rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)

s. rogers + first "i love you" (after an argument)

the door to your apartment doesn't quite slam. steve would never do that. but it shuts firmly enough to make you wince as you curl into your thick duvet.

a knock on your bedroom door, painfully gentle. "sweetheart. can i come in?"

you pause your TV and contemplate saying no. you could and maybe you should, but steve drove halfway across town just to come see you. "fine."

the handle turns, and in steps your stern boyfriend, lips twisted in concern. "what happened?"

a few days ago, he had invited you out to a friday night dinner with his team, a celebration of some big, successful mission. over and over, you'd insisted that you'd stop by, that you were excited and so proud, even asking him what he thought of the outfit you picked out.

then, not even half an hour before the event, you sent the text: not tonight, i'm sorry. see you tmrw

steve removes his jacket, dropping it on the floor as he places himself at the edge of your bed. "you didn't answer any of my texts, or pick up when i called you."

"i was sleeping." a poor excuse, but not entirely untrue. you had shut your phone, then your eyes, just to see if it could make you feel better.

he sighs. "please don't lie to me."

with gritted teeth, you reply, "i'm not lying."

"i really wanted you there."

you shrug, dragging your legs into your chest, contorting into a ball. "needed some alone time today."

"why?"

"i'm just not in a good mood, steve," you snap. regret stings in your throat as soon as the acidic words leave your mouth, so you hide your face in your knees. "definitely not in the mood for this."

he blinks at you, then stands decisively.

starts undoing his belt, and yanking off his jeans with a stumble.

despite your sour mood, the tiniest smile touches your lips when you see his blue flannel boxers, and then when he climbs into your bed. he grabs the rigid little package you've made of yourself, drawing you close. "let me help."

warmth floods your eyes, an uncontrollable response to his warmth: the tender touch, the offer to soothe you. "i don't know."

steve traces his fingers over the back of your hands, which still hold tense across your shins. "do you not trust me?"

"i don't know why i'm sad," you clarify. hot, shameful embarrassment streams down your cheeks, and a firm tug from steve ensures that it all disappears into his sweater. "so you can't fix me."

"don't want you to be alone," he murmurs into your skin, tangling his legs with yours. "i might not be able to fix it, but wouldn't it be better?" his soft, dry lips press into your temple. "if i was here, holdin' you like this? tellin' you how much i love you?"

even though they're at the end of a question, you can still hear the convinction in his words.

i love you.

your eyes close tightly. "why would you say that right now?"

he shrugs. "it's how i feel."

the sounds of your sniffling and steve's shushing fill your room for a few minutes, until you finally reach a semblance of calm. he grabs your remote, but you throw your hand over his before he can press play on your comfort TV show.

"i love you too."