MCU (Avengers) Imagines Part Two

Steve Rogers X Reader - Give it up

A/N - This chapter isn't really based on anything, but I was listening to 'Give it Up' by KC & The Sunshine Band on repeat whilst I was writing, so I decided to name it that. I hope you all enjoy it.

Hiding out in your bedroom out of sheer embarrassment was childish. You knew that deep down. I mean, your coworkers were nice people, some a little nicer than others, and they weren't going to make fun of you for something as stupid as a black eye. But that didn't mean that the idea of them discovering how you'd gotten said black eye wasn't completely mortifying to you.

But, of course, there were limits to how much time you could spend in your room. You would need to take bathroom breaks, and you would need to eat. But where possible, you would still be avoiding all human contact for as long as you could manage. That meant late night runs to the kitchen, and a hell of a lot of take out food, and claiming you were deathly sick to stop anyone from just turning up at your door unannounced.

It wasn't until the third day of your self-inflicted isolation that you'd actually seen anyone. You were in the middle of making yourself dinner at ridiculous o'clock at night when Steve had come strolling in. 

"Hey," he hummed, and your entire body went rigid. "Heard you weren't feeling too good," he added softly, and you quickly nodded, keeping your back turned to him.

You silently cursed yourself for actually deciding to cook. You could have easily grabbed something from the fridge and hurried back to your room, but no, you'd wanted a proper meal, and now you were trapped in the kitchen until it was ready. This is Steve, you reminded yourself. Steve, the righteous. Steve, the ultimate gentleman. He wasn't going to make fun of you, or go telling the others why you were hiding from them. You finally sighed, turning to face him. 

"I wasn't sick," you breathed out, looking like a wounded puppy when you frowned at him. 

Steve was in front of you a second later, his finger touching the purple skin ever so lightly and making you flinch. "Jesus," he hummed, hand pulling back as soon as he saw the discomfort in your face. "What-" his question fell off before it could fully form, and then his jaw was clenching. "Who did this to you?"

"It was an accident," you murmured, pulling your head back slightly. "We were just training and Clint swept my leg out from under me and-"

"Clint?" he bit out, shaking his head, his tongue running over his teeth as he finally tore his eyes away from the bruised skin. "Barton marked you up like this?" 

You sighed slightly. "He didn't do it on purpose. I just fell all awkwardly; caught my face on the corner of the bench. It was stupid." Steve's eyes flickered back to you for a moment, finding you already staring at him, your eyes pleading with him. "Please don't tell anyone," you started again. "Please, it's so embarrassing." 

"Okay," he breathed out, his hand lifting again, thumb brushing against the marked skin, causing you eye to fall shut immediately, attempting to bite back a soft whine at the contact. "Did you at least get checked over by a medic? Make sure you didn't get a concussion?" You shook your head, and his face softened slightly. "Come on, Y/N. You had a head injury-"

"Not so much head; more face," you corrected. "And it looks worse than it is. I'm fine. Did more damage to my ego than to my eye." 

Steve still didn't look so convinced, shaking his head slightly. And then, suddenly, it was as if he realised just how close you were standing. How intimately you were interacting. How domestic this all felt, standing together in the kitchen, the moonlight straying through the windows, dinner cooking away on the stove. I mean, he'd always had a crush on you, and the more time you'd spent together, the more he'd realised just how serious that crush was, but this was something completely different. Something new. And then he stepped back, putting a little space between you. "Sorry," he uttered, moving over to the fridge and rooting around inside, not yet sure what it was that he was actually looking for.

"Have you had dinner yet?" you started, watching as his head peered around the door of the fridge to look at you. "I always make way too much pasta, and if I eat all of this I know I'm going to end up regretting it-" 

"You sure?"

You chuckled, nodding. "There's enough food here for at least 3 people, and since you're the only person I've actually let look at me in the last three days-" you paused, shrugging. "Please don't make me eat it all by myself."

A small smile pulled at his lips, and he nodded and he let the fridge door fall shut. "I'd love to join you for dinner, Sweetheart," he murmured, pulling out an extra plate and setting it beside yours on the counter. "You want me to set the table?" 

"Sure," you hummed, letting your attention stray back to the pot bubbling away on the hob. 

*Time Skip*

Dinner had gone by seamlessly, the two of you chatting as you ate, making mindless conversation until the last of the food was gone. And then you had just stayed at the table, neither of you really wanting the night to end, neither of you wanting to suggest that maybe it was getting late and you should be getting to bed. 

Steve was still struggling with stopping his eyes from lingering on the bruised skin around your eye, his face tensing each time he noticed the discolouration. You'd caught on to it after the first couple of times, your own smile fading when you saw his attention shifting. 

"You know, he really didn't mean to hurt me," you murmured, watching as Steve realised he had been caught, his eyes widening slightly as they drew away from the black eye. "He was so apologetic-"

"He should've been more careful," he uttered, shaking his head. 

You shrugged slightly. "So should I, but I don't see you getting all mad at me."

"That's different-"

"How? I shouldn't have been so close to the edge of the matt. I should have caught myself with my hands rather than my face. It was as much my fault as it was his."

Steve paused for a moment. "It's-" he paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Because I don't think I'm capable of being mad at you."

Your brow furrowed for a moment, a confused expression spreading across your face. "I don't-"

"From the minute I saw you," he murmured, clearing his throat. "I knew I would do anything to keep you safe. And happy. and-"

"Steve," you hummed, drawing his eyes up to your smiling face. 

"I've been in love with you since the first time we met," he finally confessed, watching as your smile only grew.

"Well, that's real lucky, huh?" you uttered, your head tilting to the side slightly. "Because I've been pretty caught up on you, too."

Steve let out a soft breath, his entire body relaxing into his seat. "You like me?"

"I really do," you agreed. "I mean, you're the sweetest guy I've ever met, and you're always looking out for me, and-"

"And if Barton ever puts another mark on the pretty face of yours, he's got another thing coming," he interrupted, drawing a chuckle out of you. 

"And, you make me feel good about myself," you corrected, shaking your head slightly. "But if this is going to work out, you can't go around starting fights every time someone accidentally hurts me. We train every day, you'll end up beating up everyone we work with." 

Steve grumbled slightly, his smile still fixed to his lips as he kept his eyes focused on you. "Fine," he started. "I won't start any fights, unless you okay it first."

"Deal."

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