#rip my wildly out of hand crack concepts i still need to write

[folatefangirl]

Half of the crackfics in the TROP ao3 crack tag are just knee-jerk anti TROP works. Which, fine. I've consumed and written extensive and multiple crackfics for things I've disliked before, too. Not judging anyone for writing what they write since ao3 isn't set up for anti fandom tags. But the fact that there is so little crack that my friend group's meme fic is jumping up in the ranks overnight AND that approximately half the crackfics are anti TROP seems like a gauntlet-issued challenge to me, specifically, a crack writer in this the month of our lord NaNoWriMo >·>

[ciarawritesmarvel]

adjustment - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Some language because our beautiful reader wants to, okay? Other than that this is clearly just a fluff-fest

A/N: Yet another instalment in The Univer5e! I couldn’t help myself, I love writing this reader and Steve together too damn much. Again, this is super early on in their timeline. I’m currently writing ‘Teaming Up’, the next oneshot here, but its at 6k words and not nearly finished so that could be a while - haha! Hope you like this one in the meantime my lovelies :)

masterlist is in my bio, tags are in a reblog… please drop an ask to be tagged in steve/number five/all works! <3

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“Steve? Are you decent?”

You were stood in the living room, midi skirt dancing around your shins and denim jacket to protect you from the light spring breeze that you’d had to face on the walk here. It was still early spring and the warmth hadn’t quite set it yet, the world appearing to be in that strange stage of not asleep but not nearly awake either.

Which just happened to be the state of Steve Rogers that morning.

“It’s the weekend, Y/L/N, no waking me up before nine,” he rubbed his eyes as he wandered out to you, in a white T-shirt and sweats. You tsked. That simply wouldn’t do.

“Yeah I know,” you gnawed on your bottom lip and Steve seemed to wake up a little at your uncharacteristic nerves, “You wanna go somewhere?”

“Where are we going?” he asked, genuine curiosity seeping in and you smiled shyly at the thought of him refusing to go anywhere with you not six months ago.

“For a walk. And a talk. If you’re up for it?”

It made him smile to think of a time when you definitely wouldn’t bother asking him what he wanted to do.

As it was now, though, he told you to make yourself at home and that he’d be less than ten minutes. He was true to his word, emerging just seven minutes later in button up and jeans, his lovely brown leather jacket that he wore almost everywhere on top. You smiled. Beckoned for him to grab his keys and follow you out. He did so happily.

“I was thinking Martha’s? But if you’d rather-“

“Martha’s is perfect. I could murder a muffin right now,” Steve replied, mouth watering and you chuckled at him, taking the necessary directions to arrive at the cafe you two frequented together, but stayed well away from when apart. Which was no longer very often.

Once drinks and muffins were set in place in front of you, Steve leaned across, ignoring his delicacies and spoke.

“Okay, something is definitely wrong and it’s starting to scare me.”

You paused, which only confirmed his theory.

“Why would you say that?” you asked, not entirely convincing of your confusion but that was probably because he was completely and embarrassingly right.

“Well let’s see: you haven’t called me Spangles yet. You haven’t needlessly sworn at me yet. You barely spoke to me on the way over here. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual,” he listed them off on his fingers until you had buried your face in your hands, “Oh, and the real giveaway? You’re picking at your muffin like a chipmunk.”

You chuckled despite yourself, rolling your eyes fondly and returning your gaze to his to see his concerned eyes staring back at you, waiting for an explanation.

You sighed.

“I’ve done my job really well,” you say unhappily with the hint of a pout and Steve tilts his head, confused, “You’ve been deemed ‘Adjusted’. You don’t...You don’t need me anymore.”

The final sentence was so alien a concept to you that it came out as almost a whisper, like you didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to believe it. It had been nice to be needed in a different way for a little while. Really nice.

Steve, on the other hand, was taken aback.

“But I’m not adjusted. I know I’m trained up and I’ve been cleared for combat but, but-“ he was getting panicked and you cursed yourself for doing this in a public place, “-but I’ve not adjusted Y/N. You have to ask Fury for more time, I need to adjust more, I haven’t adjusted.”

You placed your hand on his on the table and took a few slow and deliberate breaths until he was matching your breathing. You smiled.

“We’ve come a long way,” you thought back to the day you’d got the assignment, how much you hated it and how much you hated him for it. You’d thought it would take you out of the field, out of the extraordinary and into the mundane. But soon, after just a couple of months, you had learned that life with Steve in tow was anything but mundane.

And fighting back to back with Captain America was pretty damn cool too.

“Not far enough.”

“You do know that I haven’t been your Adjustment Officer for about three months now, right?” you said and Steve furrowed his brow, “I mean I have, on paper, but we’ve not been doing any adjusting. You did that quickly. It’s just been dinner because I wanted to have it with you and cinema visits to show you some of my favourites because I wanted to see what you thought of them. It’s just been friendship, Steve. Pure, unbridled, uncomplicated friendship.”

That was maybe, just maybe, a little white lie. Sometimes you thought your feelings surrounding Steve were quite complicated indeed.

“But if you’re not assigned to me, then when will I see you?” he was such a little puppy, you thought as you looked at his shining eyes. You couldn’t help but be overjoyed by his hurt reaction to this news, however selfish that was.

“Well that was the second thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you wet your lips and noticed for the first time that your hand was still resting on Steve’s but he’d turned his over and was holding yours now, thumb rubbing knuckles and subconsciously calming you, “Well, I know we got off to a rough start-“

“You listen here, sweetheart,” he said, imitating your voice from the day you had met and you laughed at the sound.

“-and I certainly don’t want you,” you countered, imitating him now and the dismissal he had shown you then. It seemed oh so insignificant now after so many shared secrets and careless chatter, the late nights and the early mornings in the training room, the confiding and the bickering. The bickering was never going to go away.

“Touché,” he sounded slightly guilty and you winked at him to prove you were joking in your impression, “Continue.”

“I know we got off to a rough start,” you continued, obligingly, “but now I consider you one of my...no, my closest friend. And we’re a team.”

“A good team,” Steve affirmed, already grinning and you hadn’t even asked him yet. You hadn’t even asked him.

“A good team, yeah. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, we work really well together and I was wondering if…”

A lengthy pause. Too lengthy for Steve.

“If what?!”

His impatience reminded you of something.

“I wondered if you wanted to become partners, you know, for assignments and stuff. It means we’d still see each other and work together and - well I don’t know. I just thought-“

“God, you think too much,” Steve said and you barked out a laugh and wrenched your hand from his hold, giving his palm a lighthearted slap, “Stop thinking. Just do.”

You took those words to your heart and held them close.

“Will you be my partner?”

“Yes,” Steve grinned, then clearly had an idea and stood from the table, rounding it to stand beside you and suddenly his arms were around your waist and you were being wildly twirled and you let out a cry, “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”

You heard the whole cafe burst into a hearty round of applause as he set you down on your feet again and you fell back into your chair.

“Oh no, we’re not...we’re not getting...I-I was just asking…”

Steve looked so smug as he returned to his seat that you wanted to revoke your partnership offer then and there. He was so infuriating in the soft glow of the cafe in the early morning, his hair more golden than ever and his lips upturned ever so slightly in a smirk.

“When do we start, partner?” he wiggles his eyebrows and you audibly groaned.

“I should never have showed you what Youtube was, you’ve been watching cheesy proposal videos again,” you accuse him and he tries not to blush but fails miserably, “You’re such an ass.”

He was still smiling as he sat back in his chair triumphantly, but now it was a genuine smile, bordering on a grin and you cracked and raised an eyebrow in question.

“You swore at me,” he explained simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “My girl’s back.”

And-

Your heart stopped.

Did a somersault. Did a triple toe loop and double salchow before returning to its rightful place in your chest, pounding against your ribs.

If Steve saw the look in your eye then he had made no physical indication that he did, no sudden embarrassment, no worries. He just took a sip of his drink and then got to work on his muffin, only stopping to murmur something muffled with a full mouth about how good it tasted.

You found yourself still semi-frozen. Eyes darting around the room for someone to confirm what you’d just heard and finding no one. Eventually, what felt like hours later but was really just seconds, you forced yourself to defrost, just as Steve once had to, and took a shaky bite of your muffin distract you from some new and altogether unwanted thoughts.

You were Captain America’s girl. That would have made any woman jealous. Made any mother proud. Made any father sleep safe at night.

But you didn’t care so much about that bit.

Being Steve Rogers’ girl? Now that was something you felt like writing home about, in whichever way he had meant it.

And thus, on the 8th March 2012 at approximately a quarter past eight in the morning, you developed a full blown, can’t-stop-thinking-about-you, wanna-rip-your-clothes-off-but-also-wanna-cuddle-you-to-death, spine-tingling, mind-numbing, heart-wrenching crush on Steve Rogers.

If only you knew about the year that was to come.