The Wonderful People That Own My Heart

The wonderful people that own my heart❤️

The little spy

(Steve Rogers x reader; oneshot)

Summary: Steve Rogers pulls a Clint Barton.

Wordcount: 5k

Warnings: none

A/N: Long story short, I saw this post, and it made me emotional, so I decided to do something about it. Dad Steve is very important, okay? But because I’m me, and angst is illegal in this house, this is just a load of fluff. I hope you like it! And if you don’t well, in my defense, I haven’t written in years.

masterlist

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He lands the Quinjet near a cliff, only a thick forest and the ocean surrounding them. Steve doesn’t move from the pilot’s seat for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

He’d just fought the people he thought were his family. Yes, he managed to save Bucky from being locked up, or worse - killed. But the people who trusted him and stood by him payed the price for his actions. The last thing he saw before flying away from the Berlin airport was his friends getting arrested.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was small. He couldn’t see Steve’s face, only his stiff shoulders.

Steve shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah, Buck?”

“What do we do?”

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where you decide to stay

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: It’s become a routine for you and the Captain to do this; go out, get drinks, and hookup when you’re on assignment together. You didn’t fall into bed with each other because you fell in love; you feel into bed with each other because Wilson doesn’t seem interested, Rogers holds his relationship with Romanoff too sacred for him to corrupt with sex, and you’re the only other option. You’re there. You’re easy. And yet…

Author's Note: This fic is for my 300 followers challenge, inspired by the song "All I've Ever Known" from the musical Hadestown. Title is from "That Could Be Enough" from Hamilton, because I'm a theatre kid and this is a theatre challenge. This fic is kinda different from anything I've ever written and it absolutely could not have happened without the help of @divine-mistake, who encouraged me every step of the way. Thank you for believing in me, Taylor.

Warning(s): angst with a happy ending, implied smut, mention of sex trafficking (in passing), light description of injury, mutual pining, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being seen

Word Count: 3,571

( masterlist / ao3 )

You wake up in a cocoon of warmth. Not only are you nestled under five blankets, a quilt, and a heavy-duty comforter, you’ve also got a big muscular arm keeping you close to a big muscular chest. It’s a moment you wish you could stay in forever; quit your life of international vigilantism and just live in a breathless moment between sleep and waking.

You shake the thought from your mind, pushing yourself from the cocoon and into the cold winter morning of the St. Petersburg safe house. You begin to gather various clothing items and weapons from around the room. Steve's still asleep, the peaceful lull of his breathing drawing your heart back to bed like the tide. You consider joining him again.

You sigh, shaking your head.

Nothing gold can stay.

You walk to the front door and step outside.

It’s snowing in St. Petersburg. The wind whips at your face as you sneak down the alley away from Steve and the safehouse. You tuck your chin in towards your chest and flip the lapels of your coat up around your face.

This is the part that you’re used to: the leaving.

You’d done a lot of that in your life. You’d been essentially alone, after becoming a fugitive at fifteen. You’d hacked the CIA. That was until a year ago, when Captain America had tracked you down and asked if you’d be willing to help him win a fight. He was taking on half of the Avengers, and all the scientists and engineers were on the other team. You agreed. You improved some of their tech, got in trouble with the UN, and now you go on secret missions all over the world saving lives and falling into bed with Captain America.

Damn Rogers, with his bright blue eyes that can see a whole world beyond the one you’re in. He’s crazy. He makes you feel alive.

You feel a tug in your chest, knowing how long it will be until you see him again.

You bury it somewhere deep in the snow under your feet.

╳ ╳ ╳

The first time Steve sees you, the world stops short.

You’re at that empty airport in Germany, preparing to fight. He’d met you in the same way he’d met Lang, just a quick introduction before things become serious.

The whole group of you walk towards the edge of the parking lot, out into the light of day.

Steve looks down the line at his teammates, with their stoic and fierce expressions, and then there was you; stood at the end of the line, looking terrified.

Steve’s not one for love at first sight. He judges people on the content of their character, and could never love someone without really knowing them.

But he watches you, all that fear on your face rippling like he’d touched the surface of water and then settling and smoothing out into something more determined, and he thought “that’s the point”.

Then he turned forward and went to battle.

╳ ╳ ╳

You stumble through the door of the St.Petersburg safehouse around midnight, tipsy and in the middle of smudging your lipstick all over Steve’s face. You’re only a few steps in the doorway before you’re shedding clothes. You’re lucky the place is just a studio apartment. Otherwise, you wouldn’t make it to the bed.

It’s become a routine for you and the Captain to do this; go out, get drinks, and hookup when you’re on assignment together. You didn’t fall into bed with each other because you fell in love; you feel into bed with each other because Wilson doesn’t seem interested, Rogers holds his relationship with Romanoff too sacred for him to corrupt with sex, and you’re the only other option. You’re there. You’re easy.

And yet…

Steve Rogers touches you like you’re precious. He brings you to your climax and then clings to you like you’re the answer he’s been searching for. He traces gentle patterns into your bare hip in the aftermath, while your mind is occupied with exit strategies.

“You gonna be here when I wake up?” he whispers when he thinks you’re asleep.

No, you say to yourself. You live to disappoint.

╳ ╳ ╳

None of you take much with you, but Steve has a backpack. He calls it a “knapsack” and you laugh at him a little in your head every time. From what you’ve observed, it contains a few changes of clothes, a little notebook, a compass, a case full of pencils, and a sketchbook. You see him sketching in it all the time, although you never quite catch what he’s drawing.

But you wonder. And he leaves his backpack on the floor when he takes you to bed.

You wake up in the middle of the night. You’d had a bad dream, not a nightmare. (It’s not a nightmare if it doesn’t wake up your bedmate).

The backpack is sitting on the floor across the room, staring at you.

Staying quiet enough not to wake Captain America’s enhanced hearing is a challenge, especially when you’re rifling through his bag. But you feel the familiar leather of the sketchbook and you grab on for dear life, running on tiptoe over to the hotel room bathroom. You sit on the toilet seat and open up the book.

Steve is remarkably good. Some of the more basic sketches are familiar faces; Tony Stark and Clint Barton towards the start, Romanoff and Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, the guy with the metal arm you haven’t seen since Germany (Bucky; Steve’s best friend, your mind supplies). There are also some more cartoonish works, like one of a monkey in the Captain America suit balancing on a thin wire labelled “principles”, or a man sleeping on a bed made of icicles. There are a couple sketches of you; one of your back that must’ve been done one night while you were asleep, or your silhouette during some kind of battle that must’ve been done from memory.

Judging how often you saw Steve drawing you assumed he’d have to have sketched you at some point. It’s not surprising; you’re there. You linger on the silhouette for a moment before flipping the page.

The following page makes you gasp.

It’s you again, but unlike any of the others. In this one you’re smiling; head tilted over the one side, lips pursed from the effort of keeping in a full on laugh. Your expression looks fond. Your eyes twinkle.

You stand quickly, looking into the bathroom mirror. You smile. The smile makes you frown.

You have all the same features as the woman from the sketch; same hair and eyes and nose. But you can’t recreate that twinkle, or the fondness. It’s not an expression you can bring out of yourself, you realize. It’s an expression only he can.

You quickly shut the bathroom light, return the sketchbook to Steve’s backpack, and crawl back in bed.

╳ ╳ ╳

Steve’s leaning up against the wall of an alley somewhere, waiting for Sam to bring food back to the car. He can’t really show his face anywhere anymore, and a cowardly part of him is glad for that. He doesn’t think he can face the world as the guy who destroyed their protectors.

You stayed back to wait with him, though, and for that, he’s grateful. You don’t ask much of him, just stand there kicking rocks in your beat-up combat boots.

“Have I ever thanked you, for everything?”

Steve watches you ponder the laces of your boots. He thinks you’re trying to decide if he’s serious. He thinks he can tell what you’re feeling, sometimes, just by looking at you.

“I didn’t do anything, Rogers.”

“You decided to join my team,” he says. “You knew the UN was against us - that Tony was against us - and you still signed on. That’s pretty brave.”

You scoff, eyes trained on the pebbles you’re kicking at. Steve wishes you’d look at him.

“I’m serious.”

Your eyes flick up to his face and for one paralyzing moment, you’re looking straight at him.

“When you recruited me, you said that the battle might not end easily, or soon. You said this could turn into the fight of my life.”

There’s this awful expression on your face that Steve recognizes from his military days. It’s the face of a commanding officer writing to the families of a soldier who was killed in action.

“I wasn’t noble,” you say to his forehead. “I was hungry.”

╳ ╳ ╳

It’d be wrong to tell you you’re beautiful right then, but he thinks it.

╳ ╳ ╳

There’s dirt all over your body, seeping into your pores and your lungs and somehow, your heart. It’s suffocating, the unsettled air around the warehouse. You’re on your back in the middle of the ground. Your side burns, and without any examination you’re pretty sure it’s a knife wound. Fucking sex traffickers.

“Everyone alright?” You hear his voice from the comms in your ears. “Romanoff?”

“I’m alright and on my way to the jet.”

“Good. Wilson?”

“I got eyes on Romanoff, following her out.”

“Alright. Y/l/n?”

You try to sit up and tell Steve you’re alright at the same time, but all that comes out is a cry of pain at the gash across your ribs.

“Y/l/n?!” He yells into the comms.

You suck a breath through your teeth, biting back another scream and more tears. Your side burns, so much so that disembowelment seems like a better option than struggling your way back to the jet. Better to just throw the whole person away and start over.

Steve is calling for you over the comms, but it takes a second for your hearing to get back online.

“Y/l/n?!! Where are you? Y/n?!!”

“I’m here, Cap. It’s gonna - uh shit - take me a sec to get to you guys.”

“Don’t even think about it, I’ll come to you.”

You don’t know how long you’re sitting there, willing yourself to stand up but unable to move again without whimpering. You might’ve blacked out for a second. You do know the familiar clomp of Captain America’s boots, rushing over to your position on the warehouse floor.

There’s a moment where he just stands there, stunned and frankly quite useless, looking you over. He tilts his head at you, arms held out on either side, eyes raking over your weakened frame.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says at last.

You chuckle through gritted teeth, and almost black out from the pain it sends to your ribs.

“I don’t really think that’s an option, Cap.”

He nods, looking a bit sheepish. As gently as he can manage, he eases you into his arms, taking extra care around your bloody rib cage. The whole affair takes about five minutes, but you manage to find a position in his arms.

The exhaustion overtakes you immediately. You know you need to stay awake, but your eyelids have a different agenda. They close every other second, heavy and getting increasingly hard to fight.

“Y/n, you still with me?” Steve asks, panic rising in his tone.

“Unfortunately,” you say, forcing your eyelids open just in time to catch Steve’s expression.

Damn him, he smiles at that. And damn you, you bare your bloody teeth and smile back.

╳ ╳ ╳

The problem with being international fugitives is that there’s really no safe place to go for medical care. You’re bleeding from your side, fading in and out of consciousness, and Steve’s just about done hearing why he can’t take you to a hospital.

“Steve,” Sam says, adopting his “I work at the VA” tone that Steve loathes. “Your face is plastered on every news channel in the world. The second you walk into a hospital, you’re gonna come out in handcuffs.”

“I can break handcuffs,” Steve reminds him.

Sam gives him a look.

“Super handcuffs.”

He stares Steve down for a moment, and maybe in another life where Steve isn’t as stubborn and hasn’t already disassembled Earth’s Mightiest Heroes for the sake of not being so alone, it’d work.

“Look, boys, we need to get her somewhere,” Natasha reminds them.

Right. They’re still standing outside a warehouse. You’re still bleeding out in Steve’s arms.

“There’s a safehouse we can go to in Budapest, I have a hospital grade first-aid kit there. Okay?”

Steve looks down at you, lying limp in his arms.

“Okay.”

╳ ╳ ╳

“He likes you, you know,” Sam Wilson says to you from the driver’s seat of the car, during a rare moment when it’s just the two of you.

“Who, Rogers?” you ask. “He likes you too, Wilson.”

Sam scoffs.

“You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

He has you there.

Neither of you says a word the rest of the journey.

╳ ╳ ╳

Natasha sits next to Steve in the back of the quinjet on the way to Budapest.

“You’re in love with her,” she says. It’s not a question.

“Really, Romanoff?” Steve tries for venom, but he’s never been good at fighting, not for himself. He’s just tired.

She arches a brow at him.

“Are you denying it?”

Steve stares at his hands.

╳ ╳ ╳

Natasha knows a nurse who’s able to confirm you don’t have internal bleeding, stitch up the gash across your ribs, and be handsomely compensated for her discretion. You’re human and you almost bled to death, so it’s gonna take at least a few weeks to recover. Romanoff and Wilson take off on new assignments within the first couple days. Your Captain insists on staying for the duration of your recovery.

“Can I get you anything?”

He’s leaned against the doorpost of the only bedroom in the place - the bed’s a queen but he’s been taking the couch because he is irrevocably that guy - giving you his best impression of a concerned mother.

You smile a little at that. His brow furrows.

“What?”

“You make a good nurse,” you tell him.

“Yeah?” He walks over and sits himself down next to you on the bed.

“My mom was a nurse, and I spent a lot of time with ‘em. I used to get sick a lot, back in the day.”

“Well, I think you’d make your mother proud,” you say.

You meant them as a joke, but the words fall from your lips too softly.

There’s something painfully close about Steve right now. You’ve been naked in front of him in bed before, but you’ve never felt so exposed as you do at this moment, telling him his mom would be proud of him.

Steve seems to pick up on it is as well. He drops his gaze to his hands.

“You almost died,” he all but whispers.

You swallow.

“I did.”

He nods. His eyebrows knit together in that way they do when he’s preparing for a fight.

“Natasha thinks I’m in love with you -”

Natasha’s always right about people, you think.

“ - but I think you already knew that.”

Maybe Steve’s right about people too.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I know.”

Your mind is blank. He’s looking at you, looking for a sign in you, the way he’d done in a thousand moments before this one, and you have no words.

“Right,” he coughs, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll, ah, go then.”

He moves to stand from the bed, legs sliding across the bedding, feet hovering over the floor. You grab his hand.

“Damnit, Steve,” you say, and then you pull his face down towards yours and kiss him.

You kiss him, and it feels like climbing a tree as a child. It feels like sunlight on your face. It feels like all those things you never had; safety and warmth and arms that reach for you only to offer comfort.

Steve brings his arms up around you, and he feels like he’s holding the whole world. He has always been Atlas with the world on his shoulders. But now he’s discovering that when the world shifts from his shoulders to his arms and takes your shape, its weight is bearable. Its weight is glorious.

The kissing goes on for a while, slow and soft and achingly tender in that way he does things. You don’t realize you’re crying until Steve’s elated smile falls from his face.

“This isn’t easy for me,” you say. A confession, or maybe an apology.

“This,” you sigh, “emotions… thing.”

“What can I do to make this easier on you?” Steve whispers to you.

Your face heats. You bury your gaze in the smooth muscle of his chest.

You want to make a joke, something to diffuse the tension and remove that painfully earnest expression from his face. But you’ve got the human embodiment of afternoon sunlight and cookies fresh from the oven engulfing you in his protective embrace. But you just almost died, and you’re tired of begging him not to love you. But the best man in the world loves you despite how hard you tried to get him not to. The least you can give him is the truth.

“Say that you’ll hold me forever,” you say instead, and it sounds like a prayer as it leaves your lips. “Say that nothing’s gonna change. Say we’ll stay together and it’ll always be like this.”

Steve takes a gentle finger to your chin, lifting it so you’re looking directly into those baby blue eyes. His smile is teasing, but earnest and gentle.

You can see it in his eyes, a whole future for the both of you sketching itself out in his head. A better world that no one else can see.

“I’m gonna hold you forever. Nothing will ever change for us. As long as we stay together, it will always be like this.”

And damn, you, you believe him. Despite knowing that he couldn’t possibly make that promise, you believe him. You want to live in a world where you look like the woman from his sketches, and he wants to construct it. He looks at you like you’re the whole world wrapped up in his arms, and you believe him.

When you wake up the next morning, Steve’s asleep, an armed looped over your waist. You smile, pull him closer, and drift off to sleep again.

Good Company - Richie Tozier

word count: 2843 warnings: swearing summary: (y/n) isn’t that big on parties, and when her only option is to hang out with the biggest flirt, she gets to know Richie Tozier a bit better. ___

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𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀 𝗘𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘀 & 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 ➺ 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

Categories: MCU - AU

╭ Read the warnings. Some are dark/have dark elements, contain A/B/O, contain explicit sexual content etc. Your media consumption is your responsibility. ╯

✎ = New fics added! - #Galore Update

✧˖*°࿐

MCU: one shots, series, headcanons, drabbles, blurbs

Fluff ✎ (MCU/AU, soft!steve, meet cute, crushes, established relationship...)

Smut [I] [II] ✎ (MCU/AU, PWP...)

Angst ✎ (MCU/AU, cheating/infidelity, major character death, break ups...)

Avenger/Enhanced/Inhuman!Reader ✎

Pre-Serum!Steve, 1930s & 1940s ✎

Doctor/Scientist!Reader & Stark!Reader

Fake Relationship, Secret Relationship & Accidental Marriage ✎

Neighbours & Roommates (MCU/AU)

✧˖*°࿐

... to Lovers ✎ (friends, enemies, ex's)

Age Gap & Dad!Steve ✎ (MCU/AU, single dad, dad's best friend, best friend's dad, mom's boyfriend, stepdad, dilf...)

Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes & Stucky x Reader

Dark Fics ✎ (dark!steve, dark!reader)

Series [I] [II] ✎ (MCU/AU, 2+ parts, all genres)

Misc. [gems♕] ✎ (ft. greaser, librarian, personal trainer, lumberjack, movie aus, priest, mechanic, rockstar au...)

✧˖*°࿐

AU/Alternative Universe: one shots, series, headcanons, drabbles, blurbs

A/B/O ✎

Biker AU & Mob/Mafia AU ✎

Boxer AU/Doctor AU ✎

CEO AU & Sugar Daddy AU ✎

Flower Shop AU & Coffee Shop AU

Fratboy AU & College AU, High School AU & Professor/Teacher!Steve ✎

Royal AU

Soulmate AU

Tattooed!Steve/Tattoo Artist!Steve

Is that my sweater?

Summary: When lounging around the compound, Steve wears a lot of sweaters. When he's on a mission, you "borrow" those sweaters.

Warnings: fluff, angst, implied smut, some cursing probably

Word Count: 2284

a/n: I needed some fluffy Steve Rogers in my life today.

Masterlist

You're not sure when it started, but when Steve is on a mission, all you do is worry. It's easier to control when you're on the mission with him or even on a mission of your own, but when he's gone and you're in the compound?

All you do is worry.

You could barely even sleep. That is, until you found a semi-decent solution.

Before the last mission Steve went on, the two of you were arguing about Harry Potter. He had the audacity to say the movies were better than the books, which is categorically untrue.

Unbeknownst to you, he was just trying to get a rise out of you because he likes the way your face scrunches up in annoyance.

Anyway, he followed you to your room when you stormed out of the kitchen, not wanting you to be mad at him while he was gone. He carried his sweater in his hands, having taken it off while cooking, leaving him in a white t-shirt.

When he got to your room, he dropped it on a chair so he could grab your hands to truly convey how wrong he was about the books and movie situation.

When he was called for the mission, he left the sweater behind, leading to your so-called-solution for sleeping while he was away.

The idea hit you one night when you were physically exhausted, but mentally couldn't calm down. You rolled over, trying to get more comfortable when you caught sight of his sweater on your chair.

In your sleep deprived state, you shuffled over to grab it, throwing it on over your own pajama shirt before returning to bed.

You were enveloped in his scent, easing the nonstop worry long enough for you to fall asleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you told yourself it was a one time thing. It only happened because he left the sweater there. You were just worried about your best friend. It didn't have to mean anything.

Those were all lies.

The next time he left on a mission, you were quick to find you couldn't sleep again. Your thoughts kept returning to his many sweaters, causing you to sneak into his room to steal one to sleep in.

Every time he left while you were still at the compound, you would "borrow" a sweater from his closet, returning the previous one you had to his laundry basket.

You figured he would never find out. He owned so many sweaters, he wouldn't notice when one was dirty even if he didn't wear it.

Oh, how wrong you were.

-

"Y/N, welcome back!" Bruce greeted you as you walked into the lab, having returned from a mission late last night.

"Thanks, Banner!" You looked around the room, surprised to not see Tony. "Where's Tony?"

"Oh, he's on a mission. They left a day after you, should be back on Sunday." He replied, not taking his eyes from the tech he was working on.

"They?" You questioned, trying to think of who you had seen around the compound since returning.

"Yeah, Tony, Bucky, Nat, Wanda, and Steve." Again, his eyes remaining glued to his project, not realizing the way your face fell at the mention of Steve being gone.

"Five of them? What happened?" You tried to mask the worry that was already creeping in, threatening to take over.

Bruce finally looked up, surprised you hadn't heard about the explosions.

"There was a series of explosions in Baghdad. Intel suggested it was all to assassinate one man, but multiple bombs were used to divert attention."

You nodded, trying to take in the information. "Any leads?"

Bruce's expression turned grim as he nodded. "Hydra."

You felt your heart drop even further as you now fully understood just how dangerous the mission was. No wonder they needed the five of them.

You nodded in response before muttering something about going to the gym, needing to leave the lab so you could worry in private.

Since the compound was nearly empty, you ended up going to the gym as you said. You managed to distract yourself for a few hours, but there was still 4 days before they were supposed to be back.

That night, you snuck into Steve's room, borrowing another sweater to snuggle up in for the next few nights.

-

Friday morning, you woke to somebody knocking on your door.

You couldn't really be mad since it was already almost noon, but it was still mildly annoying to be disrupted from your limited sleeping.

In your hazy morning fog, you got out of bed to open the door. Your grumbling about being woken up died on your tongue when you realized just who was on the other side.

"Steve!" You jumped into his arms, ecstatic to see him after worrying so much. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until Sunday!" You squeezed your arms around him tightly, unwilling to let go even when your feet returned to the ground.

"Yeah, we got done earlier than we expected." Steve graciously returned your hug, thrilled to see you after nearly two weeks apart.

After a few reassuring words that the mission went well and he was uninjured, you finally stepped back from each other.

"I was wondering if you wanted to join me to watch the next Harry Potter-" He abruptly cut himself off as he took in your appearance. His brows pinched together in confusion. "Is that my sweater?"

You instantly froze. In your sleep fogged ming, you had forgotten to take off his sweater before answering the door. You could feel the blush warming your face as you tried to think of a way out of this.

"Would you believe me if I said no?" You gave him a nervous smile, trying to avoid admitting the truth.

He laughed, although still confused. "Not really, no."

You sighed, before reluctantly confessing. "Yeah. It's your sweater."

He waited, as if expecting you to willingly explain why you had it, before he eventually asked the question you were dreading.

"Um, why are you wearing it?" He coughed, a slight blush growing on his cheeks as he looked you up and down again.

Your mind raced trying to come up with a good reason for you having his sweater, but you couldn't think of anything but the truth.

You threw your hands up over your face, avoiding all eye contact as you blurted out, "I was worried about you."

He waited again, before gently prompting you to continue. "So..."

"So, I broke into your closet and stole your sweater to sleep in because it's the only way I can get myself to calm down enough to sleep while you're on missions." You gasped, covering your mouth as you realized what you just admitted.

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he sputtered. "Missions? Like multiple? You've, uh, you've done this before?" His face grew redder at the thought of you sleeping in his clothes.

You nodded, hands still over your mouth to prevent any other unfortunate confessions.

"Um, since, uh since when?" He cleared his throat, trying not to sound to giddy.

"You remember when we had the Harry Potter movies versus books argument?" You moved your hands away from your face just enough to talk, before quickly covering your face again to hide your embarrassment.

He nodded, thinking back a few months.

"You left a sweater in my room when you were called away on that emergency mission and I just..." You gestured with your hands, not wanting to actually say it out loud.

Steve was completely speechless. You worried about him enough to want, no need to sleep in one of his sweaters when he was gone?

The only word he could manage to get out was a whispered, "why?"

You shrugged, repeating your earlier statements. "Because I worry about you when you're on missions."

"Yeah, but why?" He was having a hard time comprehending what this actually meant. He meant why did the sweater help, but you took it as a question of why you worried.

You shrunk in on yourself, avoiding eye contact again.

"I, uh, well you're my best friend, and I, um, care about you..." You trailed off, not sure you were entirely ready for your feelings to be out in the open.

"Enough that you worry so much you can't sleep without my clothes?" Steve was so bewildered, he was barely thinking. He was definitely not controlling his tone of voice. The question came across to you as harsh and annoyed.

In your eyes, he was clearly upset with the situation. The only logical reason you could think of for him to be that upset is if he knew about your feelings and didn't reciprocate them.

Tears sprung to your eyes as you hastily removed the sweater, leaving you slightly chilly in just your tank top and shorts. The chill sent a new wave of emotion over you, anger replacing the sadness at how harsh we was being with you.

"Yeah, I care about you, asshole. Hell, I think I'm in love with you." Despite your mumbling, he could clearly understand what you said. His eyes went even wider at your latest confession.

"I'm sorry I took your clothes." You threw the sweater at him, grabbing a sweatshirt from your desk. "If it helps at all, I only ever had one sweater at a time." Your bitter tone did not go unnoticed by Steve.

"Y/N, I..." He paused, still overwhelmed by finding out that you loved him too.

Your eyes quickly softened, the brief angry stint ending. You couldn't be mad at him for not feeling that same way. It wasn't fair. You would just have to move on.

"Steve, it's fine. I'll get over it." You brushed past him into the hallway, deciding to drown your sadness in junk food from the kitchen.

Steve stood frozen, watching you walk away and wondering how that went so poorly.

-

When you made it to the kitchen is was thankfully empty. You dug around for a few minutes, looking for something that would make you feel better, ultimately settling on a package of Oreo's and a glass a milk.

For some reason, it's always been a comfort food for you, reminding you of being a kid and having no real problems.

A few stray tears fell down your cheeks, but you hastily wiped them away. You would resign yourself to cry in the comfort of your own room later.

A few minutes into eating your Oreo's, nearly everyone appeared in the kitchen.

You honestly should have expected it since it was pretty much prime lunch time.

You did your best to put on a happy face as you ate your cookies, not really joining any conversations but nodding along. A few minutes later, everyone settled around the room, eating various things and having separate conversations.

You had just finished your cookies and rinsed your glass when Steve ran into the room, a look on his face that could only be described as desperate.

"Whoa, slow down there Capsicle. Where's the fire?" Tony joked, earning chuckles from a few people.

Steve ignored him as his eyes scanned the room, settling on your frozen form by the sink.

"Cap, you good?" Sam questioned as everyone grew more concerned with his behavior.

Again, Steve ignored him. He took four large steps around the island before coming face to face with you. You took a deep breath, really not wanting to have this conversation in front of literally everyone you work with.

"Steve, wha-"

He cut you off by pulling your head to his, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss.

You froze at first, but quickly leaned into his embrace to deepen the kiss.

He pulled back, much too soon for your liking, to stare into your eyes.

"Y/N, I honestly have no idea what just happened in your doorway. I think my brain malfunctioned or something, but please believe me when I say I've been in love with you for months."

A blush painted your cheeks as you took in his words, a weird mixture of confusion and relief flooding your emotions.

"You do?" He nodded, still holding you close to him. "But- you just- you do?"

He laughed, pulling you into a hug and whispering in your ear, "I do. I really, really do."

"I love you too." You admitted in as soft a whisper, eagerly leaning into his warm embrace. You took a deep breath, finding comfort in the all too familiar scent.

You would have stood in his embrace for hours if not for your moment being interrupted by the clapping and hollering of your teammates.

"About time, punk." Bucky smirked from his seat on the barstools.

"Personally, I would love to know what happened in Y/N's doorway." Tony chimed in, laughing when you hid your face in Steve's chest.

"Steve probably just found out about Y/N's sweater habit." Nat added casually, earning looks from everyone in the room.

You were speechless, having been sure no one else knew.

Wanda, Sam, and Clint looked way too excited to learn more.

"You all really need to be more observant." She muttered to yourself.

You and Steve slipped out of the room when attention had turned to Nat, slowly making your way back up to your room.

"You're welcome to steal my sweaters anytime." Steve pulled you into his side as you walked down the hall.

"Oh, well I guess I'll start with this one then." You smirked before pulling him into your room, already removing the sweater from his body.

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