rodrikstark's headcanons (part 2)

playbill (s. rogers x reader)

"excuse me, sir."

steve straightens his spine, his shoulders hitting the back of his plush seat. "sorry," he mumbles, adjusting a bit as a family of five maneuvers around his gigantic legs.

one of the parents frowns at you. "is he alright?"

you pet the blue hood concealing steve's blond hair. "yeah, he just has a stomach ache."

a polite smile. "alright. y'all have a good night."

"you too."

as more people exit the theater, the pit orchestra still playing their jaunty exit music, you run a gentle thumb over the light pink mark on steve's forehead. a consequence of him hunching over in frustration, burying his face into the seat in front of him.

"steve, i thought it was..." he side-eyes you behind his fake glasses. "well, it was, y'know, definitely something."

"jesus."

you grab his program, flipping through it to find the song list. "i mean, the 40's number was very fun."

"that scrawny little kid training at camp lehigh / was given erskine's serum so that he could touch the sky?" steve recites, incredulous. "what a lazy rhyme. it doesn't even make sense."

you bite your tongue to keep from laughing. "you don't even like musicals, i don't know why you're being so critical of what i believe to be a truly star-studded performance—"

"don't, c'mon—"

"and such a rich retelling of your—"

"hey." he pokes at your ribs, and this time your giggles fly free. you grab steve's arm, tossing it over your shoulder so you can stifle them against his chest.

"is my sarcasm not amusing you?" you snake your arm underneath his sweatshirt. "man, this must have been pretty brutal for you."

"i wish i could get drunk."

"that photographic memory's not gonna help you either." you hum, tilting your head up to kiss his cheekbone. "people seemed to like it, baby." even stood to applaud steve's actor during the bows. "although it's like, one of the worst productions i've ever seen. and i watched my friends do theater in high school."

"they're never gonna understand," he mutters, "all the shit we really went through."

enough people have left the theater—only ushers remain now, checking the aisles for forgotten belongings—that you gently remove the glasses from his face, tucking them inside his collar. "well, i'll never really understand either." you scrunch your nose at him. "but i'm trying."

he wrinkles his nose back. "'cause you're my best girl." he kisses you, and takes his sweet time, too, since you're almost alone now. it makes your toes curl. "thank you."

you stand, grasping steve's hands, and use your entire body weight to pull him up with you. "anything for my leading man."