Marvel Imagines ;)

steve - fugitives

LOOK. AT. MY. MAN.
*inhuman screech*
He's so beautiful wow.
Anyways... On with the show ;)

Being on the run was... interesting.

You had never really been a friend of the law. In fact, you had practically flipped it off more times than you could count. But, you were younger. Immature. Untried and untested. You knew better now that the law was actually after you because of the Accords (and Tony Stark). You liked to think that perhaps being known as a wanted fugitive gave you some perspective.

You, Cap, Nat, and Sam has been staying in shit-hole hotels for the better part of a year. You got lucky last night. Your room actually had two beds for once. You and Nat had shared one, Sam (after a titillating half an hour of aggressively offering the bed to Steve) took the other, while Steve - ever the stubborn bastard - said he'd be fine on the floor. You supposed he had probably slept in much worse places during his time in the army.

Typically, the team woke up in the early hours before dawn, to 'stay on the move'. Today, however, it seemed everyone was slow rising. When you finally pried your eyes open, blinking against the morning sun that was streaming in through the curtains, the only one not still in bed was Steve. The mere blanket and pillow he had deigned to sleep with lay in a discarded heap on the floor. Not surprising. He'd probably woken before the sun was up and gone for a run.

You slid out of the bed, careful not to disturb a snoring Natasha, and made your way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. You held down a yell of surprise when you saw Steve was already pouring himself a cup.

"Hey, asshole," you said by way of greeting as you snatched Steve's cup of coffee from him and danced away from his outstretched hand.

Steve sighed, but resigned himself to pouring another cup for himself. "You're... chipper."

"I got a full eight hours of sleep, and woke up to freshly brewed coffee. Absolutely nothing could bring me down, Rogers."

"What if I told you Wanda turned off her locator? And that she's been radio silent for over two days?"

You shrugged, blowing lightly on the steam emanating from your mug. "If Maximoff wants to bone a synthetic body powered by an A.I. in secret, then who am I to stop her?"

Steve sighed again. He did that a lot, you noticed. He also had darker circles under his eyes than he had yesterday.

You hoisted yourself onto the kitchen counter. "Rough night?"

"Rough century."

You considered Steve for a moment, before taking a long sip of your coffee - and coughing as the pure and bitter taste of bourbon hit the back of your throat. "Jesus, Steve," you wheezed. "It's seven in the morning."

"I needed something... to take the edge off."

You understood. It was simple, really. Being surrounded by the same people every day, moving from hotel to hotel, trying to evade the FBI while also keeping up with your training... it was difficult. More than difficult. It was exhausting.

The only way you could get release was through training. And it was hard to even do that... So you understood. You also knew that if Steve really needed something, or rather someone, to take the edge off, Nat would probably oblige. She had told you herself that she was considering asking Rogers to be, for lack of a better term, 'fuck buddies', just until this whole mess with the Accords was sorted out.

"If you need a distraction, Steve, I could help you."

The words had left your treacherous mouth before you could clamp it shut.

Steve's brows creased in the middle, and he looked at you as though you were spewing nonsense. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm just saying, sex would probably take some of the edge off. And it would work a hell of a lot better than booze in your morning coffee."

Stop. Talking. You. Idiot. You wanted to punch yourself.

Steve was silent, but it was the look in his eyes that made you reconsider your words.

"I-I'm sorry if I misread things-"

"You definitely misread things. If I'm going to have sex with you, it's going to be because you want to, not because you think of me as some charity case."

He slammed his mug down on the kitchen counter, muscles bunching in his back as he stalked out of the room.

You slid off the counter, making to go after him. "Steve, wait-"

"Just stop talking, Y/N," Steve hissed, and you halted. Because that anger, though you had seen it many times before, it had never been directed at you. Never. "For once, stop talking."

Part 2 coming soon. Sorry for the spelling mistakes, i literally just wrote this but I wanted to post something to celebrate reaching 1K reads. Who would have thought a thousand people would want to read my shitty-ass dumpster fire writing. Anyways, thanks!