rodrikstark's headcanons (part 4)

s. rogers + beach day

you squint up at the blue sky, and at the sunlight weaving through steve's blond hair. "i thought you were playing with those kids."

with a grunt, steve collapses on the ground like a beached starfish. "they're over there." you follow the direction of his finger, where you see three or four tiny dots bounding together in the distance. "they asked me to throw their frisbee as far as i could."

you smile. cute, you had thought, when they first approached you and steve wading in the water together. 'scuse me, sir, but are you—?

you wonder what gave it away. maybe steve's impressive muscles on full display? probably the american flag swim trunks you bought him as a joke.

"that's not very far," you observe.

steve tucks his hands beneath his head. "if i went full-power, i don't think we would have ever seen them again."

with his sunglasses, you can't exactly determine where he's looking, but you're pretty sure he's keeping an eye on them as they return from the more remote part of the beach. after all, they told their parents they'd be hanging out with a superhero, so he's on the hook.

luckily, they're steadily closing in, so he rolls onto his side. "what are you up to?"

you gesture to your sculpture. "a masterpiece."

the sand needed to be wet for it to stick, but you're probably too close to the shore. the tides have been chipping away at the east side.

steve notices the furrow in your brow. "i'll guard your castle." he positions himself like a giant wall, wincing when the cool water licks at his back.

"thank you." you line the edge of the bottom tier with the tiny white seashells you've gathered. "are you having a good birthday?"

he hums. "depends how soon i get to take you home and have you all to myself."

you pretend not to be affected by that, jerking your chin. "so tell those kids to fuck off."

steve laughs. "i'm captain america, you tell them to fuck off."

as tempting as that is, you shrug; they'll tire themselves out soon enough. "i made you a birthday cake," you say proudly, gesturing to the three-layered castle steve thought he had been protecting. the finishing touch: a couple pieces of dark driftwood stabbed through the top.

singing softly, you motion for him to blow out the candles.

he props himself onto his elbow, leaning over the cake to kiss you instead.