100 Marvel One Shots✔️

Ninety-Ninth >> Steve Rogers X Reader

Title: Ninety-Ninth

Paring: Steve Rogers X Reader

Warnings: birthday fluff and cutesy stuff

Spoilers: none!

Author's Note: Basically, the fic nobody requested, but I wrote anyways because I wasn't going to post a Captain America birthday fic, but I didn't want to be that fic writer who didn't write Steve a fluff fic just because they were Australian and don't celebrate the Fourth of July. So I did. Anyways, happy America Day, you guys!

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To say that you'd been planning this ahead of time was an understatement. When Sharon told you that she'd heard that Steve didn't like celebrating his birthday, you made sure to get in there and do it. Namely, do it right. As a receptionist, you had superpowers of your own – to sense when people were thinking of doing things even before they did them, your customer service voice that could divert even the angriest of people from their sinister plans. Working behind a desk was your life, but since moving in with the Captain America, he'd become that title. Apart from all the press on every detail of your lives, and the worry of being targets from enemies of the state/Avengers, it was a daydream come true.

But back to what really matters. Planning the perfect birthday...for months. But it was the day before, and still zilch.

You'd heard from Vision that Steve preferred not to be around loud noises (observing people happened to be a habit of the android he'd never shaken off from his days as JARVIS), and Tony mentioned once over brunch with Pepper that if Steve could go anywhere for his birthday than the Smithsonian he'd buy out a local charity and donate a million dollars to it too. So, that was your plan: no loud noises. No Smithsonian. No lavish things that would make America's golden boy shy away and disappear into the night.

But it still didn't give you many options. It left you staring at your notepad beside the computer at your desk at Stark Tower, frowning over how many times you'd scribbled out the things that you'd ruminated, and then redacted.

"Looks like whatever's causing that is giving you a headache," Natasha gives a small smile, and peers over the desk to see your notepad. "Good. It's not a phone. I would've asked if you were having relationship troubles, but it's more like...Ferris wheel?" The redheaded assassin frowns too. "What are you using that for?"

You shake your head. "Birthday ideas."

"Ah," She nods knowingly. "That backfired on me too. I planned the party in '12, he hated it. Of course, everyone was Ukrainian, or didn't speak English." She laughs, recalling it. "Made for an awkward taxi ride home."

"Well, I'll be sure not to take him to any restaurants like that," you make a note.

Natasha shakes her head. "Oh no, it wasn't a restaurant. It was at an old friend's house."

Saving the day, Dr Bruce Banner enters the foyer, with files in his hands. He often came down with important things to send away to science journal publishers, or letters for his long-distance fiancé Betty in Virginia. When he wasn't being green on missions with your Steve, or hidden away in his lab, he often had afternoon tea with you. He never failed to bring a new exotic tea to share.

"Dr Banner!" you grin, standing to accept the parcel he holds. "If you were turning ninety-nine, and didn't like to celebrate it, what you do to celebrate?"

The scientist frowns, but hands you the files. Pausing, he runs a hand through his curls, and widens his eyes. Struck with an idea, he blurts, "When Betty didn't want to make a big deal about the big three-oh, I bought a bottle of champagne, a rent-a-movie, but we only watched half of The Great Gatsby when power cut off."