s. rogers + first time going to bed angry

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as usual, you wake up before steve's alarm.

you have just a few minutes to weigh your options. sneak into the shower. pretend to be asleep. go downstairs and make your own breakfast. all to delay this uncomfortable conversation until later.

your body aches to flip over, to trace fingers down the gentle arc of steve's spine, to fit your body onto his like you belong there. but the idea of facing him after last night makes you flinch into your pillow.

of course, there's a fourth option: wait it out until steve leaves you, like he usually does.

your attempts to muffle your sniffles into the mattress prove to be useless against steve's enhanced hearing. "i know you're awake."

his alarm, sitting on his bedside table, finally chimes. once, twice, three times.

he lets it go.

"steve."

"oh, so you're talking to me now." his words, at least in tone, lack any of the meanness he had last night.

meanness that you hurled back to him, tenfold.

because you were anxious, and he was exhausted, and all you have to come home to—with all those negative feelings churning in your gut—is each other.

the alarm continues until it grates your ears, annoying enough that you have to launch yourself over his wide shoulders, poking at the device until it shuts up. steve quickly rolls onto his back, his arms trapping your torso flat against his.

he has the tiniest smirk. trickster.

"don't you have to go on a run with sam?" you ask, a little fearfully.

"we're not done discussing this."

you wipe at a tear on the slope of your nose before it falls onto him. "i'm sorry i went to bed without us figuring it out first."

he sighs. "i think we both needed sleep, or it would've gotten worse." his calloused palm cups your cheek. "are you gonna ask me?"

you exhale unsteadily as he sits upright, keeping you seated in his lap.

"i like when you ask."

you kiss him, several times, anywhere you can reach. "stay with me, stevie?"

your legs fix tight around his hips, and he nods into your shoulder.

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