The Avengers x Reader Inserts

anxious confession | steve rogers

a/n: I wrote the first half of this back in 2018 and the second half today (very rushed), so I decided to just post it with a fictober prompt to get another one done!
DO NOT RESPOT MY WORK.
fanfic or original work: fanfic
fandom: marvel (mcu)
prompt: (#30) "Just say it."
warnings: anxious steeb :(
word count: 1.8K

Steve watched quietly as you sat beside him, taking in everything about you. His eyes soon fell on your lips as they pressed against the mug of steaming tea. Your face tensed slightly as the hot substance tingled your tastebuds and glided down your throat. He watched as you gingerly set the mug down and resumed the typing on your laptop.

As the keys ticked, he could see your mind turning like the pages of a book. You were working on a manuscript for a novel you had begun a year ago and were nearing the finals stages of editing. He had been by your side through the whole process, watching as you hit highs and lows, as you went from loving your craft to wanting to burn everything you had ever written. In fact, he had been the one to help you scrounge up the confidence to set your ideas into a book - and only allow you to wallow in self-pity for a few hours.

As he watched you pour forth dialogue and descriptions, he thought about the last year and how far you had come. He smiled to himself and forced himself to look away. He adjusted his grip on his pencil and pressed it to his sketchbook. He looked up, but this time towards an elderly gentleman who sat across the cafe in front of the tall windows that offered a view to the busy New York streets. Against the grey light of the rainy day, the man was only a dark silhouette with the daily paper thrust forward in his hands.

Silent moments passed on as Steve sketched the outline of the man's nose. His thoughts drifted towards the shape of yours. It was so feminine and button-like, although you thought it obnoxiously shaped. He smiled to himself as he recalled the many times he had sketched it. He had drawn your profile dozens of times over the years, much to your disapproval.

He never grew tired of sketching you; the shading, the contour, the positions. He knew the shape of your face so well, he now only had to glance at you to get it right. He always loved shading your features in a different light, discovering hidden facets of your appearance in each sketch. Your hair entranced him each day and never failed to inspire a quick sketch or in-depth piece. He enjoyed drawing each strand, each curl, and every style he found you trying to master.

His hand had stopped as he thought of the shape of your face. The ticking of your keys reigned him back in from his thoughts and pulled his gaze towards you again. Your lips pursed every few seconds as you concentrated on the words you would use or edit. He glanced at the screen and found you adding in sentences here and there, but he couldn't stop thinking about your subconscious quirks.

You were oblivious to his gaze on your features, taking in every faint freckle that dotted your face. He fought to resist the urge to scrap the drawing of the elderly man and start sketching you again. He wanted to capture your delicate eyelashes and the look of passion in your eyes. He kept to his current project but found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He kept thinking about your sweet disposition and kind heart, your love for humanity, the respect you had for his own era, and the great passion you had for your craft. Memories and daydreams played themselves in his head.

"Steve, why are you staring at me?"

He blinked nervously as your voice made his thoughts dissipate. He stumbled for words and cleared his throat. Why hadn't he been able to look away?

"I, uh, was just thinking about ordering another coffee. I was going to ask you if you wanted a refill, but I didn't want to interrupt your editing."