Steve Rogers Imagines

Okay. Go.

For everyone who wanted a proposal imagine (like a sequel to the last one here it is! Also I know we're in the middle of summer but my aesthetic in winter/ holiday season proposals so yeah)

Chris returned home from his morning run only slightly out of breath, kicking off his shoes and dropping his keys in a bowl as he stumbled through the door. He jogged up to the bathroom for a shower, taking the stairs two at a time. Chris stopped in the bedroom first so he could check on the nest of pillows and blankets that lay in a heap on the bed.

A plush mouse rolled off the mattress when Y/N, the occupant of the nest, shifted in her sleep. Chris plucked the stuffed animal off the floor, and tucked it in among the pillows. His beloved’s head was covered by the duvet, but a few stray locks of hair managed to escape. He thought he heard her say something.

“Darling? You up?” Chris crouched by her side. Y/N wriggled, but still she slept.

“That’s not how the Force works,” she murmured.

Chris shook his head, and was about to go but she spoke again.

“Mmmm. I need a pilot… escape now. Hug later. Poe Dameron… you’re, you’re my only hope. Can you fly a TIE fighter? What else can you do? Oh I bet you can…”

Chris sat on the floor next to the bed, waiting to see what she’d mutter next.

“Can I try on your helmet? I usually go for taller guys but you’re so cute, Poe. Lemme touch your hair…”

Something in the tone of her voice made Chris suspicious. He leaned forward and pulled down a corner of blanket. Y/N burst out laughing when their eyes met.

“Mornin’.” She covered her mouth as she yawned.

“Still dreaming about Oscar Isaac, are you?” When Y/N nodded eagerly, Chris laughed. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not.” She reached out to brush her fingers along his jaw, smiling tenderly at him. “But if, say, Oscar appeared in my stocking on Christmas Eve, I would not be op—”

“Brat!” Chris jumped up, straddling Y/N on the bed. Bouncing on his knees, he made the bed shake while he tickled her around the waist. His cackles were met with squeals of delight.

“No!” Y/N yelped when Chris slid her t-shirt up a few inches then bent down to blow a raspberry onto her stomach. “Hahahahahahahahaha! You’re playing dirty! Stop!”

Chris stopped suddenly, flopping down on top of Y/N so she was trapped. “There. I stopped.”

She pressed her nose into the crook of his neck and inhaled. “Good run?”

“Yeah,” murmured Chris. He sighed in contentment when Y/N ran her fingers through his hair. “I’d forgotten how much I liked to run in this weather. Cool, A little rainy. Perfect.”

“Do you miss Oahu? How was running there?”

Chris shrugged. “I ran at the gym, mostly.”

“Well, that sucks.” Y/N kissed his cheek. “All that sand, and surf, sexy hula girls. A nice rental house practically on the beach. You all tan in a pair of tiny shorts.”

“Oh Y/N…” Chris looked at her sheepishly.

“And your guitar. I bet all the sexy hula girls loved it.” Y/N arched her eyebrow at him.

“Who are these sexy hula girls you keep talking about?!”

“Weren’t they just, I dunno, falling out of coconut trees right into your lap? Getting you lei’d…”