#happy pride everyone i need to peg that cartoon character

[nurserard]

moves go crazy

[caps-lockdown]

32 Days Later

32 Days Later (One shot)

Enjoy this piece of October Fluff! It’s my first real attempt at writing from Steve’s perspective, so sorry if it isn’t amazing. I also wrote this at four am after being up since twelve p.m the prior day.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Rating: PG (All fluff!)

Words: 2,245

Summary: It took exactly 32 days for Steve Rogers to fall for you.

No beta, only own mistakes and the reader. Again this is Y/N format but it is also from Steve’s point of view. Well sort of anyway. I TRIED PEOPLE.

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32 Days Later

You were trouble. That’s what Fury said.

October first came in a blink and Steve Rogers walked out of his room ready for his morning run to find you in your pair of skeleton pajamas. Your feet tapped barefoot against the hardwood floor of the kitchen as you sipped from a giant bat shaped mug. No doubt you had been waiting to pull it out, and by the smells of it you had just made a batch of Nutella hot chocolate. It was seven in the morning.

“No time to sleep when it’s October!” You had exclaimed gleefully, sitting on the couch in the joining room and proceeding to fold yourself into multiple layers of blankets. Steve rolled his eyes as the start of some horror movie began, shaking his head as he stepped outside. You’d only joined the team five months ago, per Fury’s orders and Tony’s headache. Sure, everyone fell in love with you within the first month. Well everyone except Steve of course. Keep your friends close and all that. He couldn’t peg you. Usually he was a good judge of character, but he was continually finding himself plagued by not being able to figure you out. He wasn’t an idiot though. He knew how great you were in the field. How you rivaled Nat’s marksmanship and Tony’s sarcasm. He knew that Bucky and Sam protected you like you were their adopted little sister. Hell he even knew Thor took to calling you “The small and mighty Y/N”. And just like now he knew you had been looking forward to this particular month, as you had mentioned it precisely eighty-six times during the course of this week.

He knew you were trouble. He just didn’t know what kind yet.

On October third you asked him what day it was.

“It’s October Third.” He replied back simply, your giggling fit ringing in his ears as everyone else joined in. He quickly learned that it was a movie reference, having being forced to watch said movie that same evening. He came to understand why you always shouted “She doesn’t even go here!” when you found something out of place, and why everyone (including Bucky to his shock) were wearing pink articles of clothing as the film played.

The wink you sent him from across the living room made his face heat up.

He distinctly recalls the night of October seventh when you nearly begged to get him to accompany you to a new horror movie playing at the theater downtown. “Tony and Pepper are going and I don’t want to be a third wheel!” You whined, “I need big strong arms to hug when I get scared!” You pleaded. “I’ll make you snickerdoodles for a week!”

He didn’t have the faintest idea what was happening amongst the bloodshed and screaming victims being mutilated, but he would never forget your floral scent of perfume taking over his senses. How your hands felt on his skin as you clung on for dear life to his arm and attempted to hide just a sliver of your face in his shoulder. The snickerdoodles were delivered outside his room for seven days straight after that, always wrapped and his name written in beautiful, careful script.

“Come on man, it’s just a pumpkin! It isn’t going to bite cha!”

Steve stared in discontent at the large orange gourd in front of him on October thirteenth. The team decided it would be in their best interest to carve faces and designs on them. Team Building. Tony called it.  Festive you called it. Disgusting chaos would have been his chosen words. The tarp covering the floor was no match for everyone’s hacking carnage, Sam’s complaint of splattered pumpkin guts on the wall in the kitchen causing everyone to roll their eyes. You said you’d get Parker to clean it up. Everyone laughed at your perfect humor. Again.

Steve was never much for gawking or ogling, but watching you put your “carving skills” (he had no idea those were actual skills) on your own vegetable, fruit, whatever you had called it, made him worry about ever making you angry. You were so calm while you worked, blades shaving off top layers and poking holes in artistic ways. Your fingers were lighter than air the entire time, yet he was growing more and more afraid for his personal safety. And his progressively growing attraction to you. It was only when you were nearly done painting yours in glow in the dark paint that he came to the realization that he hadn’t carved a single feature into his own. He worked haphazardly in a frenzy after that, almost losing a finger in his rush to complete it. Maybe you wouldn’t put together that he had spent his entire evening watching you. He had to hope right? The poor thing came out looking so uneven and lopsided he almost wanted to accidentally push it out of a nearby window to put it out of its misery.

“I think it looks wonderful Steve.” You cooed, his blood pressure rising as you went to place your masterpiece in between his and Sam’s puking pumpkin. Yours was an extremely well done adaptation of “Starry Night”, carved and painted with such precision Steve didn’t know if you were real for five whole seconds. Bucky said you put his art to shame. He had to agree, thrown off for just a millisecond when you brought him down into a strong and grateful hug.

“I know you didn’t want to be here. Thank you.” All he could do is make a small “Sure” as you parted ways, watching you and Nat link arms as you headed back into the Compound. He was too busy in his own thoughts when Sam gave him a long look. His mind was occupied with how your breath had felt against his neck when you hugged him, and the way you said his name.

You were definitely trouble.

October twenty fifth was the annual Stark Industries “Trunk or Treat”. It was a wonderful night filled with young children dressed as the Avengers and various other things, visiting trunks of employees and Stark himself to get their yearly candy. Thor and Bruce along with other security stood watch, while Nat and Clint passed out candy as Elsa and Kristoff from Frozen. Bucky and Sam were Ghostbusters, your head nearly exploding when the former and Steve both had said they’d never seen it. You had demanded Sam and Tony’s “Movie Buff” cards, mumbling something about “failing this city.” Whatever that meant.

And what was he doing this fair and crisp autumn night? He could ask himself the same thing, reaching to tug at the itchy orange ascot that clung to his neck tightly. The bell bottoms were a bit tight, the sweater vest threatening to pop at the seams at his wide shoulders. Your ex boyfriend had told you to keep it when he broke your heart right after you joined the team. It had been your dream to go as Daphne Blake and Fred Jones, certain you’d clean house at costume parties with your previous beau. That was until Fury got you the job and the jerk you had been dating for nearly three years told you he couldn’t deal with you making more than him and being stronger than him. Steve leapt, dived at the chance when you asked for his help, agreeing without knowing much about the Scooby Gang. You fixed that too, staying up til three in the morning with him the day of the event watching reruns of the famous cartoon. He pretty much had your laughter locked in his memory now, the way your hair moved when you threw your head back when Shaggy made another absurd food concoction. Your ex was a fool.  How lucky this guy had been to have you in the first place, only to mess it up royally later. It made his blood boil how much of your time he had wasted in the past. Steve would never treat you like he had, you deserved so much more than that. He admired you for your opinions and strength, how you could shut him up with cold hard facts when you got into heated debates. What a fool he was to lose you. You kept telling everyone you were better off, but he heard the crying on the other side of his room wall. Late at night. When you didn’t think anyone was awake to pity you.

So he helped you pass out candy from the back of your cousin’s panel van, the happy children scurrying off with their candy as he had to remind himself not to move to quickly lest his costume rip in a non-flattering way.

He asked you to Tony’s Halloween party that very night, saying he would get a bigger costume. You asked if it was a date to which he sheepishly confirmed. Your smile nothing short of blinding him, the kiss you placed on his cheek burning into his skin when you accepted. He was branded by you, instantly craving your attention and affection and conceding he would stop at nothing to earn it. He was a goner.

Halloween night came, you spending all day in a hurried disheveled mess as you baked countless treats for the party guests. Tony had insisted that the event could be completely catered but you were having none of it, busying yourself and not accepting any help. How you managed to pull it off in such a time crunch was beyond him, and he felt a certain sense of pride as you received dozens of compliments during the evening, your arm interlaced with his.

“I knew you could do it Doll, my ma would have killed for your recipes.”

“She brought you into this world Steve,” you beamed at him as you adjusted your own scratchy ascot, “She wouldn’t even have had to ask.”

The two of you won the contest, coming in second was Thor and Bruce’s in their absolutely wretched attempt at going as each other. He was addicted to your laughter about the whole ordeal though, Bruce’s wig specifically causing a riot throughout the night with everyone. Thor said he was flattered none the less. After the party he helped you back to your room, your inebriated nature meaning you needed assistance. You swore and stumbled out of your clothes on the way down the hall, the scene endearing to say the least. Steve could only shake his head, picking up your heels (torture devices you called them), purple thigh high stockings, red wig (and wig cap) as you went, tipsy and carefree.

“Does this mean we’re a couple now?” You asked, shoving your room door open with comical effort. “Cause we won the couple…couple contest. It’s only fair.”

“Sure sweetheart, I think I’d like that. But I would prefer to hear you say you’d like that when you’re sober, alright?”

“But I asked you already…” You looked so confused and he wanted nothing more than to kiss you senseless. Make you see how completely smitten he already was with you. But he just repeated himself and smiled.

You asked him to stay which he politely declined, only to be smacked in the face with a lime green ascot in response to his quest to remain respectful. All you had to do to win him over was give him a sad look, batting your eyes up at him and making all of his resolve cave. He stripped down to his white tank top and boxer briefs while you got comfortable under the sheets.

“You can sleep on top of the covers. Buck said you super soldiers run hot.”

He smiled while snuggling into you, hoping you wouldn’t pick up on his racing heartbeat when you shifted your weight, leaning your head back against his chest. “Why’s that Y/N? Afraid I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself?”

“No,” You mumbled, already half asleep when his arm came around you. “I’m one-hundred percent sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.” He stiffened slightly, hearing you chuckle cheekily before falling into an easy slumber. He’d get even in the morning he decided.

November first came in a blink, Steve stretching at the first sign of sunrise. The bed was empty. Your bed was empty. He could faintly hear noise coming from the kitchen, throwing on his pants from the night prior and shutting the door behind him. The dark and sinister decorations were gone, replaced with bright and incredibly gaudy holiday lights and décor. He didn’t know they had twelve nutcracker statues, each eerily looking a lot like their real life Avenger counterparts. He chuckled at the sight of you, braid a mess and green and red striped pajamas covering you. His heart caught in his throat when you turned from the counter to face him, your beauty always managing to make his heart stop momentarily. Your feet padded across the floor as you sipped from your obnoxiously large ceramic mug shaped like a reindeer.

Your kiss tasted of peppermint mocha, the world drowned out as he returned it tenfold, tugging you close and spilling a hint of coffee onto his tank top.

“We’re so a couple Rogers,” You grinned after breaking away slightly, “So buckle up.”

You were trouble. But he definitely didn’t mind.

The end.

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