#back and forth

[xosiren]

Halle Back and Forth, 2025

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

back and forth

fandom:  the pitt

pairing: dr michael ‘robby’ robinovitch x reader, jack abbot x reader

word count: 4.5k

rating: teen

summary: for someone who’s always watching he sure does miss a lot

tags/ warnings: enemies to lovers, medical jargon, flirting, age gap relationships, reader is like 20s, reader is a resident, emotional cheating??,

notes: apologise for the medical stuff I did one day in the ER and noped out so in depth is not my style

----------🩺----------

masterlists 🩺 read on ao3 🩺 request a fic 🩺 tag list

----------🩺----------

MONDAY 

Robby hated Monday mornings. Hated how they stretched like no other time of the week. Hated how the waiting room filled up once the threat of going to work or school made illness and injury seem real. Hated how the nine to fivers, the Monday to Fridayers, would arrive demanding movement and progress when they’d downed tools for the weekend leaving him and his team to scrape by on what they had.

And, he had found, he hated you.

Well no, he didn’t. Not really. He didn’t know you well enough to hate you but you were getting on his nerves. Newish to the hospital, new to days, and new to the team in which you didn’t seem to be settling even if it was your first shift with them. He’d hoped by the end of rounding you would have taken the hint but you were persistent, butting against him with every order or suggestion.

It had only taken him an hour to know when it was coming, he could see it in your eyes. He could see that brain ticking away as he asked the question, aimed at Whittaker not you. He could see your eyes light up when he hesitated to offer an uncertain, ‘um we could try a Bougie-assisted intubation.’ ‘Hmm,’ you’d said. That was at least something. You’d stopped interrupting, jumping in with both feet and making whoever had got the wrong or slightly less than right answer long for the ground to swallow them up. ‘Problem?’ he asked, jaw tightening as he kept words in that he wanted to say. ‘No,’ you shrugged, ‘but I think video laryngoscopy with a distal tip manoeuvre would be better.’ ‘And why’s that?’ he said, eyes narrowed as he surveyed you. With Whittaker he could sense apprehension. His instincts were right but his confidence was all over the place. Santos barrelled in thinking of the procedure, not the patient. Mel knew what she was doing but was underestimated. And Javadi was clever but quiet. But you, you were different. Cocky. Irritating. And you carried it on in the next breath. ‘Because it is,’ you said, folding your arms across your chest. Challenging, unwavering, ‘it would give much better visualization and help with first-pass success-’ ‘Okay but have you thought about-’ ‘How it could cause a perforation?’ you asked, ‘unlikely if you flip the angle, it stops the laryngospasm and helps with oxygen saturation. I mean there’s always risk but it’s like what, two percent? Damn sight better than the near sixty percent failure rate of a blind pass, right?’

But it hadn’t been what you’d said. It hadn’t even really been your tone or the fact that everyone was watching, waiting. Nurses looked at one another, committing it to memory so they could talk about it out of the room. Whittaker looked between you like a tennis match, the ball in his court. Javadi went quiet and Mel waited, looking to him for instruction.

‘You heard ‘em,’ he said after a moment, disdain blooming through his chest as you clawed back a smug smile, ‘set up for the laryngoscope.’

----------🩺----------

TUESDAY

Robby hadn’t been listening. Well as much as an ER doctor couldn’t listen. Sure he’d been focusing on his charts but his ears were open, like a cat, head slightly tilted at the faintest alarm or murmured concern. And he should’ve known the moment you’d sat down. Should’ve heard the sharks circling, the soundtrack to Jaws practically ringing over the top of call bells and IV machines.

‘So, what about you?’ Perlah had asked though you hadn’t known it was aimed at you, hadn’t looked up from the endless list of labs you’d been combing through. How could you, the preamble had been quiet, hushed tones and murmured words that you couldn’t hear from across the desk. You’d tuned her and Princess out, which was why it took you a moment to realise how quiet it had gone and looked up to find them both watching you.

‘Me?’ you asked, earning a couple of nods. You laughed nervously, ‘what about me?’

‘What’s the situation?’ Princess asked, ‘where are you from?’

‘Oh, uh New York,’ you replied.

‘You been in Pittsburgh long?’ Perlah asked. Robby didn’t look up, didn’t need to to hear the harsh pause of your typing, the tightness he knew would be wound into your jaw. He’d have faulted you if their prying were of genuine interest and not for their composition of gossip, but it was nice to know you were as spiky with everyone it seemed.

‘Six months,’ you replied, your tone polite enough that he looked up.

‘Working night shift from day one huh?’ Princess laughed, ‘that’s rough.’

‘Eh, I went where I’m needed,’ you shrugged, it wasn't an answer but it was nice enough. In fact, over the past couple of shifts he'd noticed that you were quite friendly with other's. Just not with him.

‘Why the swap to days?’ Perlah asked. Again Robby's eyes flitted up. He’d been wondering that himself, why the permanent night position you had filled was now sitting in a nice, neat, advertisement on the hospital's overly enthusiastic vacancies page. He supposed it was none of his business, or at least upper management had strongly hinted that it wasn’t. And you did too, if not in tone but in words as you shrugged, ‘work life balance.’

‘What’s one of those?’ Princess chuckled, earning herself a smile before the phone rang and distracted her.

‘Ah, relationship troubles huh?’ Dana asked, appearing from nowhere at Robby’s side and flitting your gaze their way. He dropped his eyes to his chart pretending that hadn’t sparked his interest.

‘What?’ you asked, your brow furrowed.

‘No nights usually comes from someone digging their heels in,’ she commented, nudging Robby on his arm, her attention never leaving you as she said, ‘you’re needed in north two by the way. So, you got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?

‘I’ll see them,’ you said, jumping up from your seat.

‘They asked for me,’ he said but you just smiled, tense and warning.

‘And I’ll come get you if I need you,’ you said, your voice tight but polite or at least trying to be, ‘promise.’

And then you flitted past him, a flutter of whispers and curious eyes in your wake.

----------🩺----------

WEDNESDAY

ERs were busy places but there was a knack to it. Respite. It was in the breeze that rattled through the ambulance bay as you waited for a trauma call. It was the staff bathrooms in those couple of minutes before someone noticed you were gone. It was in dementia patients who conversed but not for long or coherent enough that it could distract you from your thoughts.

Though, as it turned out it was not in the supply cupboard. This one was better at night. Too far away from everything that no one ever bothered walking that far to use it. It could get you five minutes alone on a bad day, ten at a push. But that was the thing about days. The work was the same but there was always someone there, watching.

And as it happened, the very last person on your list of who you'd want to see any of this just walked in. You didn’t even know what he was looking for, he was an attending and his job had earned him the privilege of commanding things and them appearing, some nurse or underling running to get what it was from said supply closet.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Robby said, the moment he noticed you, standing in the middle of the room reaching for nothing that would explain why you were in there. If your big red eyes and snotty nose hadn’t already given you away.

‘It’s fine,’ you sniffed, turning your face away to the rows of catheters and wound dressings. You waited for him to grab whatever it was he was after, to leave you be. Leave you stewing in the embarrassment.

It was funny how an image could crumble so quickly. Your self-assured demeanour, the one you’d crafted over the last couple of weeks of dayshifts gone in a second as he said, ‘you know you are allowed to be upset-’

‘I know,’ you grit.

‘It’s not easy I know,’ he said, ‘but kids are part of the job-’

‘Well they shouldn’t be,’ you snapped, whipping around to look at him, your face thunderous, ‘no kid should be in here. Especially not because of stupidity.'

Your tone was harsh, your face furious. He'd never seen you like this before, you'd always been so unflappable. It made his brain short-circuit, trying to navigate how to handle this as you, huffed, 'I mean why have them if you’re not gonna look after them!'

‘Accidents happen,’ Robby started, but you didn’t yield. You just looked at him incredulously, like you couldn’t believe your ears.

‘Really?’ you laughed, ‘that’s your answer?’

‘I’m just saying-’

‘Look I know you, like every attending in this fucking hospital, likes to put positive spin on everything but there are no positives to this. And I won’t be made to feel like I’m being stupid for feeling that way,’ you said angrily. You didn’t know when you’d moved, how you’d gotten so close but he just watched, letting you throw your anger in his face in a way he’d never done before. No push back. No retort. No back and forth, just yielding.

‘I mean not only does this kid have life changing injuries that will cost thousands if not millions to fix, but he also has to go through the excruciatingly painful recovery of it all whilst withdrawing. All because his parents wanted to sling a bit of fucking meth?’ you said, your chest heaving and your eyes glistening. You sniffed, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand, ‘now tell me, doctor Robinavitch, where’s the good in that?’

And before he could reply you shoved past him, the door slamming behind you with a rattle.

----------🩺----------

THURSDAY

‘How are we in here?’ Robby said, as he appeared through the doors. The patient was still flat out like the last time, and one glance at the monitor told him that his numbers hadn't improved though you'd spent enough time by his side.  ‘No changes,' you huffed, fiddling with the IV that hung beside you, 'but he should be responding by now.' ‘Have you tried the fluid boluses?’ he asked. ‘Yep,' you said, your hand casting down the line like you were proving a point. ‘And the levophed?’ ‘Yep, maxed out about half an hour ago,' you said. ‘What about-’ ‘And an additional vasopressin,’ you interrupted smoothly, snapping your gloves off and dumping them in the trash as you moved to stand next to him. Robby folded his arms, trying not to watch you so he could pay attention, 'cultures are at the lab, but we started him on broad-spectrum vanc and zosyn just in case. Still zilch.’

'Okay…’ Robby’s brow furrowed as moved to the computer, his eye trained on the distorted labs on the screen.

‘Then we need to move to an stress-dose of Hydrocortisone. If he’s in refractory shock, we need to support the adrenals. So, what were you going to do next?’ he said, pulling back and glancing down at you. You looked up, looking awkward before you offered him a soft smile and replied, ‘honestly?’

He waited, curious to hear what had gotten you this reluctant. ‘I was going to ask what you thought,’ you admitted. ‘Wow,’ he chuckled, ‘I thought you didn’t need my help.' ‘I never said that,’ you said, rolling your eyes, ‘I’m just not used to my attendings not trusting me.’ ‘I never said I don’t,’ he said, though that only made you look at him like you didn't believe him. But the truth was he did trust you. You were knowledgeable, quick. You understood rules sometimes needed bending not breaking. You were good with patients, professional when need, human when not. You were good with the other staff. You just weren’t good with him, with taking direction.

And he didn’t know why he wasn’t okay with that. He told himself it was because he thought you were cocky. That allowing you to be overconfident was a mistake, one that could cost lives. But as you looked up at him, quiet, which was unusual, he felt bad. He felt the need to keep you talking.

‘So,' he started, ‘by other attendings…you mean Jack right?’

Of course there were others, no one got through med school, internship and their first years of residency without answering to someone but he knew it was him you were talking about. Because se he hadn’t meant to be listening. Hadn’t tried to find out what the general consensus about you was, it just happened.

It was like he needed to know why you were different with him. Why you seemed afraid to let him see certain parts of you. The parts that intrigued him.

He’d heard from the nurses you were nice, thoughtful and helpful. Other doctors admired your directness and respected that you didn’t just sit back and agree even if they found it annoying. You’d fit right in on days by all accounts. Which made him wonder why you insisted on coming to days. If he was so terrible.

‘Him, and others,’ you shrugged.

‘If Jack was such a good teacher why are you on days?’ he asked, wincing the moment the words left his lips. He shouldn’t have asked you, shouldn’t have cared at the way you tensed before you brushed it off. ‘I had my reasons. Doesn’t mean that Dr Abbott isn’t a good doctor,’ you said, unusually reticent. Your eyes turned back to the patient, arms crossed against your chest in a way that sparked his attention. ‘Oh and I’m not?’ he asked, his tone was teasing though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know your true answer. ‘You would be,’ tone batted back with a cheek that only you could give him and get away with. ‘If?’ he asked. ‘If you trusted people,’ you shrugged. ‘You don’t think I trust people?’ he frowned. You shrugged again, making him feel the need to protest, to prove himself, ‘I trust Jack.’ ‘And Jack trusts me,’ you said, a smile tugging at your lips, ‘see where I’m going with this?’ ‘Jack doesn’t mind cockiness,’ he commented, his eyes narrowing as your smile grew, like he was missing a joke you hadn’t spoken. He felt his heartbeat quicken, intrigue pulling him closer as you chuckled, ‘I’m confident, not cocky. You wanna know how I know that?’ ‘How?’ he mused. ‘Because when I don’t know something you’ll know because I’ll tell you,’ you said, ‘but when I know, I know. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.’

‘It’s not,’ he said. You looked like you were going to say something but there was a ping from your pocket. He tried not to look but couldn’t help but notice the name that flashed up.

‘Abbot?’ he asked, before he could stop himself. You looked up, suppressing a smile

‘Yeah, uh, he agrees by the way,’ you said, your smile growing wider as you finished, ‘about the hydrocortisone.’

‘You asked him?’ he baulked.

‘What can I say, trust works both ways. I’ll set up for the steroids,’ you grinned, moving towards the door, your hand resting on it as you looked back at him, ‘by the way I’d have gone with you no matter what Jack said.’

‘Oh yeah, why’s that?’ he said.

‘Because you wouldn’t say it if you weren’t sure,’ you smiled.

----------🩺----------

FRIDAY 

'How is it?' Whittaker asked from his position pinned on the side of the bed, holding the weight of the patient as you tried to reduce a nasty hip dislocation. Robby watched, the sweat from your brow dewy on your skin, the turn down of your mouth when you couldn't get a hold of it. It amused him, the pouting, the determination. You braced again, calling on Whittaker to take hold again, the patient's arm wrapped around his neck as he kept him still. 

But then you stopped, your eyes finding him in the corner of the room.

'Can you help?' you asked, not shy, not demanding. An earnest request.

'Uh yeah,' he said, trying to submerge his surprise as he came forward, hands hovering. 

'I've got a grip but I don't think I can push and pull at the same time,' you admitted. He nodded and moved to take over, his body crowding yours. But you didn't move, didn't let go.

'I got it,' he said, his gloved hand ghosting over yours where it held the protruding bone. 

You didn't seem to notice how close he was, how your back pressed against him and your arms touched as he reached for the bone. The skin was soft beneath his gloved hand, warm where your hand was. 

'I can hold,' you said, turning your head and finding him too close. He could tell by the way you swallowed, a smile on your lips as you said, 'just need you to do the pull.'

Because of course you knew what you were doing, what you needed, but you were asking for help. Still self-assured but compromising, like you'd promised you'd be. If he trusted you. 

He nodded, turning his attention to the leg as you slipped your hand back over the joint. He had to move; to lean against the man with his arms wrapped around his thigh but you moved with him, tucking under so you could push whilst he pulled without getting in his way.

'Ready?' you asked, clear and calm. 

'Ready,' Whittaker affirmed, dropping back into stance to steady the lever.

'Ready?' you asked, eyes glancing his way. 

'Mmmhmm,' he said.

'Okay, one, two, three - pull,' you called.

The patient jostled with a yank and a pop as the dislocation slipped back into place. 

 'Excellent!' you cheered, offering a hand to high-five him, yet another action that surprised him enough that his movements were lacklustre at best before you moved around to do the same with Whittaker, only looking up, a smile on your face as he said, 'good job,' and left before you could see his eyes.

----------🩺----------

SATURDAY

Robby didn’t know why he’d come. He was too old for this, too senior. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like his team he did, but he wasn’t twenty anymore. He wasn’t built for bars and karaoke and birthday parties of ages he’d doubled. But he was invited so he came. Sat down at the end of the bar, nursing the same drink for the last half an hour whilst he waved and made small talk from each staff member that passed by but he came.

He just hadn’t expected you to. He also hadn’t expected you to look like that. Scrubs gone, hair done different. Relaxed. Oblivious. To the heads you turned as you came in, to him watching you from his seat until he said, ‘what are you doing here?’

You turned, a smile breaking out on your face as you got ready to spar. Your battle armour may have been gone but he doubted the pair of you would ever lay down the swords, ‘what, am I not allowed in a bar now?’

‘Aren’t you like twenty?’ he teased.

‘No but on the off chance they think I am you better do the buying,’ you replied, sinking into the seat beside him, leaning in, your eyes glinting, ‘if they ask I can say I brought my dad out for the night, you know give the nursing home staff a break.’

‘Touché,’ Robby laughed. As you waited he took a sip of his drink, rolling his eyes before he said, ‘okay, yeah go on then, what’ll you have?’

‘Whiskey soda,’ you said, eyes narrowing when he raised an eyebrow, ‘what? Goes down quicker than beer, higher percent. Gets you drunk quicker on a dime not a dollar.’

‘Haven’t you got work tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘Haven’t you,’ you challenged. When he sighed, you leaned in, bumping shoulders with him, your voice low with a conspiratorial hum as you said, ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

He smiled, brief and despite himself but enough that you didn’t say anything when he cleared his throat, flagging down the bartender to get you your drink. The silence crept in whilst you waited, only broken by the surrounding chatter and his nursing. He tried to keep his gaze fixed on the back of the bar, to pretend that he enjoyed the silence. That he couldn’t feel the heat of you next to him, foot knocking against his shin every time you looked over your shoulder, surveying the crowd for people you knew. People you liked more than him.

As the bartender put down your drink he gave you a smile, one that you returned and only dimmed with a roll of your eyes when he turned around. Robby smiled, watching as you took a deep gulp, the brown liquid depleting by half in just a few seconds.  But as you looked around again, waving at Mel who’d come up to the other side of the bar he braced himself for you to make your excuses. The drink and the chit-chat he provided sufficient until you found someone else.

‘You know,’ he said, when your head turned back his way, ‘you can go and join them if you want.’

‘I’m okay here,’ you said.

‘I’m just saying don’t let me keep you,’ he said.

‘Do you want me to go?’ you challenged. Robby hesitated. He should. He had no business being here. No business sitting with you, fucking nearly thirty years his junior looking like that. But he didn’t say that didn’t even say yes, he just dropped his eyes to his beer and sipped. You smiled, taking another drink.

‘This you sucking up?’ he asked after a moment.

‘Can’t a girl spend time with her papi?’ you teased, taking another drink, ‘besides you have an attending sized wallet and I need another drink.’

He watched as you downed the rest, the glass clinking off the wood once you’d finished. And, before he could stop himself, he was flagging down the bartender.

----------🩺----------

‘Mind the uh, step,’ Robby said, grabbing hold of your waist as your foot caught the front step making you stumble. You snorted as your caught your footing, grinning at him as you offered a, ‘thanks.’

‘You sure you’re gonna be okay?’ he asked. You’d said yes at the bar. You’d said yes when he’d pulled up down the block and helped you out of his car. You’d assured him every step of the way and yet he was still here. He just didn’t know why.

‘M’fine,’ you mumbled, the key bouncing around the lock until it slotted in. He settled then, not entirely but enough to know that he’d be able to get you over the threshold before he left and that you wouldn’t freeze to death on your front stoop. The gentle pop of the door seemed to stir something in you. You pointed it at it, looking up at him with a smug smile as you said, ‘see.’

‘So you can open a door,’ he said, ‘I’ll believe you’re fine when you don’t call out tomorrow.’

‘There we go again,’ you sighed.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Not trusting me,’ you said, poking him in the chest.

‘I trust you,’ he said.

‘Do you?’ you asked, entirely too close, your hand brushing against his chest as he looked at you.

‘You know I do,’ he murmured.

‘But you don’t like me,’ you said quietly.

‘I like the real parts of you,’ he said, ‘when you’re not pretending…’

‘I don’t pretend,’ you said. He could hear the fight in your voice, trying though it was weak.

‘You do with me,’ he said.

And of course he knew. Because he pretended too. Pretended that you irritated him, pretended that he didn’t find your relentlessness enticing. He pretended that he wasn’t interested in you or that he didn’t look up when he heard your voice. He pretended that he didn’t hate how you got along with everyone but him and that your little back and forths were annoying. He pretended like he didn’t let you get away with things anyone else would’ve had their ass handed to them for. He pretended he didn’t like when you needed him.

That he didn’t like when you looked up at him like this, that he didn’t move himself closer even though your hand was firm against him.

‘You’re always watching,’ you said, though he wasn’t sure what that meant. That you weren’t hidden because he was always keeping an eye on you or because you chose to let him see.

‘It’s my job,’ he said, ‘why is there something about you I don’t know?’

You looked like you had an answer but your phone rang before you could give it, pulling you back to reality. It was only then did he realise how close you were, how your back was up against the brickwork, how you’d made no real effort to stop him getting closer. You dropped your gaze, cheeks flushed as you pulled your phone from your purse and again he couldn’t help himself, proving your point in an instant as he saw Jack’s name flash up on your screen.

‘Work?’ he asked.

‘Uh yeah,’ you said, not meeting his eye, ‘I had a patient I wanted to keep up to date on he said he’d keep me in the loop.’

‘I should um,’ he started.

‘Yeah,’ you nodded, though you paused as you pushed your door open calling his name when he was half way down the sidewalk. He turned, waiting.

‘Thanks for tonight,’ you said. He nodded and then he watched as you ducked inside, phone to your ear as the door closed behind you.

----------🩺----------

SUNDAY

Hospitals were busy places. Places that were easy to lose yourself in. The only thing was Robby didn’t know if it was deliberate, if you were choosing to ignore him. You hadn’t called out much to his surprise, some off hand comment about a litre of water, Tylenol, and a piece of toast before you’d crashed into bed directed more at Perlah and Princess than him when he’d asked. Then you’d been gone. Every time you met over a patient there was someone else there. You didn’t stop in the breakroom. You didn’t even ask him for anything or to his surprise challenge him. He suggested things and you nodded, compliant enough that eyes had followed you from nurse’s station followed by bemused whispers.

He should’ve known he was being stupid. That you’d been wanting a mentor not a friend or more. He should’ve made you move last night. He shouldn’t have let you drink what you had and he should definitely not have taken you home.

And he was going to tell you as such when he could pin you down. But as the day tapered off and everyone started to round off ready to hand over he figured he’d wait until the end of the day, catch you on your way out.

Which is why he hadn’t expected to see you up on the roof. Hadn’t planned to announce he was there either, always watching is what you’d said and he’d proved you right within twenty-four hours, the click of the door making you and Jack look up.

You and Jack standing as close to one another as the pair of you had been last night. Jack who looked at you the way he did. Jack who dropped your hand when he saw Robby watching.

Jack who didn’t mind your cockiness.

Jack who you trusted and who trusted you.

Jack who’d called you last night.

Jack who wasn’t like him. Who didn’t dance around his feelings. Whose therapy fucking worked.

‘Hey man,’ Jack said, forcing him to start his feet and move closer like it wasn’t his turn to do the hiding.

‘Hey,’ he said, nodding at you. You smiled but it was weak, hesitant.

‘Long day?’ Jack asked. Robby chuckled weakly, ‘you don’t know the half of it.’

‘I should go,’ you said quickly, snapping Jack’s eyes to you in a second. He looked like he wanted you to stay, that he was going to tell you not to worry. Why should you, Robby could keep a secret. Robby knew everything. Robby watched and took everything in an yet had still been so fucking blind by pretending he didn’t feel something for you that he hadn’t picked up on the fact you were already taken.

But he had seen it in your eyes. He’d felt it in the way your breath had hitched when he’d gotten close. In how you chased the to and froing as much as he did.

‘Okay,’ he nodded, letting you move from him without a flicker of anything, just in case. You dropped your gaze as you passed him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of you like he had last night when you’d been sat beside him, arm resting against his, breath warm on his face every time you leaned too close not realising just how loud you’d gotten with half a dozen whiskey sodas in you.

But he couldn’t help himself, the restrain that he’d had last night breaking through as he called your name, forcing you to turn your head before you could flee.

‘See you tomorrow?’ he asked. You hesitated, your gaze moving past him to Jack who was watching none the wiser.

‘Yeah,’ you said, ‘tomorrow.’

And then you were gone and Jack was asking him questions he answered without thinking. But he wasn’t listening, he was just focused on the fact that the prospect of Monday morning didn’t feel so bad.

[currentlyfreebleeding]

me as a disabled person constantly trying to maintain my sense of self love while also battling a constant sense of frustration and anger over how my body works

[gifs-of-puppets]

The Muppet Show (1976-1981)

[sicksucculentz]

Tessa used to joke that Cyn had wormies in her brain that tell her to do bad things like ignore commands, eat all the cheese, bite her brother, and giggle in the hallways at 2:23am sharp.

Finding out she was correct on a larger more vast scale was genuinely shattering and horrifying

[hypnotistchilean]

Nine ✨

Focus on your breathing

[blondebrainpowered]

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, 1937

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - Onward and Upward

Bonus 2 - Endearments

Type: bonus to a series, fluffy with a speckle of emotional h/c; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 7200

Chapter summary: 

Over a month of being with you - and a week-long mission without you - leaves Steve missing you dearly.

Worn to a bone, he cannot wait to see you, hold you, kiss you - but he needs to look like a human being again first and feel like it too. He needs to know he's back home.

Unbeknownst to him, you are about to help with that. Lots.

Series masterlist

Warnings: slight allusions to nsfw and 18+ content (non graphic), brief mention of blood and canon-typical violence, the slightest allusions to shitty parents, references to anxiety and consequences of said shitty parenting, absolutely TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF

A/N: dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕 lyrics not mine, obviously

A/N2: This bonus chapter is set about a month and then some after the events of the epilogue, that is, after their first date. There's mostly fluff, because they deserve it - but mind the warnings anyway, as always. Happy reading!

Over a month later (after the events of the epilogue)

Steve was tired.

It was a banal assessment of his state as it didn’t seem to encompass all that he was feeling: all the aches in his body and in his brain, exhaustion of a week-long mission of recon, making a plan, executing the plan, throwing away the plan when it went off rails and coming up with a new plan in the matter of seconds only to eventually fight tooth and nail and bruises and blood – it was etched into his weary bones.

And so he guessed it was acceptable that his mind didn’t have enough energy to come up with a better word than tired when FRIDAY politely asked him how he was doing upon his return from the long albeit successful mission.

Tired and lonely, but that he didn’t mention.

He hadn’t been alone – in fact, he had had his closest friends by his side, Bucky, Natasha and Sam watching his six – but he had missed you.

A little over a month passed since your first date, a little over a month since your blossoming relationship took an officially romantic turn. A month of stolen moments and borrowed kisses that needed to be returned immediately and thus creating an infinite loop, subtle glances as well as not so secretive smiles, longing brushes of hands, grins as you sparred with attempts not to let it turn highly unprofessional… your incredible body under his hands, trapped between him and the wall, under him, a whirlwind of emotion and lust, the first time, the second time, always--- a little over a month of intimacy Steve perhaps hadn’t even believed he could ever find.

You were careful with your heart and he respected that, treating it with same care; but at moments when as he had offered you his own on his sleeve, you tended to open yours in return. And there was not a day when you did that that didn’t tug at his heartstrings, as if you gently wrapped those around your hands and pulled him closer, making him fall for you deeper. Getting to know you, the true you, meant a confirmation of what he had known, deep down, long before you had allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him and long before he had been willing to admit to himself he had found you wonderful rather than merely utterly infuriating: that just because you didn’t open your heart easily, it didn’t mean you didn’t have an enormous capacity to love.

Neither of you had spoken the words, even as Steve almost had more than once, but your deeds, your touch, the look in your eyes – all that spoke of affection profound enough to make warmth bloom in his chest and a bring a soft smile to his lips even at times when raising the corners of his mouth felt like too much work to his weary muscles.

Just like every step did. Just like moving his thumbs to text you he was on his way back had.

He would have come find you the moment the quinjet touched the ramp, but he wanted to make himself presentable. Shower, change, eat something that wasn’t a protein bar, an energy bar or a banana. Then he could come find you and be the man you deserved, the man you too missed for a week, hopefully at least half as much as he had missed you. Then and only then; even if he had secretly wished he could step out of the quinjet right into your arms, that he would find you waiting for him there to welcome him home.

God had his combat boots always been so heavy? Had his shield always felt like such a burden on his back? Had the stealth suit always constricted his movement so much or was it that he had almost got tinged by the flames or was it just the unforgiving force of gravity? Why did he have the tendency to wear so many things in his to-go bag and why did they seemed to be made of lead?

Steve could have changed on the jet, but there had been no water left but for washing their faces and hands and flushing the toilet, and he hadn’t really seen a point in changing without a shower. He was also aware there was about seventy percent chance that once the warm water soaked his back, he’d let out embarrassing noises which the trio of his friends would have never let him live down; and he’d fall asleep within five minutes after that shower unless he had the motivation of you being in his immediate vicinity.

Jesus, was the click of his door opening always so loud? At least FRIDAY was kind enough to open it for him without entering a code, recognizing that the word ‘tired’ was a bit of an understatement.

He thanked the AI lowly, rewarded by a voice that almost seemed to be smiling. Or was it? His brain might be too exhausted to tell, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was hallucinating.

Stepping into his apartment however had him perk up instantly, his back straightening in attention; because for all his exhaustion, this he didn’t imagine. He couldn’t have.

Something, something foody, smelled incredible, making his stomach growl in anticipation; and soon enough, his brain caught up enough to make assumptions, even as he did so carefully. His heart had no such reservation, however; it already stumbled in his chest in pure delight, sending a signal to his lips, a smile forming without effort.

Leaving his bag by the door, crouching with a low grunt, he undid his boots and removed his shield, following the smell and the low clutter of kitchen utensils drowned in the music playing in his kitchen.

In his very much occupied kitchen.

His smile only widened, his heart somersaulting achingly in his chest, the warmth humming in his ribcage upon the sight offered to him melting the tension from his shoulders.

The sight of you; in his home no less.

It wasn’t the first time you were in his quarters, not by far, not the first time in the kitchen area either; in fact, Steve had quite fond memories of you standing by the counter and sitting and nearly sliding down the kitchen island where he had hoisted you up to. But this was the first time you had come here of your own accord, accepting his invitation to his doors always being open even in his absence. And you used that invitation to… cook for you two, apparently.

And you were enjoying it too, judging by the wonderful smell, the song playing from your laptop, you humming under your breath and your hips swinging lightly to the rhythm, a seemingly effortless and criminally alluring movement.

Not daring to move further, Steve allowed himself to take in the domestic scene, resisting the urge to pinch himself as to convince himself this was not a dream; all his senses were telling him this would be toovivid of a dream. The working mess on the counter, the bowl of salad sitting on the island next to your laptop, the lit-up stove with what he believed to be roast beef with seasoning that made his mouth water, the sizzle of oil on the stove you were standing at, the music, a melody he recognized reaching his ears – and you. God, you. In simple leggings and a shirt you had stolen from him at some point and he’d never hold it against you, but would beg you to do it again for you looked like a goddess in your own right – and with the not so subtle subtext of being his – , and in an apron with a print of small shields Bucky had given him as a gag gift of all things.

It might not be a dream, but it certainly was a dream come true.

Steve took a wavering breath, letting his senses soak in the scene and write it into his eidetic memory; and into his heart.

He couldn’t see your face just yet, but you seemed perfectly content being here. And everything about this whispered of home to him of which you already seemed the most essential part. Because even if you’d burned the meat to crisp, if it tasted awful, you were here. Doing this for him. Hell, you could be here waiting for him with take-out or ice-cream or stale bread and he’d kiss you and hold you and never let go (until he’d feel like passing out from hunger at least).

Yes, Steve was hungry and tired; but no longer all that sleepy and all the more content, leaning carefully against the wall, head resting there too, feasting his eyes, the song washing over him as well as your low humming.

He was sure he hadn’t heard it before – but the melody felt familiar as he had heard you humming it every once in a while, especially lately. The gentle guitar chords and soft female voice with a raspy, smoky note felt just right; though perhaps the alluring sway of your hips contributed greatly to his perception of the tune.

Registering the lyrics, he smiled wider, an image painted in his mind as the woman sang about taking things slow and dancing in the living room; only for his heart to ache just a bit when he soon understood that as much as the song was about love, it was a love of people who had been hurt before.

And as much as Steve had yet to find out about all your past loves, he couldn’t but think that he already knew of unreciprocated great love from your past that had nothing to do with romance. The thought alone made him want to make himself known just to greet you, kiss you and hold you close and protect you from any potential demons wanting to touch you with the grimy long fingers of memories of being less than adored.

It was when the refrain hit that his voice died in his throat before a word could come out, his heart stopping, fallen smile freezing despite the sweet fact your voice now lowly joined the singer’s, not only humming, but singing.

That one word.

He’d heard it before. More than once.

He didn’t need to close his eyes to remember, but he did so anyway. And he remembered it all.

The dance you two had shared at the function before you had got kidnapped. The moment he had heard the word – an endearment at this point, truly – fall from your lips for the first time. It had been endearing, a little teasing.

He recalled how too many endless hours later, when you had been safe and sound in a hospital bed after a terrible ordeal, little softness, gratitude and a little secret had crept into your voice as you’d said it.

He thought about how he’d swear that his heart might have almost jumped out of his chest when you had whispered it after the first time you’d made love – the affection laced between the letters, a brand he’d wear with pride.

He recalled all the times in-between, some of them more playful, some of them affectionate.

And he remembered the moment you had asked about the endearment he himself had for you, that little traitorous word full of affection that had slipped out too many times for you to ignore it, too early, even before you had started dating – let alone after.

Firefly.

“Firefly?”

A hint of red flushed his cheeks as he got caught again, sensing this time he was not getting away all that easily, not with your alert curious eyes on him, even as a shadow of doubt as to whether you should be asking passed over your face.

“I’m sorry. Is that a bad thing? It’s just-“

“I don’t think so,” you whispered, leaning in closer as you sat on the couch having just finished a movie, cheeks flushing as you pecked his cheek, reluctant until you weren’t, narrowing your eyes. “Is it because I’m always bugging you?”

His lips twitched, exasperation at both your pun and what was clearly an evasion.

He had messed up before, reaching too far; but he was not a complete idiot. He recognized the gentle light in your eyes, reluctant hope bleeding into understanding that an affectionate nickname meant, as unlikely as you seemed to find it still much to his chagrin, feeling affection for you.

“No and that’s a terrible pun.”

“It’s an amazing pun,” you argued lowly, his lips twitching further despite being aware he was walking a line.

And what a thin line he it was.

You had a large heart. And you weren’t scared of love, he thought – but much like many, himself included, you were reluctant to believe and hope at times and he did not want to overwhelm you with just how much he felt.

“Yes, it is. You’re… do you mind it?”

“Depends. Why do you call me that?”

Something in your eyes, even as he felt some of your walls coming up, told him nothing really depended on anything. You seemed… to like it, no matter what his explanation would be.

Hopefully, he was not deluding himself.

“Well… for one, you certainly have a lot of fire in you.”

You narrowed your eyes, a mischievous crinkle lighting up in your irises.

“Should I be offended or flattered?”

“Both.” He smirked, even as he already weighted his next words. “And… well, there’s that little glow to you, your actual body, when you’re projecting, not to mention that technically, you do fly a little bit. Levitate half a feet above the ground at least.”

Your smile, soft, remained, even as the light in your eyes dimmed a bit, Steve’s heart stumbling in alarm.

“Oh… that’s… nice. Thank you. For telling me, too.”

Steve took a wavering breath, cursing himself even as he was not sure why this part was the one to have upset you. If anything, it was the last part he had been pondering whether to share… but seeing your hand toying with your skirt as you bravely held that tender smile in face of some sort of disappointment or hurt, something in him whispered this was the right time to share it for some reason.

If anything, there was no denying that opening up his heart to you had only ever brought you closer. If anything, showing you he was only human, only ever seemed to… bring understanding and acceptance, even if his vulnerability was tied to yours.

“And… the reason why it feels so right to call you that is-- I learned you were and are in a dark a lot more than people know,” he whispered carefully, feeling you stiffen, continuing knowing now he had to explain the rest. “You overcame a lot and… you still shine, despite that. And… you shine against my own dark too.”

Two full seconds of utter silence and stillness; that was his reward as he himself waited with a bated breath, eyes fixed on you, not daring to blink.

Another second passed; and then your calm façade crumbled just like your face, a glint of tears in your eyes all he could see and panic about, already gathering words of apology that never made it off his lips; because they were suddenly too occupied by responding to the press of yours, your hands framing his face as you sweetly and without a single word let him know what you thought of the endearment Steve thought fit you so well.

He smiled into the kiss, tension melting off his shoulders as your mouth moulded into his, a little frantic and clumsy with emotion and all the more perfect, his palm instinctively cradling your cheek to keep you close.

He only allowed your lips parting from his because you rested your forehead against his with a sigh. The sound was both weary and amused, breath tickling his mouth and enticing him to kiss you some more, hands aching to bring you back and closer, and closer, and the closest possible. And if he was honest, his hands were not the only thing that ached and nor was his heart.

“You, Steve Rogers, are infuriatingly thoughtful,” you rasped, clearing your throat even as your eyes remained closed, blind to his proud smile. “And really set the standards way too high. How the hell am I supposed to come up with a nickname for you now?”

Steve grinned before capturing your mouth again, sweet and infuriating all the same, because what a nonsense you spoke. You could call him anything or nothing at all; though if should he be honest with himself, his name and his rank sounded damn pretty falling off your lips, especially when they had that breathy quality after you made out or when they sounded as if you were begging for more.

His groin damn well spasmed at the imagery and he shook his head not only to let you know what he thought, but to disperse the image for now because this was important. But god, so was your soft and hard wonderfully pliant body that had somehow pressed closer to his and he had tasted you once and he just needed you to understand that was not the only thing he was after, not at all, but he’d had you and he’d never get enough.

Focus. Breathe. But oh you smelled so sweet and alluring and like you too needed him to continue kissing you and sneaking his hands all over you, lips wandering.

“I’m fine with any nickname. Or no nickname at all,” he hummed into your skin, “I like the way you say my name just fine, especially after I do this.”

Your head tipped back just a fraction, a mewly breathy sound of his name just like he loved it already escaping you and sending a surge of undiluted want rushing through his body, hands moving you to his lap of their accord.

Your mouth sought out his again, not a single protest, hands as eager as his in their exploration, every touch leaving a brand even over the fabric of his t-shirt he had never hated as much as in this very moment.

It was only when you rested your forehead against his shoulder with a little laugh that sounded a little too on edge that Steve physically forced himself to slow down, sensing another kind of intimacy.

“I… I think I’m gonna call you a caterpillar.”

At that, Steve couldn’t but laugh, even as a little alarm bell rang in his head, alerting him this was another evasion with humour – and as much as he was glad to see you use humour to cope with things rather than lashing out or isolating yourself, the latter two mechanisms he himself knew all too well and the former one used by Tony, he’d rather if you didn’t.

And yet, he leaned into it. It was not his place to criticise – and he did not want to. Especially since you felt so beautifully warm and real and close in his arms.

“Is it because I used to be puny and slow and then turned into a huge butterfly or because I’m always hungry and eating something?”

He expected you to laugh, or perhaps press closer, a silent thank you to him for humouring you, the subtle kind you excelled at.

Instead, you sighed, a shaky breath tickling the sensitive skin on his throat. You still didn’t raise your head, your fingertips toying with his t-shirt stretched above his ribs. Your words were coloured with reluctance and emotion that grabbed at his heartstrings and tugged with power not matching the volume of your voice.

“Because, Steve… even though you are entirely infuriating, you’re worming your way into my heart.”

Two beats of stunned silence.

Breath hitching as a surge of affection so powerful it stunned him lit every single nerve ending in his body.

It wasn’t ‘I love you’ – and for that he was glad for he’d prefer he’d be the one to have the privilege to say that to you first – but it was pretty damn close.

It was so close he had to bite his tongue and clenched one of his hands into fists just so he wouldn’t grab you with enough vigour to hurt you in attempt to hold you so tight you couldn’t move away a single inch.

With a wavering exhale, he pressed his lips to your scalp, breathing you in, hands caressing your stiffened form.

You’re worming your way into my heart.

Fuck.

What could he even say to that? How could he even encompass-

And surely you had to feel the way his heart hammered against his sternum, his pulse skyrocketing in almost ridiculous excitement.

His head was spinning, but his fingers slid under your chin to ask you to meet his gaze, no doubt shining like thousands stars because that was what he felt like.

You looked up, eyes still glassy and almost empty of emotion as your walls started to rise, gulping, not moving another inch when he pecked your lips.

“I’ll take it.”

You nodded minutely, a tiny pressure against his fingers on your jaw and then you were lifting your chin a bit, a speckle of pride, a speckle of cement to solidify the paper-thin protection you clearly felt the need to build between you after revealing so much.

“I--- just so you know, that wasn’t a serious suggestion of a nickname,” you said, your defiance as heartbreaking as endearing, words spilling without control now. “Tony would definitely turn that into something dirty and make a joke about a caterpillar in your pants or something, and I am not giving you a nickname that is a name of one of the biggest construction equipment company in the world, not to mention it’s pretty mouthful and-“

You were cut off by his lips attaching to yours again, and that was when you pressed closer to him in a wordless thank you, for shutting you from spiralling, from accepting it, for not making a big deal out of it even if Steve was all too much aware of how big of a deal it was, for kissing you again, because that felt damn nice—he was not sure which it was.

But that night, he made sure you forgot every coherent thought and every single worry and could only think of how good he could make you feel, hopefully both where pleasure and emotional safety were concerned.

And for the first time, even if he did so in the veil of the night when he was absolutely certain you were far enough into the dreamland, like the coward you believed he was not, he whispered he loved you.

Words he had not dared to speak even until now, even as every single cell of his enhanced body screamed at him to do so.

He loved you. God, he already loved you so much it almost hurt.

And seeing you here, and feeling like he saw you more than ever, it only made him fall deeper.

That was how much power a single word could hold; that silly little word he had come to love so much even before. Before he could imagine that perhaps there was more to appreciate than the sentiment you spoke it with.

Perhaps. Or perhaps he was being presumptuous.

Yet, his chest already felt as if someone inflated his lungs and he might actually start levitating above the ground like you always do when holding your Spectre in existence. And the woman continued singing, her voice complemented by yours.

Stranger. A beautiful stranger.

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

and I know

That beautiful strangers only come along

to do me wrong

And I hope

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

But I think it's

finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe

For me to fall

Strange, Steve had always thought, how a term for someone one did not know could hold so much affection.

Strange, how he had never felt prouder to be a stranger like when you called him that – and he suspected that now, whether you thought of this song when you called him that or not, he knew he always would, because this.

This was what he hoped he could be and perhaps was. Someone you could and did trust to catch you, someone to treat your heart with tenderness and protect it with the ferocity it deserved.

But Steve would also be lying if he’d try to deny his ego wasn’t tickled by the thought of you – and a memory as well, the image of your parted lips and curious fingertips roaming his body with the very whisper in his ear – calling him beautiful. He thanked and cursed his eidetic memory for the vivid sensation sneaking on his tired brain even now-

The shriek you suddenly let out snapped Steve from his reverie, his eyes focusing again, offering the sight of your face twisted in a mask of fright and painted over by embarrassment.

His heart startled in his chest, regret flaring – and completely giving way to the fact that the expression on your face was all the confirmation he needed.

Yes. Yes, when you called him a stranger, in that soft or teasing voice, you most definitely thought of this song.

And Steve felt something in his chest open for a crack, a rush of affection filling that space to the brim even as you both stared at each other mutely, slightly awkward as Steve had bounced off of the wall on instinct and you were still holding a spatula in your hand, a lot more like a weapon now rather than a kitchen utensil.

It was only when the song finally faded out, leaving Steve’s heartbeat the loudest sound in his ears, and another, more upbeat song filled the air, when you snapped from your trance, switched off the stove in an admirable speed, tossing the spatula to the pan and all but leaping to the laptop to turn the music off with a frantic breath of Steve’s name.

The picture perfect was given the last touch when a shaky but no less delighted smile spread your lips when you approached him, slowly raising your arms as to hug him hello. You changed your mind the last moment, moving to cradle his face gently instead, attentive eyes roaming his face and figure for scrapes and bruises or worse, fingertips tracing his cheek, his jaw, as if they allowed you to see better and Steve was not at all complaining, not even when your hands stayed and your gaze moved to scan the rest of his frame, searching for even the slightest changes in posture that would betray the fact he had been injured.

There was a lovely flash of appreciation in your eyes that made Steve’s ego float, the liking you found in his suit not a secret; but your brow furrowed as your fingers hovered over the shiner under his left eye, your inspection over too soon.

And yet; Steve felt his lips melt in a smile, any residual tension melting with the warm affection of your touch.

“Hi,” was the only thing he could muster up and then he was leaning in for a kiss he had been longing for for days.

You sighed against his mouth as you let his arm sneak around your waist and pull you closer, cautiously so, no doubt cataloguing every possible flinch of pain and ache on his part; and Steve couldn’t breathe. His chest felt too full still, a little lightheaded from the overwhelming affection, your touch an undeniable prove that all this was real. You, in his apartment, having been swinging in the rhythm and singing under your breath about falling in love and bone-deep trust, in his home, cooking, apparently, now tenderly assessing if he needed mending beyond your soft touch.

He didn’t. And by god even if he had, he did not.

He needed to sleep and process this gift of a moment eventually, however, because he felt actual tears burn at the base of his nose, his throat so tight he was not sure he could push more than another ‘hi’ past the lump that had grown there – which was unfortunate because there were three important words fighting to get out in the open.

Steve was tired. He hadn’t showered, he could lie down and sleep right there on the floor and he didn’t have the capacity to think without the process hurting, but being grounded in this reality felt like a touch of something divine and he hated you were already pulling away.

You frowned and he realized your lips had moved and he willed himself to listen, even as the arch of your lips was more mesmerizing than anything.

He needed to focus. That frown of yours and your slightly downcast gaze possibly meant that you misinterpreted his silence as something akin to anger at you being here, or some kind of disappointment, and it would be criminal to let you think that for another second when the exact opposite was true.

And dammit now your hands left his face and he was already missing their warmth.

“Oh god, the apron--,” you muttered, moving to untie the garment now slightly stained by the ash that had lingered on his suit quickly, gingerly placing it aside before meeting his gaze, apologetic. “I’m sorry… and I’m sorry for sneaking in unannounced. I… wanted to surprise with something… nice.”

Unfreezing at last, Steve clasped his hand around one of yours, lifting it to his lips to press a tender kiss to your palm. Your skin still smelled of the seasoning and the throbbing ache of the word home hummed in Steve’s chest louder, your lips twitching in a hesitant smile.

“Mission accomplished. You are plenty nice, Firefly,” he assured you, grinning when the remark had your eyebrows arch up, hand slipping away – but so did the last remnants of uncertainty and shame.

“Har, har. Might be the only nice thing you’ll get because I’m not so sure I didn’t mess up. I’m not exactly a Master Chef candidate, cooking wasn’t something that—it’s not something I practice too often.”

But I wanted to try. For you.

Steve took another wavering breath, hearing the unspoken words in even as you now held your head high as you should.

“So I’m going to take it on faith it’s the thought that counts and you’ll have to take it of faith that I didn’t intend to poison you.”

There was a pang in his heart at the deflection of what he knew must have been shining from his gaze, the truth of him feeling exactly like that – the fact you wanted him to feel welcomed and cared for and home meaning the world to him – but he’d take it. Because you were here and you had taken a big step and a huge leap of faith no matter how light-hearted tone you managed to charm.

“I do have faith in you. It smells incredible,” he said. “But if it does come to it, we can always order something. Thank you. This is a wonderful welcome home.”

One corner of your lips lifted in a lop-sided smile as you echoed his words, squeezing his hand as you lead him further into the kitchen: “Welcome home.”

And it was enough.

It was so much more than enough, but he was only human and even as he was soaking in the precious moment and the warmth radiating from your actions, even as he was almost certain he had got it right, that one insistent thought had latched onto his mind and he needed his answer.

“It’s good to be home. Can I… hear the song again?”

You froze mid-step, taking good three seconds to turn face him fully, your expression schooled into perfectly pleasant neutrality and a shaky distracted smile.

Had Steve not got the precious chance to see beneath your perfect, he wouldn’t have realised you were looking every bit like you painfully want to talk about literally anything else. It was another compelling evidence that the song carried plenty of meaning for you and him.

“You liked it?” you asked, sounding genuinely surprised and achingly casual. “Wouldn’t… think that was your style—though it is pretty cute, right? I mean the images-”

“Firefly…” he sighed.

“Sure. I can play it for you again, just give me a-“

Steve used his hold on your hand to pull you back to him when you spun on your heel to follow through, his fingers slipping under your chin to softly lead you to meet his gaze.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

It was a double-edged sword, he was using, he was aware – a dirty bargain, he admitted. While he did mean every word, he was also painfully conscious of how you responded to a challenge. And how you’d respond to the suggestion that you did not have to rise up to that said challenge, a subtle hint that it was alright to back down if you didn’t feel like you could handle it.

You were a lot like Steve in this regard.

You stuck your chin higher, a flash appearing in your eyes, face flushed with conflicted emotion.

He loved it and hated it at the same time; paradoxically, he was no stranger to feeling like that around you. He supposed that was what he got when someone offered him a mirror to his own personality. That was what he got for falling in love with someone so amazingly infuriating as you.

“I know,” you said, an edge to your voice revealing a tinge of vulnerability he knew you wished wasn’t there and which he cherished. “I want to.”

Steve didn’t let go of your hand when you headed to the laptop.

Two taps of your fingers and the gentle chords filled the air again, a familiar melody bringing a smile to his face, a smile you reciprocated shyly when he pulled at your hand and you let him, that little movement easily bringing you into his embrace, a loose hold for slowdancing.

“Can I have this dance, stranger?”

You didn’t respond with words; but you let him lead, perhaps unwittingly pulling at his heartstrings when you gradually relaxed into his arms, slow effortless steps following his with an instinct of a dancer, and eventually laid your head on his chest and closed your eyes as the pre-chorus picked up.

It was a tender gesture of trust, he thought; it was also a very smart way of hiding from him.

He’d take it. At least you’d got to listen to his heart stumbling against his sternum when he carefully rested his cheek on the top of your head, drawing a shaky exhale from your lungs.

Oh, we're dancin' in my livin' room

And up come my fists

And I say I'm only playing, but

The truth is this

That I've never seen a mouth that I would kill to kiss

And I'm terrified, but I can't resist

Your fingers twitched against the Kevlar minutely, expectant; Steve only smiled and pressed a brief kiss into your hair, warmth exploding in his chest when you sighed contently and melted into his embrace further, relieved and finally able to enjoy the moment.

And I said

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

and I know

That beautiful strangers only come along

to do me wrong

And I hope

Beautiful stranger, here you are

in my arms

But I think it's

finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe

For me to fall

If your eyes turned glassy, he wouldn’t know. All he knew was that his own burned, his heart thundering in his ribcage under the pressure of a confession fighting its way to the surface.

You finished your dance without a word; and even if Steve’s bones felt heavy with exhaustion, his body seemed lighter than ever with a resolution.

You had set the song to be the only one to play; you must have because there was no sound but the rustle of clothes and his own heartbeat deafening in his ears when he kissed the top of your head again and cradled your cheek, meeting your gaze, indeed glassy. But so full of affection and trust he felt his breath hitched, the words almost, almost stuck in his throat.

“It’s a beautiful song. It truly speaks to me,” he said softly, the corners of your lips twitching up a bit as you clearly felt the same way. About the song, that was. Clearly.

He gulped, his next words coming out quieter than he intended – but hopefully firm enough. Because this was important; so important he thought his heart was about to give out under at the severity of his confession.

“I did fall… and I fell hard, Firefly… I love you.”

I love you.

God, it felt so good to finally say it, even if your jaw fell a fraction, your reaction but a mute awe and a few tears welling up in your eyes. He felt the burn of tears in his own too, releasing a shaky breath, his other hand moving so he could frame your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbones, over your temple, a stunning statue with overwhelming emotion etched into its expression.

He whispered your name with a tender smile, the words that had him in a chokehold for weeks now suddenly the easiest thing to say, asking to be repeated over and over again.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead when he realised you were holding your breath, then to your lips, gentle, forehead reasting against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered once more, a barely-there sound pushing past your lips and perhaps he should be disappointed at that. A part of him was, a sharp, a little selfish pang in his heart.

Steve longed to hear it too. God, how he longed to hear it, that visceral need vibrating in every single cell of his body, but he couldn’t hold it against you. As much as a profession of love often prompted one back, it was not conditional. That was not the main reason why he said it. He said because he could not hold it inside anymore, because you were absolutely brilliant and strong and soft, and everything he could ever want and if he had learned something in his long years as Captain America, it was that actions spoke louder than words and yours spoke plenty.

And as tired as he was, he was not deaf.

The lyrics of the song spoke to him, but he understood they spoke to you a whole lot more; not just those of love, but those of fear too.

Your hands came up to his face, into his hair, caressing and tangling, perhaps the softest he had ever felt them, softer than that godawful night that the fireworks had pushed him into a PTSD episode; and you kissed him.

Your lips tasted of the salt of your tears and of a promise, tense yet pliant body moulding into his as you kissed him with enough ferocity and emotion to make angels weep and his body too, his lips melting to respond in kind, love unspoken but given all the more freely.

When you whispered that you fell for him too and you had never felt safer to do so with anyone, it was enough to have Steve feel his chest puff out, heart so full it might burst.

You kissed until you were out of breath and then some, until Steve’s stomach growled in response to not your alluring perfume but that goddamn deliciously smelling food and you chuckled, eyes still brimming with tears but face determined to get all Captain on him for a change, leading him to sit down and eat, still in the uniform or not.

And later, after sharing a shower which was as much tender care as heat, when you lay in his bed, your head on his chest, fingers tracing a soothing patter over his shoulder, Steve knew he was about to have the sweetest dreams despite coming off the high of a mission still.

Barely conscious still, Steve smiled at your quiet admission.

“I’m really glad you came home in one piece. I… I missed you.”

“I m’ssed you too, sweetheart. ‘m more than ‘kay… got the prettiest welcome home... nicest I mean… too,” he muttered, realizing his slip which only had you nuzzle into him closer. He had a faint inkling that you were smiling into his sleepshirt. He wondered why.

He wondered a lot harder, annoyed even, when you pulled back a bit. Why? You were lying so comfortably against him, why would you-

A brush of your lips to his cheek was his answer, his mouth absently curled up in a smile. He thought. Probably. Was he dreaming already?

Maybe. But it was not the best dream – because you wouldn’t lie back down, as if you propped up on your elbow. He wasn’t sure he could muster up enough energy to open his eyes. 

Not even when you whispered his name, so quietly he might have as well only dreamed it up indeed. But there was tension in your voice; and there was silence long enough to startle him just enough to make him open his heavy eyelids, eyes barely focusing to find you looking at him, lips parted, something incomprehensibly soft written in your irises even in the dark.

“Sweetheart?”

You took a deep breath and slowly released the air like a caress, something flashing in your gaze, your lips curled up just slightly, carefully so.

“I… I love you.”

The single beat of his heart was like a punch to his chest from the inside; and then a pregnant pause.

And then it startled and raced gently in his ribcage, a sleepy but all the more precious moment keeping him awake for just a tad longer.

The littlest movement of the corners of his lips took way too much energy; but it was the most effortless thing he ever had to do, his chest inflated with suffocating sweetness. His hand felt as if made of lead but he lifted it anyway, running his fingers through your hair clumsily enough to make you chuckle breathlessly. His hold on you must have been feeble, but when he cradled your jaw, and tried to bring your face closer to his, you followed his lead easily, kissing his lips with tenderness that set every nerve ending in his worn body aflame in the gentlest possible way.

“I love you,” you whispered to his mouth again and he was almost, almost sure he was dreaming already.

You didn’t seem to mind his tongue now felt too heavy to respond, laying back to your place on his chest, melting against his body with a shudder; and it truly settled in his mind that you had just said you reciprocated his affection. At the doorstep of the dreamland, it felt like an intangible touch of your hand reached into the depth of his soul and caressed it with utmost tenderness.

He wasn’t sure if he’d crossed that threshold and only dreamed it or if he managed to form the words for real; but he hoped it was the latter, because you deserved to hear it all day and every day and he was going to make sure you would from now on.

“I love you too, Firefly.”

Used to think that lovin' meant a painful chase

But you're right here now and I think you'll stay.

Bonus 3

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Ehm. I hope you enjoyed 💕 Please know that I am always happy to hear from you.

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP. PLEASE TELL ME AT LEAST ONE OF YOU FEELS THE SAME.

LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT THE PROGRESS THEY MADE.

May your November be gentle and cosy 💕🍂❄️