Steve’s not quite sure how he feels yet. The entire plane ride to St. Petersburg, he’s rifling through the file. His eyes are stuck on your face, your expressions, that bright light behind your eyes. To say he’s intrigued is an understatement, and Nat indulges his questions.

“Who was she,” he asks, “before?”

“Orphan girl they found wandering the streets. She wasn’t raised in the Red Room, like I was, and when she got sick, she volunteered for Dreykov’s experiments. It was her last chance.”

“She volunteered?” Bucky nearly spits, his brow hard as rock.

“We were all under his thumb,” Nat muses, her eyes going far away. “Some more than others.” She pulls a small vial from her pocket, bright red and coiled behind glass. “I can fix it.”

They land the jet a little ways off of the warehouse Nat had pinged as your location. Nat takes the lead, Steve and Bucky trailing behind, both armed to the teeth. Bucky had shot him a look when he’d refused to pick up the gun he’d offered, but Steve had shook his head.

“Some things never change,” his friend muttered, and Steve just smirked.

The warehouse is empty of protection, no soldiers swarming the moment they set foot inside. It’s almost too quiet, until Nat reveals the hatch in the false wall, leading to the actual lab they’ve been keeping you in.

It’s the same as the photographs, the large glass tube, the mask covering your nose and mouth. Your eyes flutter like you’re dreaming, darting back and forth beneath closed lids. Your hands are bound with thick metal cuffs, and the scar he’d noticed in the photograph is just as prominent in person, if not more.

He hears the hitch in Nat’s breathing as she approaches the tube, reaching out a hand. “I never should have left you, sestra,” she whispers, fingers twitching against the glass.

“How do we get her out?” Steve asks, coming to stand beside Nat. He doesn’t comment on the wetness pooled along her lashes. “Nat, tell us what to do.”

Nat hands him the vial of red, moves away from the tube towards a control panel attached. “We have to drain it first, then open it. She…she won’t be happy to see me, all right? After I left, Dreykov turned her against me.” She gestures to the vial. “That’s the only thing that’ll stop her. We have to get the mask off her; she has to inhale it.”

Steve nods. “Do it. We’ll be ready.” Behind him, he hears Bucky’s gun click.

Wordlessly, she steps closer to the control panel. A lever pulled, a code entered, and he watches the blue liquid start to drain down, you lowering with it as it goes, the liquid dripping off your body in rivulets as your feet touch the bottom of the tube, your back sliding against the glass until you’re nearly folded in half, knees drawing up to your chest

Nat hits more buttons, there’s a hissing sound and beeping and some very robotic Russian. He tightens his grip on the vial, and slowly, your eyes blink open. The same fire he saw in the photographs, it’s there, flaring like lightning. With a loud pop, the two smaller tubes attached to the mask on your face break off, falling limp against the glass. Your chest lifts as you inhale, and as realization sweeps through your features, your eyes land on Steve. Your head cocks slowly to the side, surveying him, and he feels a burn up the back of his neck, his ears going hot.

More beeping, and the glass starts to slowly sink into the floor, exposing you to the air, the final barrier between you and them. Bucky lifts his gun, Steve moves closer to Nat. Your eyes follow him, tracking his movement, until Nat is within your sight line, and then you zero in on her.

The brightness in your eyes turns to something feral, something angry.

As soon as the glass is gone, you’re sprinting forward, leaping over the console towards Nat with almost animal-like agility. The cuffs keep you restrained some, but Steve lunges into action, putting himself between you and Nat, catching you easily with an arm around your middle. Your skin is warm, almost too warm, and he can feel the strength rippling beneath your surface. A near match to his own, if he had to guess.

You shout something as Steve holds you at bay, the words muffled by the mask. Your arms thrash, but he pins them down with his other arm, keeping you against his chest. The liquid from the tube is still dripping off you, your hair soaked with the substance, and it smells oddly sweet as it drenches the fabric of his tac suit.

“Buck, get the mask off her,” he calls, and Bucky lowers his gun with a reluctant look on his face. Nat has stepped backwards, guilt plain as day on her face. “Nat, it’s okay.”

She shakes her head, and you continue to thrash, your strength nearly a match for Steve’s, but there’s a slight weakness to you as well, probably from your time in the tube.

“No you don’t,” Steve mutters as you try to jam your heel into his foot. He traps your leg between his knees, pinning you further, and Bucky reaches out, pulling the mask from your face a little too forcefully. “Buck.”

You snap your jaws at the metal hand as soon as the mask is off, but before your teeth can sink into anything, Steve manoeuvres the vial up to your nose and hits the release. It turns to red gas in the air, odourless, swimming like smoke up towards the ceiling. He tightens his grip on you, and you inhale as soon as the gas hits your face, your eyes rolling back in your skull, body going limp in his arms for a moment.

Your head snaps back up a moment later, gasping for air as you heave breaths. There are tears in your eyes, traces of red seeping through the colour of your irises, fading away as you blink hard. There’s panic in your face, but you don’t fight against his grip, head swivelled on your neck as you look around, until—

“Tasha?” you cry, the name almost a sob. In a flash, the Widow is stood in front of you, her palms shaking as she takes your face between them. You let her, leaning your forehead against hers.

“I’m here,” Nat replies in a trembling voice, swiping at the tears that are now falling down your cheeks. “I’m here.”

You fit yourself all too easily onto the team.

With Nat’s sole request fulfilled, she’s both feet in, ready to follow Steve into whatever comes next, and you’re adamant to follow where she goes. After they’d rescued you, and after a brief introduction — “I didn’t know Captain America had a beard,” you’d murmured after Steve had let you down and Nat had finished hugging you tightly — you’d said it simply: where Tasha went, you went.

Watching the two of you, it gives Steve a sense of ease. His team is split in two, half of the Avengers till holed up in New York, but for you and Nat, you’re just making up for lost time. You talk endlessly, talking well into the night almost every night, always taking watch together so you can natter away at each other in Russian, words and phrases that go right over Steve’s head.

But not Bucky’s.

They’re somewhere in Turkey, hiding out in an old farmhouse while Sam scouts the skies for any signs of trouble, plotting their next move. Steve has heard rumours about civilians encountering alien-like creatures in Bulgaria, so he’s thinking that’s their next destination. He’s drawing a path on the map, still preferring the good old paper copy to the Quinjet’s complicated array of computers. Sam likes to laugh at him for it, and you very quickly buddied up with the Falcon, taking to calling Steve ‘old man’ and ‘drevniy’, which Bucky informed him means ancient.

Bucky’s sprawled out on a stack of crates, metal arm tucked behind his head, eyes shut. You and Nat are outside; he can see you perched on the steps leading up to the door, your backs to him. He can hear your voices faintly, but he busies himself with the map, until Bucky starts to laugh.

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asks, not looking up from the map spread on the crate before him.

“They’re talking about you,” is all Bucky offers in return, continuing to laugh as he crosses his legs, stretching out like a cat. “Phoenix has a crush.”

Steve feels that same burning he’d felt when they first found you, that odd rush of heat that had surged up his spine when you locked eyes with him. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

“Can’t help it, Cap,” Bucky quips. “Super soldier hearing.”

Steve shakes his head, trying to ignore the heat now rising in his face. “It’s impolite.”

Bucky scoffs. “What’s impolite is what Phoenix just said about your ass.”

He sputters, whole face going beet-red, and suddenly he’s a gangly teenager again, gawking after the pretty girl who thanked him for holding the door open. He likes you, there’s no getting around that. Since you came out of that tube, since that red gas had undone whatever chemical subjugation Dreykov had forced upon you, he’s felt drawn to you. Some benign tug in his chest that has him tripping over his own feet in your presence. You’re not at all what he expected; there’s a kindness to you that he can’t explain, something he hadn’t thought you capable of knowing what you’d been through. Nat had translated more of the file for him when he asked, and you’d even gone over some of the more gory details when she was reluctant to.

“I don’t mind,” you’d shrugged, sinking into the chair beside him, tugging the folder towards you. “I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know, drevniy.”

You always smile when you say it. And he always feels like he’s on fire.

It goes south in Siberia.

They’re tracking a lead, deep into the tundra, blowing past safe house after safe house. Bucky is on edge, and Steve can’t blame him. Sam gets injured and they have to backtrack, but Steve feels like a dog with a bone; he has to get this one. Bucky and Nat get the Falcon to safety, which leaves him and you, Captain America and the Phoenix.

The fierceness he’d seen, the fearlessness he knew you capable of, the feral look in your eye. It comes out on the battlefield. You’re a dead-shot every time, seamlessly slipping in and out of the super soldier part of you. Steve’s taken to sparring with you, and you’ve put him on his back once or twice. He’s loathe to admit he enjoyed it.

But Siberia, you get buried. They’re coming from all sides, black masks and big guns. Angry shouts in Russian that make your head turn, and you’re distracted, caught off-guard, when Steve sees you go down. It lights something in his gut, and while he doesn’t have the shield, he puts a humvee on it’s side, traps a handful of the attackers beneath it, and tears through the rest.

Eventually, the bullets let up enough for him to run to your side, scooping you up under one arm. “You all right?” he asks, yanking you behind a fallen tree. “We need to get out of here.”

“Fine,” you bite out. You’re still upright, a bit of blood on your face, but nothing serious. “Northwest. Through the mountain.”

He balks. “Comms’ll go dead through that pass, Phoenix. We’ll be sitting ducks.”

Before you can reply, a gun goes off, larger and louder than the rest. The missile collides with the tree behind you, exploding in a puff of snow. Steve throws his body over yours, grunting as the ice and debris falls over the both of you.

“I’d rather be a duck than dead, drevniy,” you mutter, and despite it all, Steve laughs.

When a grenade lands in the snow beside you, you launch it back without batting an eye, and use the following explosion as cover to escape into the trees. You keep pace easily, your steps agile and your arms pumping as you go. Steve follows behind you, his bootprints covering your own, the pair of you moving deeper into the forest, towards the mountain pass. It’s a rough go, hidden sheets of ice and snow up to your knees. Steve has to haul you out of a drift once or twice, but eventually, the path emerges, evens out beneath your feet, and Steve has to admit that it’s actually pretty.

Steve ends up ahead of you at some point, having stepped in front when he thought he heard something, instantly worried a bear or some other giant wildlife was about to burst from the brush and eat you. You’ve slowed your pace, less worried about being followed now that you’re through the pass.

He hears you call his name before you hit the ground. His name, not drevniy. “Steve…”

He didn’t notice the way you were clutching your side, your gloved hand pressed tightly to your ribs. You’re a heap in the snow now, eyes fluttering, chest heaving.

“Hey!” he calls, sprinting back to you, lifting you out of the snow. It’s starting to fall now too, and the dark skies overhead don’t exactly incite confidence. “I got you. You’re okay.” As he lifts you into his arms, he can feel how soaked your suit is, blood hot and tacky against his hand. Shit. “Hey, Phoenix, open your eyes.”

Your head lolls back against his shoulder, eyes barely cracked. You mumble something he can’t make out, super soldier hearing or not, and then your eyes are shut again.

He calls your name. Your real name. He hasn’t said it once to you, hasn’t said it out loud, not since he read your file, since he asked Nat who you were. It tastes foreign on his tongue, like he’s not allowed to say the letters in that specific order.

But it makes your eyes open, and your hand moves from where’s it’s been folded in your lap up his chest, rests in the centre of it. “You know my name.”

He nods. “Keep your eyes open, yeah? You gotta tell me where we’re going. Then we can get you patched up.”

You make a little humming noise, and as your hand drops again, leaving a bloody handprint on his chest. “West,” you murmur, slightly more audible this time. “You’ll find it.” Your eyes drop shut again.

“Hey,” Steve calls, his voice a little more on the stern side. “Eyes on me.” He says your name again, silently revels in the way it lights your eyes when you open them again.

The corner of your mouth quirks in a grin. “Don’t you know, drevniy? My eyes are always on you.”

You pass out completely shortly after that, a dead weight in Steve’s arms. The snow is falling heavier, enough that his footprints are filled as soon as he’s another three steps ahead. It’s bitterly cold, and his teeth have been chattering something fierce, but he keeps you aloft, keeps one hand pressed to the wound on your side, keeps you tucked against his chest.

And he keeps going west.

You were right; he finds it. Eventually. He feels like he’s been circling the forest for hours, and he’s not even totally sure what he’s looking for, but then he comes upon the cabin finally, tucked between giant fir trees, the sloped roof nearly disappearing in the snow.

You don’t so much as flinch as he brings you in. It’s cold inside too, but he’s quick to fill the stove with wood, the fireplace too, lighting roaring fires in both. The heat gathers fast, fogging up the windows, and Steve lays you out on the countertop, making sure you don’t roll off before he goes in search of first aid.

The cabin is well-stocked, the medical supplies seemingly never ending, and he stumbles upon a locker full to burst with guns and knives and other weaponry he’s seen Nat use before. At least he knows he’s in the right place.

Just as he’d worried, the comms are out. There’s a laptop and some kind of internet hookup in one of the rooms, but even Steve knows it’s ancient, and probably too outdated to use. There’s enough food in the kitchen to feed you both for a few days, a week or so if you ration, but Steve knows Nat will come looking when you two don’t come back. It won’t be long.

He tends to your wounds. It’s not easy; his first aid skills are rusty, and the stitches come out a little jagged, but the bleeding stops, your breathing evens out, and while Steve rouses you just long enough to get some water into you, you sleep it off.

Steve gets a little stir-crazy. The cabin is small, most of the books on the shelf are in Russian, and there’s only so many hands of solitaire he can play by himself. The snow continues to fall, piling up outside the door, to the point where he knows you’ll have to wait it out, wait for the storm to pass. The Quinjet handles alright in a storm, but with this much snow and heavy forest, there’s no where close to land it. But Nat will come, he knows she will.

Canned soup is only truly bearable the first three meals, and he’s resigned himself to a nap on the couch when step out of the bedroom. He’d had to cut your tac suit off to deal with your wound, and while he’d left you in your underwear and piled on the blankets, he’d found a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that looked about your size — along with some for himself — and left them in the room for you. You’re wearing them now, the sweats a little too big, but the t-shirt stretches across your chest in a way that makes his throat bob.

You’re holding your side as you walk towards him, Steve sitting up and swinging his legs off the couch. He reaches a hand towards you as you approach. “How do you feel?”

“Brand new,” you reply, giving him a lopsided grin. “Quite the patch job you gave me there, drevniy. Another scar to add to the collection.” He feels his cheeks go red and you take his hand, settling slowly onto the couch beside him. Once you’re sat, however, you don’t let go of his fingers, threading your knuckles against his. “Thank you, Steve, for saving me.”

His eyes are glued to your twined fingers, and he lets his thumb ride the curve of your hand. “You would have done the same for me.”

“I would have,” you agree, nodding once, shuffling a little closer to him. “You can ask, you know,” you tell him, your voice dropping slightly, “about the scar. I know you want to. I’ve seen you looking.”

His brow furrows. “I didn’t want to—”

“It’s not offending me if I tell you to ask,” you say, and your other hand reaches out, fingers sliding along his bearded jaw, lifting his eyes to yours. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Steve.”

There’s that fire again, that spark. But this time, instead of scorching heat, it’s warmth that spreads along his spine, makes his limbs tingle, sprawls through his chest like ivy climbing a building. The tips of your fingers are cold, but your palm is warm as your hand moves up his face, cups his cheek, your thumb riding the line where his beard stops.

You both move slow, your legs lifted slowly into his lap, your body slid closer to his on the couch until he can put his arm around your back. He’s careful, wary of your injury, but you wave it off, tell him it’s fine. “I don’t want to talk,” he tells you, dropping his voice as low as yours had gone. “Not right now.”

You tilt your head to the side slowly, eyes raking over his face. The spark in them makes his heart hammer in his chest. “What do you want, krasivyy?”

His brow lifts. “That’s a new one.”

You just smirk, moving even closer. Steve just watches as you lift yourself up, spreading your knees until they’re either side of his hips, taking both his hands in yours and putting them on your hips, bracing your own on his shoulders as you sink into his lap. His breath catches in his throat as you settle against him, hips slotting against his own.

“It means handsome,” you say softly, and lean in slow, head titled to the side, brushing your mouth along his cheekbone. “Sil’nyy. Strong. Khrabryy. Brave. Vkusnyy. Delicious.”

He can’t hold back his laugh at the last one. “Delicious?”

“Mmm,” you hum, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, squeezing at his shoulders. Your mouth drops to his ear, so close he can feel your lips brush his lobe as you speak. “Good enough to eat.” Your teeth nip at his skin, and Steve inhales sharply. “Tell me what you want.”

He lifts a hand from your waist, lets his fingers curl in the back of your head, hair wrapping around his knuckles. He pulls your head up slowly, savours the way your drag your mouth back along his cheek until you’re staring back at him, the spark in your eye worming it’s way into his heart.

“You,” he says, and murmurs your name softly, feels the ripple of it move through your body, reacting to his voice his touch. “I want you.”

“You have me,” you breathe out in response, knees going wider, sinking deeper into his lap. The warmth is growing hotter now, sparked by the feeling of your lips, your skin, and Steve can’t hold back any longer.

Your lips meet in a searing kiss. It’s soft at first, your teeth pulling gently at his lower lip, the tip of your nose dragging along his as you kiss across his mouth, one corner to the other and back again. He keeps his hand in your hair, an anchor of sorts, while the other works it’s way up your spine, splayed against your warm skin. Your hand are everywhere, in his hair, along his cheeks, roaming his collar and chest. He feels like he’s coming alive beneath your touch, every nerve in his body jumping to attention, spurred by you.

You’re breathing his air, smiling against his lips as he kisses you, growing bolder with every peck. He pushes his tongue past your teeth, tangles it with your own. It makes you moan, your hips starting to roll against his, and he can feel himself twitching to life between his legs.

Time seems to move in slow motion when you curl your fingers around his wrist, pull his arm between you, slide his hand past the waistband of your sweats. He catches your meaning easily, but feels his breath catch in his throat when he discovers you’re bare beneath them, wet and hot and wanting. You moan loudly when he brushes the tips of his fingers through your heat, crooks two fingers where you’re dripping.

“Steve, please,” you groan out, your forehead pressed to his, mouth pulled away so you can inhale deeply, your lips parted in a perfect o. He moves his mouth to your neck, sucks at your pulse as he presses his fingers deep, feels the way your body curves and reacts as he explores the warmest part of you. You’re soaked, dripping down his knuckles, and he thrusts his fingers until you’re gasping his name, scrabbling for purchase on any part of him you can reach, holding him as close as physically possible.

“Ste—”

His name cuts off with a moan, your whole body going shockingly tight around him, your grip on his body, his hair, the hot clutch between your legs. He works you through it, pulling back slightly so he can watch, seeing the way the pleasure moves through you. He only lets up when you grab for his wrist, a quiet whine falling from your lips. He kisses the noise right out of your mouth, pulling his hand from your sweats. You’re still holding his wrist, and you break the kiss only to bring his fingers to your mouth, parting your lips around them and licking the taste of yourself from his knuckles.

Blink of an eye, and he’s hard as a damn rock.

You can feel it, judging by the way your face lights up. You finish sucking his fingers clean, releasing them with a pop, and then you’re reaching between you, tugging at the string on his own sweats, diving your hand beneath. He stutters out your name when you close your fingers around him, other hand pulling at the elastic to free him completely.

“Are you sure…?” he spits out, head falling back against the couch as you pump him once, leaning forward to spit on your fingers, your saliva easing your path. “Jesus Christ.”

“There’s nothing else I’m more sure of, Steve,” you say, your voice suddenly clear as day. You scramble backwards, giving him one last pump before you’re hooking your thumbs in your sweats and shucking them down your legs, kicking them away and clambering back into his lap.

You don’t waste any time, leaning up on your knees and reaching for his cock, lining him up and sinking down. He watches your face as you go, the heat nearly making his vision white-out around the edges. It’s slow, inch by inch, and when your face pinches, he grabs your hips, stopping you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you breathe out, your voice returning to that pleasure-soaked tone. “You’re just…fuck, you’re big, Steve.”

He brings his hand to his mouth, licks the pad of his thumb before he reaches between you, rubbing a semi-circle around your clit, index finger sliding against where you’re split around him. “Just go slow, baby,” he tells you, and sees the way your brow pricks at the pet-name. “We got all the time in the world.”

“Baby,” you repeat, sinking down a bit more before pulling back up, until he’s almost all the way out of you, just the tip notched at your entrance. His other hand has a tight grip on your hips, and yours are like a vice on his shoulders. “I like that.”

He presses his face into the curve of your neck as you sink back down, taking him all the way, knees sprawled either side of him until your pelvis is flush with his. You tilt your head back, moaning when he lifts his hips slightly, thrusting up into you.

“You like that too, baby?” he asks, boldness creeping up his throat. “Just wanna make your feel good.”

Neither of you last long after that. He doesn’t let up his thumb on your clit, planting his feet on the floor and dragging his hips up until he pulls another moan from you. Over and over, again and again, until you’re tighter than sin around him, collapsing against his chest, and he’s not far behind you, pleasure turning to fire at the base of his spine, roaring through his body in an instant before it turns to that now familiar warmth. He drags his mouth up to yours as it ripples through him, spilling himself deep, holding you close. You’re a solid weight on his chest, your face tucked against his collar, hands curled around his arms.

He murmurs your name, and you whisper his back.

The snow doesn’t let up, and it’s nearly three days before Nat can come dig you out of the cabin. He doesn’t mind it, though; the days are spent mostly entwined in bed, both of you naked as the day you were born, holding each other close. He can’t stop kissing you, intent to learn every inch of your body, desperate to map out your every scar with his lips. And you seem happy to let him, returning his kisses with your own.

There’s talking, between the love-making. He finds himself talking to you more than he’s ever talked to anyone, ever. He thinks even Bucky would tell him to shut up at this point, but you hang off his every word, enthralled by every story, asking questions and wanting more details, putting the timeline together in your head. He hasn’t wanted to talk about the war in a long time, but with you, it’s different. With you, it’s easy.

On the third day, when Nat’s landing the Quinjet outside the cabin, the snow having let up enough, hardened on the ground enough for the jet to land, the familiar spark in your eye is replaced with something different.

Fear.

Steve knows what you’re thinking. He’s been thinking it too. What do you do now, that you’re going back to the team? Do you pretend it never happened? Do you carry on as you had been before?

He’s waiting for the question, but instead…

“I won’t pretend this never happened,” you tell him, the pair of you standing at the door, waiting for Nat to appear. “I can’t, Steve, I won’t—”

He silences you with a kiss, his gloved hands soft on your cheeks. “No, baby,” he murmurs, giving you another soft kiss. “I can’t do that either.”

—————

tagging the TFC girlies: @e-dubbc11 @mindidjarin @phoebe-danvers @itwasthereaminuteago @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @saintmurd0ck @a-bang-for-your-bucky @lunaserenade @mattmurdocksscars @munsonownsmyass @skvatnavle

steve rogers taglist will be rb’d!

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steveshaped · 5 months

Text

Here For You

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader

Summary: After being injured on a mission, you try your best to hide it from the team to continue fighting alongside them. However, one very perceptive super soldier makes hiding your injury an impossibility.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning(s): mentions + description of injuries / a bit of hurt—comfort / does not follow the canon timeline in the mcu / mentions of near-death encounters (from civilians)

requested by @marigoldreamer

a/n: hello everyone! i started off on here as solely a Bucky writer, but it seems like i cannot get enough of Steve when I write about him ✨ this originally was much shorter and then I got carried away lol (which is one of the reasons why it took so long to get out, sorry 🥲) thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! ❤️❤️ feedback is much appreciated! ❤️❤️

birthday bingo masterlist 💙 // main masterlist 💙

“Oh, that does not look good,” you muttered under your breath, grimacing at the sight of your swollen skin. You were standing in front of your bedroom mirror, your shirt lifted, exposing the bruise coloring the area around your ribcage. You knew you had injured yourself on yesterday's mission, but you avoided visiting the infirmary, not wanting Friday to alert the team of the extent of your injuries.

You knew it was bad—the persistent discomfort you felt with every breath you took told you so. However, the team was already spread scarce with multiple threats around the world, so they needed everyone available.

The team couldn’t afford you not being available right now.

So although your body was telling you desperately it needed attention, you decided to push through the pain and help out as best as you could. You had a meeting with your team in about half an hour, so you had until then to figure out how to lessen the after-effects of your injury—and how to hide it for the time being.

You went into your closet and scanned the rows of clothing searching for the perfect item. You ended up choosing an evergreen knitted sweater. It was big enough to hide something underneath it without raising suspicion—which is exactly what you needed right now.

Lifting the sweater over your shoulders and through your arms caused an excruciating raw ache to reverberate within your chest with every movement. You mitigated your motion to lessen the toll this simple task was taking on your body.

You didn’t want to think of how your condition could worsen within the field.

You pushed those thoughts into the back of your mind and with your sweater on, you made your way over to the kitchen in the Avenger’s compound. Thankfully, no one was there to question why you were taking out a small bag of frozen peas from the freezer, wrapping it in a hand towel, and placing it under your sweater.

You flinched at the sudden change of temperature, but quickly eased into it as it numbed your injury. This would have to do until you could sneak into the infirmary later and get your hands on painkillers. Then you could properly rest from the nagging discomfort in your lower chest.

You interlocked your hands and lightly hugged them to the injured area to keep the frozen peas in place. Rarely did anyone ever show up to the team meetings early, so your next step was to get in there before everyone else and then ultimately leave after everyone else with no one noticing a thing.

A simple task of course.

You made your way down the hallways of the compound slower than usual. You avoided making brisk or swift movements as it caused your chest to constrict more than it was capable of, causing a shooting jolt to go through you. Every time it did that you had to suppress a string of coughs that only added to your pain.

At this point, your mind ruminated on the thought of you potentially not being able to make it through the meeting. It was a doubt that was now weighing heavy on your shoulders.

When you finally made it to the conference room, the beeping of a screen caught your attention. Taking a quick peek inside, you notice Steve is already there. He was tapping away at the large presentation screen, getting mission reports together for the meeting.

Well, this just got a bit complicated.

Steve is a super soldier—a highly perceptive super soldier. He was going to notice your presence sooner or later, so you needed to get into the farthest seat from him before he noticed. This would be the seat at the other end of the table from where Steve was standing. Thankfully, this seat was a quick dash away.

A quick painful dash away.

Steve opened up a file on the screen and a video of a building falling to ruins began playing. The audio of the destruction echoed in the room and you took this chance to scurry over to the seat. You plopped yourself down just as the video finished, almost rolling away with the wheels of the black office chair. Your hands scurried to keep the frozen peas hidden beneath your shirt.

Due to your injury, your movements across the room weren’t gracious. You had fumbled as you plopped down onto the seat causing your chest to contract and tighten more than it should have. This ignited a burning sensation to burst within your chest. You inhaled sharply before biting the inside of your lip as hard as you could to stop yourself from making any further noise.

Steve’s head shot back to look at you in confusion.

“ Y/n? Everything okay?” Steve’s brows were furrowed, as he slowly turned his body around to face you. You cleared your throat before answering, “ Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just shocked at the destruction of that building. What happened to it?” You changed the subject of the conversation to something that wasn’t you.

Steve’s eyes stared into yours for a few seconds before answering,“ I’m not sure yet. We received this video from the CIA and we’re being sent there to investigate. They think it was an attack by one of the terrorist organizations that worked closely with Hydra.” He finished explaining, his brows relaxing from their furrowed state.

Steve handed you one of the mission reports before placing the rest in the middle. You opened the file and pretended to look through it. In reality, you were adjusting with one hand—as quietly as you could—the frozen peas beneath your shirt in a better position since the bag had slipped away from the injured spot when you sat down. It was now chilling your stomach, leaving your injured spot unattended to.

“ Y/n, are you sure everything’s okay?” Steve was looking at you with a puzzled, yet concerned gaze. He was standing only a chair or two away—a little too close for comfort.

You locked eyes and paused for a moment to think of what to say. Steve was your team’s captain and your close friend. You knew, without a shadow of a doubt, you could trust him. However, trust in this case meant him taking you out of the field at a time when the team needed you most.

As you were contemplating on what to tell him, Sam, Bucky, and Natasha walked into the room bickering over what to order for lunch. Their entrance saving you from having to answer Steve. He shot you a quick look letting you know this conversation wasn’t over.

Now you would also have to find a way to evade any future conversation about your well-being.

“ So, Bucky and I are craving some Japanese food right now, but Nat wants Greek food. What’ll it be guys?” Sam explained their current predicament as they all approached the table. The three of them stared back at you two in anticipation.

“ Greek sounds nice,” Steve replied, sauntering over to the front end of the table. Natasha smiled in amusement as the voting was now at a tie. She sat closest to Steve while Sam and Bucky sat across from each other in the chairs directly to your left and right. Their proximity consequently causing your nerves to spike up.

“ It’s up to you to break the tie. Don’t let me down, Y/n.” Sam pleaded in a lighthearted manner. If you were completely honest, appeasing your appetite was the least of your worries. However, your body was begging for some warmth as the frozen bag continued its icy attack on your skin. You thought maybe eating something right now wasn’t such a bad idea.

“ Sorry, Nat. Sorry, Steve. Some miso soup sounds really good right now,” you smiled at Sam who basked in this small victory. Bucky was beaming beside you as well. Natasha playfully scoffed and shrugged at the loss while Steve put his hands up in a playful surrender.

“ I knew we could count on you,” Sam turned to you and gave you a friendly pat on your shoulder. This caused a stinging prick to shoot through the left side of your chest. You winced, a small yelp escaping your lips.

Everyone froze and stared at you worriedly. “ Are you okay? I didn’t pat you that hard did I?” Sam asked guilty, taken aback by your reaction. You shook your head profusely, “ No, Sam, it’s okay—I’m okay. It’s just I got a sunburn on one of our last missions and it still hasn’t healed fully.” You lied through your teeth, giving everyone in the room a reassuring smile.

Everyone looked relieved—except for Steve whose suspicion you assumed was getting stronger by the second.

“ Sorry about that, I didn’t know. My Titi always swore that soaking in a cool bath of baking soda and oats would soothe any degree of sunburn. You should try it,” Sam suggested. His thoughtfulness warmed your heart, “ You’re fine, Sam—really. I’ll have to try that out and let you know how it works out.” You send him another reassuring smile. You mentally cursed yourself for your outburst. Another slip-up like that and anyone on the team was sure to find out about your injury.

In no time, Sam was ordering everyone food and Steve began debriefing you all on the next mission that you all had to leave for in a couple of hours. You weren’t paying attention as the stinging in your chest worsened. The frozen peas beneath your shirt had melted and were adding to your discomfort instead of aiding it. By the time the meeting ended, and Sam told everyone to meet up in the kitchen for lunch, lifting yourself off of your chair felt like an impossible task.

Everyone had gone off to eat except for Steve and you. Throughout the whole meeting, you felt his eyes watching you. You avoided looking in his direction and focused solely on the files and the screen behind him the entire time. You felt if you had looked into his pretty blues at any point during the meeting, your resolve would have crumbled.

“ This time I’m not going to ask. I know you’re not okay and I know it has to do with yesterday. We need to talk about what happened last night,” Steve’s voice was gentle, yet serious as he approached you. The exhaustion of suppressing your pain was getting to you and his presence brought you much-needed comfort. Your determination to act like nothing was wrong was slipping away from you with every passing second.

“ What—do you mean?” your voice broke, swallowing hard to find the courage within you to admit you needed assistance. Steve took the seat next to you, “ Last night when we were rescuing civilians from the burning rubble, you went into the collapsing building against orders,” he reminded you.

“ And saved the three people who were trapped inside,” you added. He sighed, his lips forming a tight line, “ Against orders. The instructions were that I was supposed to be the one to get the trapped civilians inside—not you,” his tone was heavy with frustration.

You shook your head, “ You weren’t going to make it in time. I was the closest one. As soon as you arrived the building collapsed completely. If I hadn’t gone in they would have died. I might not be a super soldier, but I can do my job pretty damn well, Steve. ” You were getting defensive, feeling as though your abilities as an Avenger were being questioned.

While your actions may have been defiant, they resulted in three lives saved. That had to count for something.

“ I’m not doubting your stance as an Avenger. You are amazing at what you do and we need you here. But that gets put into jeopardy when you jump into dangerous situations without thinking and get yourself hurt,” he further explained, your eyebrows shooting up at his words. “ All of the situations we jump into are dangerous,” you pointed out.

His eyes narrowed, his exasperation at your stubbornness growing, “ We don’t bargain our lives out in the field, Y/n.” His tone was disapproving, making you feel like a scolded child. Irritation crawled its way up your spine. This coming from Steve of all people made it even worse.

” Okay, Mr.I-jumped-on-top-of-a-grenade-to-save-everyone,” you shot back at him. Steve would constantly make self-sacrificing calls on the field to save other people. Why was it okay for him to do it, but not you?

“ That was different,” was all he managed to come back at you with.

“ In what way?” you asked, curious to know the real answer.

“ Well for starters, it was a world war. The mentality of everyone at that time was different. In the beginning, I was outcasted. No one worked as a team with me. The only person alive who cared for me was miles away on the battlefield. It was everyone for themselves,” he paused reminiscing the past with a solemn look before continuing, “ We’re a team here, Y/n. There are people here that care about you. We look out for each other and keep each other safe. That’s how it's supposed to be,” he stated with sincerity.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts and let the weight of his words sink in. Steve had opened up about his past to you before, but the way he spoke of it now gave you a deeper perspective on things.

“ I’ll stop if you do,” you proposed, tired of the arguing and understanding where Steve was coming from. A small smile fell on his lips,“ Okay, it’s a deal. Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary so Friday can scan the extent of your injuries.” He stood up bending down slightly offering his shoulder and arm as support.

You reached out and let him take the brunt of the effort of getting you out of the seat. The more you leaned on his support, the less it took a toll on your own body. You kept one arm on his shoulder and the other on the now-melted bag of peas beneath your sweater as you lifted yourself off of the seat. The slight twist of your torso intensified the pain within your chest for a second before mellowing out to its usual tempo.

Steve couldn’t hide the emotions behind his intense stare. His voice and touch were gentle, yet strong in the way they guided you out of the room. He was doing his best to keep you calm but by the look on his face, you could tell your injury had to be more serious than you previously thought.

The walk to the infirmary was easier with Steve by your side. When you arrived Steve helped you prop yourself onto one of the infirmary beds, calling out for Friday’s assistance. He then went over to one of the storage cabinets and grabbed a few white pillows to place behind you. He adjusted them so you could sit in a position that was easy on your injury.

“ How’s that? Does that feel alright?” Steve asked as a blue robotic arm scanned your body. You nodded in appreciation,“ It’s perfect, Steve, thank you.” He sent you a small smile, his eyes still reflecting a worrisome look. You took out the melted bag of peas from your sweater and unraveled it from the hand towel. Steve let out a small chuckle of disbelief at the sight of it.

“ What? I’ll have you know this little bag was a lifesaver,” you informed him. Steve’s eyes twinkled with amusement, his smile getting wider, “ Oh, I bet it was. You’ll have to explain to Nat why her Olivye salad will no longer have peas in it though.”

Your eyes went wide, “ Oh no.”

He held in a laugh, “ Oh yeah.”

Friday’s Irish robotic voice suddenly spoke up interrupting the two of you,“ Body scan complete. Moderately bruised ribs detected. Rest is recommended for the next three to six weeks or until the injury is completely healed. Medication is on its way.” She informed you of your diagnosis causing you to let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding. For a moment there you thought you might have fractured your ribs or maybe even bruised your lungs. Those injuries were more severe and so was their treatment. However, having to rest for the next three to six weeks wasn’t ideal either.

“ Steve, I’m so sorry. I didn’t listen and now I’m out of the field for weeks and I know the team was counting on me—” Steve interrupted your rambling by placing his hand on yours, “ There’s nothing to be sorry about. Our job is dangerous and this kind of stuff happens all the time. If anything, I should be the one that’s sorry.” You frowned not only confused at his words but also at how comforting the sensation of his hand on yours was.

“ Sorry about what?” you tilted your head, unclear of what he meant.

“ I'm sorry I wasn’t able to protect you,” he clarified, his voice full of regret.

Your mouth opened to form words, but nothing came out. Why would Steve be sorry about that? Did he shoulder the responsibility for everyone’s well-being because he’s the captain? Did he feel this way about everyone on the team? Your thoughts jumbled together, causing you to be unsure of what to think.

“ Steve, please don’t put this on yourself. I made a call against your orders and while I did save a few lives, I took a hard fall, injuring myself in the process. There’s no need to worry or care beyond that. I’ll be fine,” you couldn’t take his crestfallen expression and did your best to dismiss your current situation. Steve was not happy about that.

“ Don’t say that. We all care about you—I care about you. I worry about you and I hate seeing you like this. I feel responsible for not protecting someone who means a lot to me from getting hurt,” there was a vulnerability in his voice that caused your heart rate to elevate and your features to soften. A new sensation was inching its way into your heart, and his words yielded you to see him in a different light.

“ Steve I…” you trailed off not knowing what to say. Steve gave you a shy smile,“ You don’t have to say anything,” he removed his hand from yours and grabbed the bag of peas from beside you, “ I’ll go take this back to the kitchen and get you that miso soup you really wanted.” He left the room, giving you a chance to process what was going on.

There was always something about Steve that was different in the way you interacted, but until a few minutes ago you had never thought of the possibility of Steve seeing you as anything more than part of the team. You were always partnered up on missions and got to know each other on a deeper level than you had with any other Avenger. Apart from a few playful exchanges here and there you had always assumed Steve only saw you as a friend.

Not to mention he had a history with a CIA agent named Sharon, and you genuinely believed they would end up together. The thought of Steve having feelings for you was never on the table.

Except now it was and that caused your feelings toward him to emerge from a place you didn’t know they had been hidden.

Two red robotic arms appeared on your left, breaking you from your thoughts. One arm was holding a small cylindrical tin with a couple of pills and the other held a cup of water. You took it eagerly and consumed the medication hoping the pain would subside enough to get some sleep. You barely got any last night and the sleep deprivation was starting to get to you.

Steve came back into the room, moments later, as the medication began to take effect—along with its side effects.

“ Hey there…” you greeted Steve in a sluggish voice. The medication had increased your drowsiness, making it harder to stay awake. He approached your bedside, a bowl of miso soup in his hands, while Friday updated him on your current state.

He placed the bowl on the nightstand next to the bed,“ Hey there, sleepyhead. Guess the miso soup is going to have to wait. Get some rest, the food will be here when you wake up.” You tried nodding as your eyes fought to stay open. Your mind was clouding, but what was clear to you was that you didn’t want Steve to walk away again without telling him how you felt.

“ No, don’t go, please,” you pleaded, your hand reaching out to him. He looked at you fondly, finding your actions endearing. “ I have to go soon, Y/n. I have to prepare for the mission before we leave in under an hour,” he explained to you. You yawned, your fatigued state making it harder to understand what he was saying.

“ You can’t because I have to tell you…” your eyes were starting to close.

“Tell me what?” Steve asked you, entertaining this conversation a little longer. He couldn’t hide the affectionate grin you provoked on him.

“ I have to tell you…” this time your voice was only but a whisper. If Steve hadn’t been a super soldier with heightened hearing he might’ve missed it.

“ Get some sleep. We can talk later, okay?” He assured you, a softness in his tone you hadn’t heard him use with anyone ever. As much as he was enjoying this, he was adamant about you getting your rest.

You lazily shook your head,“ No…you have to know how much you mean to me too…” you managed to coherently mumble fighting off the heaviness of your eyelids. Steve was pleasantly surprised by your response, his pulse quickening as yours had done in your previous conversation.

This time he needed a moment to figure out what he was going to say. To know that maybe even a sliver of the feelings he felt for you were returned in any way was more than he had hoped for. He wasn’t sure how you felt about him, and while Bucky and Sam had profusely encouraged him to ask you out on a date, there was always something stopping him. The fear of ruining the friendship you two have was enough to hesitate from ever confessing anything to you.

However, if what you said was true, then maybe he should be completely honest with you.

He gathered his thoughts, taking a deep breath ready to speak them to you. That was until he realized you had fallen asleep. The time he took thinking was all you needed to drift off into a peaceful slumber.

He laughed at himself, although albeit a bit relieved he would be able to have a heart-to-heart later with a more conscious you. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to pour his feelings out to someone who might think it was all a dream when they woke up.

“ Sweet dreams, Y/n,” he whispered into the air, planting a small kiss on your forehead. He then exited the room and that afternoon while on the mission he was more enthusiastic than usual. This caused the rest of the team to speculate on the reason why.

Interestingly enough all the reasons why involved you.

Unbeknownst to him, your dream that same afternoon had revolved around a handsome blonde and blue-eyed super soldier.

It was a very sweet dream indeed.

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steveshaped · 5 months

Text

i knew you'd come back to me

a/n: i was searching for a christmas fic with steve, a little bit of fluff and a whole lot of angst. this is just me scratching that itch. btw this is a sideblog which i'm using to write and i don't know if i will continue using it or not.

anyway, this is entirely inspired by my obsession with cardigan by taylor swift so... here we are.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

content warnings: angst, fem! implied reader but can be read as gn! too. the snap didn't happen but time travel did, go along with it, would you? kinda sad ending maybe.

you stare at the pumpkin cookie dough as thoughts of last december creep in. snow, spaghetti, sparkling champagne, shortcakes, silver on the table and these cookies.

those were the kind of dinners you had with steve.

gooseflesh erupted on the back of your neck as you felt the cold air seep in through the door as someone walked in, snapping you out of the memory.

"good evening, would you like to order a coffee?" you ask customarily as you get ready to take his order.

"uh, yeah, can i get a pumpkin spiced latte with vanilla?"

you look up at the guy, almost hoping to see someone else. steve always ordered that since the first time you suggested it to him.

white snow and black coffee, that's who he was before he met you. until you started adding more spice to his life.

it was the middle of december and for some reason you've had steve on your mind all day long. the last time that you had thought of him was when a memory popped up on your phone with a picture of the two of you. you've since deleted all the pictures from your phone (of course, after taking a backup) but that was when you'd finally taken a step to put it past you. that was when you'd decided to stop making yourself suffer in the tiniest of ways.

today was not helping.

today had been full of coincidences. if that's what it still was, a coincidence. you had gone to pick up your dress from the dry cleaners after your daily run in the morning and you'd seen the exact pair of levi's that steve owned. perhaps not the exact one because this pair had a huge stain on it. so you wound up thinking about the night when he'd been wearing those when he took you out on a date and you both ended up drinking a lot of wine with dinner. he was barely intoxicated, obviously– but being around your silly goofy drunk self made him less sober. and when you both stumbled into your home, unable to locate the light switches– steve opened your curtains whilst you played some music from your phone and took out the good wine for the both of you to have. then your favourite song came on and steve asked you to dance– the streetlight streaming in– illuminating his face– he almost looked younger, carefree, more than you'd ever seen him. you leaned your head on his shoulder as he placed his hands on your waist, both swaying with the beat.

you remember that later when you'd changed into your sweats and crept into the bed with him, you were grateful that it was a sunday the next day and you'd be lucky enough to wake up next to him rather than be greeted with an empty bed as usual. steve adjusted as you climbed under the covers with him and his hand crept up your back, under your sweatshirt, trailing your spine– always at the same spot. as you tried to fall asleep, you spent some time tracing the stretch marks on his arms. the ones he said he had gotten when he was treated with the supersoldier serum and his body grew too quickly, too soon. he wore a thrifted vintage tee, the one he'd found when you took him to your favourite thrift shop down the street. not quite as old as him, but then again, only a few things were. somehow he gravitated towards them, feeling a kinship towards the lost things of the world. it was the same tshirt you'd seen a dad wearing in the park you'd gone to for your morning run.

normally you didn't have time to notice your body when you got ready for work. but today you noticed the constellation of stars tattooed on your knee. the ones he'd drawn after you slipped and fell in the shower and ended up with a large bruise and swollen knee. steve took care of you the whole day, he gave your knee kisses 'to make it heal faster', the way his ma used to. when he was finally leaving the next morning to go on a mission with nat, he drew those stars– a kiss that would stay with you. you waited for your knee to get better, wrapping it up and making the ink last longer on your skin till you could finally make it permanent.

but it was inevitable, you always knew you'd loose him. every time he went on a mission, every moment he wasn't with you, you were preparing yourself for it.

only when you had started to feel more secure– only when you'd catch yourself daydreaming of a future with him– that was when you'd lost him. you remember the car ride to the train station when he was leaving again for new york that week. you'd been feeling odd that day, for no apparent reason. you assured yourself that steve will come back soon. he'd been living with you for the past couple of months until he got a call from tony (only that it was bruce) telling him about some infinity stones.

the steve you knew, listened to you. when he left, he'd grown out his hair and beard on your suggestion– that was your steve. not the version that everyone else knew. the steve you knew was a human being who sometimes made mistakes, occassionally had mood swings, on some days he loved you more and other days not so much (on days you'd had another one of your fights about his retirement) but at the end of the day, he was yours. that's what you thought.

everyone else thought that if anything, steve was loyal. but when the war was over and steve left with the infinity stones, you sat in your home waiting. for days and days you had waited. but there was no news of him. had something happened to him? did he need saving? if so, why didn't anyone go back for him? and no one would say anything. not even bucky. you weren't sure if you had to grieve or not. the only thing you knew was that steve was alive. he didn't come back to you though.

until tonight, when you came back home to find someone sitting on your porch, waiting for you. it took you some time to register. it was steve, it really was him but, he was older. much much older than the steve you knew.

"y/n"

"steve" you said, surprisingly with a steady voice. you didn't know if that made you look brave or detached. would it make him think that what you had was not real? but if he really went back to live his life then did he ever think of your relationship as something real?

"can we talk?" he asked. his voice was heavier, older too. you let the man in. made him a fresh cup of coffee.

"the cold really hits you at this age" he says and you laugh out loud. steve was never cold, even when you'd be shivering with teeth chattering cold, you could still find him to be perfectly warm. on occasions you have used him as a human heat regulator. you hand him a hot cup of coffee as you sit down on the couch.

he explains what happened. he explains how he chose peggy. he was a loyal man after all, he had to show up for the promised dance. and he stayed, he wanted to. but he didn't want to hurt you. you'd only been together for how long? you let him finish because you didn't want to fight him. you don't even know how to anymore because this man wasn't the steve you knew. this man had lived his life.

so you let him finish his story. about how he'd passed on his shield to sam. how he needed to come back a last time to explain everything to you because you didn't deserve what he did to you. it took him months because he was sorting out legal stuff. and then some more time to decide what to say to you. and here he was.

last christmas you had steve, tackling you with kisses. a dust of sugar on your nose that he licked up for you. and the sweet aftertaste in his mouth when he kissed you right after. of steve, of sweet vanilla and pumpkin spice from his coffee that he'd had earlier.

you had met him on the train from new york. you'd get to talking around when he way eyeing your cookies (which smelled delicious, who wouldn't?) and so you ended up offering him some. you had some pretty good laughs on that ride, and you didn't mind that he finished up your snack. you'd only known him as steve. so when he asked you out on a date while geting off on the station, you weren't surprised– he was a charming man. and you weren't afraid of admitting that he had your heart right then.

and it's hard to believe that it was only last year that steve was here, putting up the ornaments on the tree for you, massaging your feet after you came home from a very busy day at the cafe, him kissing you at midnight on new years. why is everything so different now? you couldn't help but wonder, what if it wasn't? what if that steve was still here?

but he wasn't. and for that you forgive him, you had to. for your own good. he chose peggy and you forgive him because what you had with him was enough for you.

you never did hope for a lifetime with him.

what you had was a lifetime.

"it's okay steve" you said. and he knew that you were okay then, that you will be okay without him.

that night was the last you saw of him, you sat beside him with your head on his shoulder, breathing him in for the last time as you held his warm hand between your cold palms. and before he left, you kissed his cheek for the last time. you had him at last. he came back to you. and your's was the last kiss he would hold.

#steve rogers x reader #christmas vibes #captain america #marvel imagine #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers au #steve rogers x gn!reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers

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