.

𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Shit." You groaned, your arms giving out as your comb dropped to the floor. You were starting to regret training your arms today with Natasha because your head full of coils was all the workout you needed for the day. Grumbling in defeat, you sit on your bed, sprawling your aching body across your bedspread.

You'd been a part of the avengers for three years now. Ever since you went viral on social media for stopping a band of thieves— burning their faces with your bare hands. It took five minutes of convincing before you found yourself inside of avengers tower, making your way around.

Now here you were, three years later, struggling to put your hair in some damn plaits. "Alright, round two," you muttered. This hair was not going to get the best of you, again.

A small knock formed on your bedroom door, taking your attention away from your reflection in the mirror. "Hey," Steve smiled, his hands resting in his pockets as he leaned against your door frame.

"Hey," you smiled back, waving him in and motioning for him to take a seat in your hammock.

Steve couldn't help but stare.

He loved your hair and appreciated the time and creativity you put into it.

Those nights after missions where everyone sat around unwinding, and you disappeared—swearing you had a hair 'crisis to attend to.

He wished he could follow you those nights, watch what it took to style your hair.

And now he was finally getting front row tickets.

"What's going on, Stevie?" you asked, taking another swipe of grease to your scalp. The super soldiers piercing blue eyes watching your pattern intensely. He almost forgot to respond.

Liquid, grease, and of course, the hibiscus leave-in he enjoyed the smell of.

When you'd fly past him on missions—it's all he'd smell for the rest of the night.

"Stevie?" You smile softly, your arms shaking as you finish your first plait. His eyes fluttered from your workstation to your brown eyes as you looked back at him over your shoulders. "I...I'm just checking in on you. Doing my rounds." You chuckled, looking back at yourself in the mirror. "I guess you could say I'm great, besides this." You tug at your excess hair. "Good," Steve said, standing and making his way over to you. His larger frame suddenly crowding the mirror.

It was no secret that you and Steve had something.

Some would call it chemistry.

Whether it was on the field.

Or right now.

When his hands grazed over your exposed shoulders, sending shutters down your spine. His nose practically dug into your hair.

"Can I ask you something, doll?" Steve took a deep breath, inhaling your scent some more. "Hm?" you hummed making another part. Steve took the liberty of taking the comb from your hands. His fingertips grazing over yours as he did. "Can I help you braid your hair?." He said meekly, his voice had a nervous tremor. You snicker, looking him up and down. “Are you sure?” Steve beamed, shaking his head up and down vigorously. “Yes.”

Smiling, you took his hand. Placing him on your bed while you slipped between his legs on the floor. “Alright, now just as I did, make a part as straight and even as you can.” You instructed him.

Although Steve was a captain and was good with orders, he just couldn’t seem to get it right.

There was a lot of tugging.

And re-doing braids.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, doll.”

“Okay, maybe I should—.”

“No, please let me try again.”

But eventually, he got the hang of it. And unknowingly you had fallen asleep in between the super soldiers' legs. Using the inside of his knee as a pillow.

You woke up to soft stroking on your cheek. “Doll, I’m all done. I think.” He snickered. Shifting awake you quickly ran to the mirror, a huge smile growing on your face. “Oh, Stevie. I love it.” You laughed, throwing your arms around his neck. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you in. “Not too bad for the first time, huh?”

You smirked, placing a kiss on his cheek. Watching the old man's face grow red. “No, not bad at all.” You giggled, turning your head from side to side, viewing the beautiful plaits he had done for you.

Every day after that Steve begged to do your hair or at least watch.

It got so bad you let him help you on wash day.

You could say Steve became your helper, taking the stress off your shoulders.

You’d be lying if you say you didn’t like it.