How About Steve And His Gf Hearing Their Bub Do A Proper Laugh For The First Time 🥺

okay this makes me think of sunshine teasing cuddling with ari & he just wants to nap with her after a long day 😩

Pairing: Beefy Biker Ari x Reader

"I thought you didn't want to cuddle," you tease, smiling up at him.

Ari's face morphs into a menacing glower and your pleased smile gets bigger the longer he glares at you.

He wants to tell you that you're the first person to lay with him like this in years but the words get tangled in a ball of emotion that lodges in his throat. So he settles for his usual scowl.

"I'm just saying. You don't like it so-" you stretch out the word, lifting your head up. "I can sleep on the couch-"

Ari places his large hand on your back, gently pushing you down. "I don't like it." Don't leave me sunshine.

"Uh-huh."

"I do hate it and I don't cuddle," he intones, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you. Ari glances down at your bodies and after a brief moment, decides to drape his long leg over yours. Confident that you can't escape him, he pushes your head back on his chest.

"So we're not cuddling." He inhales sharply at your muffled giggle. "Now stop squirming."

"Okay if you say so Bear." You place a chaste kiss on his chest right above the tattoo across his heart. Ari wonders if you can sense the way his pulse is erratically beating, a comforting ache that he refuses to acknowledge swells in his chest.

Resting your head in his warm skin, you trace patterns over his tattoos while you talk about the changes at the animal shelter. He pretends not to listen as he hangs on to your every word.

After you fall asleep, he presses a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering on you. He chuckles to himself, running his knuckle down your soft cheek. "God help me when you realize I'll do anything you want."

Keeper, Sketch, and Scratch

A/N: Just wanted some adorable fluff today. I needed it. Maybe we all need it.

“Watch out! You’re gonna get yourself killed?”

Steve jumps back out of the way of the razor-sharp edge, inches from his face.

“I don’t get why—“ he bumps against the wall and makes an impromptu sidestep “—she’s so angry.” Steve less than gracefully trips over your foot and nearly topples the pair of you. If you both go down, you’ll be at the beast's mercy.

“You’re supposed to save me,” you squeal. “You’re normally so good with women.”

Steve throws you a vicious glance before getting stabbed in the foot. “Ah! Oh, come on, you’ve had food. It’s right there,” he wails.

Alpine, Bucky’s new feline, doesn’t care. She knows Steve is a dog guy and smells his fear.

“Stark said she was nice,” Steve cries weakly, snatching his arm away. Alpine stalks him to the corners of the room. It’s hilarious, but she is actually a pretty terrifying little package of fur.

“Then be like Tony and woo her.”

Steve jumps out of the way again. “How? How am I supposed to do that?”

“Oh, right,” you sigh, “you didn’t even really woo me…”

His head snaps up again. “Don’t you start—AH!”

Alpine latches on tooth and nail to Steve’s beautiful forearm. You don’t blame her.

“How does something so small hurt so bad?”

You’re failing to suppress a smile as you notice the wiggle of her furry body turn playful. She thrashes a bit, sinks in, then waits, staring at Steve with big blue eyes.

“Little white devil, that one,” you mutter, half-laughing.

The two fighters have a silent shake down of head bobs and squinting eyes. Alpine releases her jaw. Steve softly hisses when her claws shift, but it’s because Alpine is rubbing her chin along his thumb.

“I see…” You chance a step closer. “She was wooing you, huh? Had to break you in a bit, I think.”

“Plays rough like her pa,” Steve says with a furrowed brow.

“Or Nat, depending on how you look at it.”

He nods as he reaches his other hand under Alpine’s suspended body and tucks her to his chest, tentatively. He must have great faith in the resilience of his tact suit to bring her even closer, but the pretty kitty sinks into the hold with a little yowl.

You laugh.

It takes a few tries to pull away his other arm, and it’s possible Alpine only releases when it’s clear Steve is moving to scratch at her head. The purrs start full force.

You’re impressed, not just by Steve’s gentility but by Alpine’s extreme emotional range. Strategically feral, just like Bucky, which makes probably the most sense but is still funny.

Steve beams. He holds Alpine like a fluffy baby and coos, then quietly whispers, “see? And Aunty said I wasn’t good with women.”

He looks up at you through his long lashes, thinking he’s won with a sassy last word.

Alpine nips at his finger. Fast learner.

"Is that my shirt?" "You mean our shirt?"

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: mentions of injury

Words: 392

a/n: Hey y'all this is my first time publishing my writing here so be sure to leave some feedback. This is being written at midnight because my body decided to be mean, so I'm sure I'll need it. This is for @omgrachwrites' 1k follower celebration, congratulations girlie!

You dug through Steve's dresser, trying not to make too much noise, though there was no reason to worry. You were the only one left in the tower; everyone else had gone on a mission and weren't expected back until the next evening. Your leg had been burned badly in an explosion during the last mission, keeping you benched.

It had taken you three hours to convince Steve that you would be fine on your own. The man was a mother hen. Eventually, with some gentle threatening from Natasha, he had agreed.

You now regretted encouraging him to go. Nightmares filled your sleep, waking you up drenched in a cold sweat. You missed Steve; he was a teddy bear and security blanket wrapped in one.

This led you to your current mission, stealing one of Steve's ridiculously comfortable shirts. Tight on Steve, they dwarfed you, making them perfect for sleeping in.

Finally, you found the shirt you were looking for. It was one of Steve's favorites, the one you had custom-made for him. The shirt was navy blue and read, "Just a kid from Brooklyn". Steve had grinned when he read it and now wore it constantly around the compound.

Smiling fondly at the memory, you slipped off your pajamas and replaced it with the shirt. You felt the tension in your body drip away as you realized it still smelled like him too. Contently, you crawled into the bed and fell asleep.

7 hours later, Steve hummed happily as he made his way to his room after the debriefing. The mission had taken much less time than anticipated, allowing him to spend the day with you. He reached his room and opened the door softly, expecting you to still be sleeping.

There you were, lying sprawled across the bed, hair a mess and mouth open. Steve quickly removed his clothing and got into bed, pulling you into him gently. You woke up immediately and promptly rolled over and kissed his cheek happily.

"You're back early," you remarked.

"Yeah intel overestimated the amount of agents they'd have and..." he answered before pausing and taking a look at you, "Is that my shirt?"

"You mean our shirt?"

"Oh now it's shared?" he asked, a smile on his lips.

"Yep, I'll draw up a custody agreement in the morning. Now, we're going to sleep."

i love your whole dad!steve concept it truly makes my heart burst! set in the singlemom!reader verse, could you do something where it’s steve’s birthday and the reader surprises him with an adoption certificate asking him to adopt the baby?

That would be the CUTEST THING. Oh yes, I’m so excited for this! I have to use this gif because imagine how stunned and surprised and just shocked in general he would be. My heart 😭 (also, fun fact: I ended up including my little fur baby’s name in here)

“Surprise!”

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shi- uh crap out of me!”

Steve put a hand to his chest, eyeing the toddler in your arms, glad he’d caught the swear just in time. These days, she was repeating anything she heard so he’d tried to be extra careful what he said when he was around her.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” you smiled, putting the little girl in your arms down so she could greet him too.

She went flying the short distance between you and Steve, running over to him to hug his legs.

“Happee birfday daddy!” she squealed, wrapping her small arms around his legs.

He smiled, bending down to pick her up.

“Thank you baby girl and mommy,” he said looking over at you, the smile lighting his face.

“I got you pwesent,” she said, beaming up at her daddy.

“Did you now? What did you get me? Hmm, a tie?”

She shook her head emphatically.

You raised a brow, amused, “You? I’m a tie?”

He stuck his tongue out at you, playfully.

“Let’s see,” Steve resumed his guessing game with his and your daughter, “Is it…a book?”

“No!” she grinned.

“Is it your favorite stuffed bunny named Hoppy?”

“No, silwee!” she giggled.

Still working on her pronunciation of the word, “silly” came out much cuter and funnier than it should’ve, causing Steve to laugh with joy.

“Is it a million kisses for daddy?” he asked again, then started attacking her face with kisses, giving her numerous ones all over her face.

The little girl squealed with joy. It was one of her favorite things her daddy did, was give kisses.

“Mommy have pwesent,” she finally said when Steve stopped, pointing towards you.

You held a print out caked shaped design that the toddler had “painted”. But, at the top, you’d done a little activity with her. You’d dipped her entire finger into different paints and made a few “candles” out of her finger prints at the top of the cake. It had turned out adorable.

“What is this?” Steve asked, taking the picture, looking at it.

The smile hadn’t left his face yet, but it grew even brighter as he looked at the picture.

“Did you do this for me, sweetie?” he asked.

Your daughter nodded with a smile.

“Mommy hepped.”

“Mommy helped?” he translated.

“Yesh.”

“Well, I love it,” he kissed the top of her head, “Thank you so much princess.”

“You welcome, daddy.”

“The kids, Robin, Eddie, Nancy and Joyce all dropped off their presents earlier,” you chuckled, nodding to the pile of wrapped presents and gift bags on the couch, “The living room looks like Christmas currently.”

Joyce and Mrs. Wheeler were hosting a cook out party for Steve at the Wheeler’s house this weekend for everyone to gather and celebrate your boyfriend, but most of the gang had decided to drop off their gifts for him early, on his actual birthday. Today, he was celebrating with you and your daughter.

“Well I guess that means someone is going to have to help open all those presents. Who should it be?” Steve tapped his chin, thinking.

“Meme! Meme! Meme! Pwease, daddy?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, of course you can.”

He kissed her cheek.

“What’s for dinner? It smells amazing in here,” he said, following you further into the kitchen.

“I fixed spaghetti since the munchkin requested it,” you said, sparing the little girl an amused glance, “I hope that’s okay.”

“Pagetti!” she cheered.

“Well, then I’m in luck because your spaghetti is my favorite,” he smiled, giving you a kiss as well.

“No,” your baby whined, trying to pull Steve’s face away from you.

She was currently going through a bit of a jealous phase where she wanted Steve’s attention at all times.

“Hey, now that’s not nice, sweetheart. There’s enough of daddy to share okay? See, look. I can give you a kiss as well.”

He kissed her cheek, then her forehead to prove his point.

“Now, can you say sorry to mommy?”

“I sowwy,” she frowned, not liking to upset either one of you.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” you soothed, running a hand over her hair.

“Go get cleaned up, dinner is almost ready, okay?” you told Steve.

“You heard what mommy said. Let’s go wash our hands okay?” he bounced her in his arms.

“Oh I got a present for you, too, but I’ll give it to you later, if that’s alright?” you said.

“Oh,” he smirked, “That’s more than alright.”

“Steve!” you huffed, hitting his chest playfully, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Alright, but can it be arranged? It is my birthday after all. I deserve some dessert.”

He gave you a grin, with a suggestive little wiggle of his brows before he walked out with the little girl, heading towards the bathroom.

“Besides cake, I mean!” he hollered.

You laughed, shaking your head at the audacity of him.

•

It wasn’t until after yours and Steve’s daughter was down for the night that you got the chance to give Steve your present.

True to his word, he’d let her help him open his gifts. She was a mess after the spaghetti dinner though, so bath time came first. Per Steve’s request, you and he gave her a bath together. She absolutely loved the extra attention, having both mom and dad with her for bath time was a rare occurrence. It was usually one or the other.

While Steve got her into her pajamas, you drained the bathwater and cleaned up the bathroom, not leaving it for later when you knew you’d be too tired to deal with the mess.

With hair still wet from the bath and in fresh pajamas, Steve set her in his lap and let her help him open presents. He let her pick which one to start with and it was off from there. You had a kick watching both of them, the toddler just as excited as Steve was. You appreciated how he included her in so much; you appreciated it more than he probably knew.

It wasn’t until the last few presents that her energy drained and the tell-tale signs of her sleepiness kicked in. She was yawning and rubbing her eyes, beginning to fuss at the mention of bedtime.

She fell fast asleep just before the last present and after opening it as quietly as he could—even though it didn’t disturb her the slightest—Steve carried her to bed and tucked her in.

He was tidying up the floor when you walked back in the room, picking up the pieces of wrapping paper and tissue paper from gift bags that had been carelessly thrown by an excited two and a half year old.

You hid the gift behind your back as you entered, biting your lip nervously. You were afraid that he might not like it as much as you’d hoped he would when you’d first received it. It was a medium sized rectangular gift box, wrapped in birthday wrapping paper, but it was what was inside that was the true gift.

Steve was chuckling to himself when you first entered and now he looked up, seeing you, filling you in on what was amusing him so much.

“I can’t believe Henderson got me four cans of Farrah Fawcett hairspray. What a kid.”

“Steve? Why don’t you sit down?”

Sensing your somber mood, he sat on the couch.

“What’s up?”

You sat down next to him, revealing the present from behind your back.

“Happy birthday.”

“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you into him before kissing your temple.

“I know. But I wanted to. Go ahead, open it.”

He tore into the wrapping paper at a much more normal speed than that of the excited toddler earlier. He peeled away the wrapping to see the gift box you knew was underneath. He peered at you curiously before lifting the lid.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper was a small stack of papers. Steve’s brows crinkled in confusion as his eyes scanned over the paper on top.

“What’s this?” he asked.

He looked back down at his gift, his eyes widening when they landed on the word “adoption”.

“Is this…?” he started, not quite sure how to finish his sentence.

“It’s adoption papers. To legally adopt baby girl. Make her a Harrington,” you finished for him.

He stared at you, blinking. Then he set the box aside, taking your face in his hands. His thumbs stroked your cheeks gently.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

You saw tears in his eyes. You also saw a smile on his face. He was so happy and that erased any nerves you’d felt before he’d opened it.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

He kissed you then, holding your face firmly in his hands, trying to convey his gratefulness, his happiness, his love, in the single kiss.

As if that hadn’t been enough, he made sure you knew his answer when you two had parted.

“I’d love to adopt her.”

It was the best birthday Steve had ever had.

Baby blurb of reader and Eddie where reader sleeps with her teddy when she has anxiety and it’s all soft and fluffy lol. Yes I have just turned 20 and still sleep with my teddy and I am not ashamed 😤💖

i love him 😭 so much 😭

A hand on your forehead. 

You blink awake. It takes you a second to realise what you're seeing. Eddie, your boyfriend, handsome and frowning across from you.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

"Me?" he asks. He turns his hand. His knuckles skip over your cheek, down to under your chin where he rubs a small line, back and forth. "You're sleeping with Mr. Bear?" 

"Oh…" That's the soft weight on your chest. 

Eddie kneels beside your bed. Where his right hand is soothing at your chin, the left strokes over Mr. Bear's worn tummy. 

You feel instantly embarrassed, the kind of shame that makes your face white hot. 

"Are you doing okay, sweet thing?" he asks. The sweet thing isn't strictly sincere. He says it with a smile, like he's hoping you'll laugh. 

You try your best. "I'm okay." 

"Yeah?" 

His touch is so soft. Feather-light. The kiss of a butterfly's wing to your chin. His eyes are distracted by somewhere on your cheek and his mouth is still worried. Pulled down at the corners. 

"Move over?" he asks eventually. 

You nod obligingly and shuffle aside. Eddie shakes out of his jacket and climbs into bed next to you, your shoulders kissing, your eyes on the ceiling. 

"You can tell me anything," he says. His voice is gruff like he's a little abashed to say it, but sincere. 

You sigh. "I know." 

Eddie hums before taking Mr. Bear into careful hands, waving one of Mr. Bear's small arms at you. "Do you tell him what's wrong?" he asks, holding your bear in front of his mouth. 

"Sometimes." 

Eddie brings Mr. Bear's mouth to his ear. "Oh," he says thoughtfully. "Gotcha." 

You roll your eyes as Eddie sets the stuffie back over your chest, positioning him to be comfortable. 

"What did he tell you?" you ask, curious.

Eddie glares at you theatrically. "Is nothing sacred?" 

"He's my bear." 

"And you won't award him any privacy? You cruel woman." 

You huff, equally theatrical, and let your head loll back to the ceiling. Eddie cups your neck, his hand hot to your skin. He tilts your head towards him again very slowly. 

You break character when he presses his nose to yours, laughing under your breath as he says, "Let me be your confidante, babe. I'm as good a listener as that dude and twice as cuddly." 

"Twice," you laugh. 

"I have better hair." 

You reach out to stroke his dark curls. He really does.

Steve: [Gently taps table]

Robin: [Taps back]

Eddie: What are they doing?

Nancy: Morse code.

Steve: [Aggressively taps table]

Robin: [Slams hands down] YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

I loved your blurb on Chris x Reader with ADHD! Can you do one with the reader having bipolar disorder?

You bet-

Chris x partner with Bipolar Disorder:

It’s not an easy decision for you to tell him you have bipolar disorder, but he reacts calmly and acceptingly, easing your nerves.

First and foremost after that, he does a lot of research -- putting effort into understanding manic episodes, depressive episodes, triggers, etc.

He makes you feel comfortable enough where you can discuss with him indications of mood shifts and the coping skills you practice.

If he feels like you’re reluctant to talk to him, he makes sure to remind you he’s always there for you.

“You could never be a burden to me, sweetheart.”

Knowing stress is a common trigger, he respects when you want some time alone to meditate or do yoga, or however you practice relaxation.

Or you have a list of favorite movies that are sure to take your mind off of everything for awhile, and he never says no to a good movie.

He’s more than happy to exercise with you, or take a walk with you when you feel the need to be a little more active.

He surprises you with your favorite flowers, knowing the look and smell appeals to your senses in a way that will lift your mood.

Understanding there are times you feel too depressed to move, or other times you just need to cry, he’s right there to listen or to hold you and stroke your hair. 

He gives you hand and foot massages when you want.

Since eating well helps your mood, one of your favorite things to do together is search for healthy recipes and cook meals together.

He doesn’t push you when you feel like you need to be alone though, sometimes leaving him to meet with family and friends by himself.

“It’s not you, I swear. I just don’t have the energy.”

“Hey, no. I know. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

When you’re having trouble falling asleep, he makes sure he’s not on his phone or laptop in bed.

He runs a bath for you using your favorite scents and playing slow music to help you relax.

You relish how perfectly you seem to fit at his side, head on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you.

If he wakes up before you, he makes sure not to disturb you, not wanting to mess up your routine.

Sometimes he leaves notes on your nightstand for you to wake up to.

“Good morning, beautiful. I have breakfast for you when you’re ready.”

He makes sure to never claim he knows exactly what you’re experiencing.

“I may not be able to understand exactly how you feel, but I care so much about you and want to support you in any way I can.”

~~~

a/n: I’m absolutely not an expert on bipolar disorder. I just did a lot of reading before writing this. If anything seems off, let me know and I’ll be happy to rewrite or take it out.

Sorry nope one more. Pregnant with baby two or three and letting the other babies paint on your belly bc you’re tired and need a way to entertain them. Dad walking in like this is new.

handprints

wc: 1.1k warnings: dad!steve, f!reader a/n: apparently i'm incapable of writing anything truly blurb length. so here, take another small fic! sorry this took so long, anon, i hope you like it!!!

Masterlist

Steve came home to a quiet house, which was unusual to say the least. With two little ones, and another on the way, the Harrington household was usually full of life and noise. He couldn’t help but panic for a quick moment before he realized that his family was likely just in the backyard. You liked to get them outside, find a way to keep them busy after you brought them home from daycare, especially now that you were seven months pregnant and so tired after your day at work. 

Stepping into the kitchen, he finally heard familiar giggles float in through the open window, which soothed his nerves. The window above the sink was open, and he wandered over to look out, finding all three of you out in the yard, though he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. You were reclining on one of the lawn chairs, shirt discarded in the grass next to you as the kids held paint brushes. It looked like they were painting something — were they painting on your skin? 

Your kids were, in fact, painting your tummy as you tried to relax a bit. You weren’t sure how the idea came to you, but it seemed like a great one; the kids had something to do, while you could put your feet up and close your eyes for a few moments. And it seemed to be going well. The late afternoon sun was still shining, there was a light breeze, and the kids seemed to be enjoying themselves, if the giggles were an indicator of anything. 

The peace was quickly broken, though, as your two-year-old, Emily, let out a loud whine. Your eyes flew open, expecting her older brother Daniel to be the instigator, but found that he was still painting quietly on the other side of you. 

“What’s wrong, Emmy?” you asked, reaching out to brush a strand of her hair out of her face. 

She didn’t answer, and went back to painting the blob she was working on, when it happened again. She let out another whine, her eyebrows drawn together, small lips pursed as she pouted, “Kicking!” 

It took a second before you understood; the baby had kicked particularly hard where Emily was painting on your tummy, bumping her hand as she worked. You tried not to laugh as you smoothed your hand over her hair, “The baby is kicking where you’re working, huh?” She nodded, a pout still on her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Baby doesn’t know you’re making a pretty picture for mommy. Maybe if you give baby a kiss, they’ll calm down a bit.”

Steve watched from the doorway, as Emily leaned down and pressed a kiss to a clear space on your tummy. He could help the grin that took over his face, and he couldn’t wait any longer to be close to his family, “Well, this is new! What’s going on here, you stinkers?”

The sound of Steve’s voice was what finally broke Daniel’s concentration, and he looked up, grinning at his dad, “I’m paintin’ a tree!” 

Crouching down next to his son, Steve ruffled his hair as he looked at the picture he’d been working on, “Wow, buddy, that’s a great tree! Mommy let you turn her into an art project, huh? What are you painting, Emmy?” She listed a few things, none of which were clear, but Steve nodded thoughtfully, as if he saw her vision, “Oh, wow, that’s great, sweetie. So pretty.” 

Pleased with their dad’s praise, both kids turned back to their work, and Steve focused on you. Leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead, he asked, “Everything okay, love?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, pushing your chin up with your lips pursed, hoping he’d get the hint and give you a kiss. Thankfully, he did, and planted a kiss to your lips quickly, hand cupping your jaw carefully. You continued what you were saying once he’d done so, “Just was tired and wanted to give them something to do.”

Steve sat in the grass next to you as he let out a laugh, “Not a bad idea, I suppose. The paint is nontoxic, right?”

“Of course,” you nodded, reaching a hand out to push through Steve’s hair, getting it out of his face so you could see him better. 

His hand caught yours and he turned his head, placing a kiss to the inside of your wrist, “Good.” The small action made your heart flutter, even after all the years you’d been together. 

“Daddy, you paint something?” Daniel asked, eyes wide as he stared up at Steve. 

“Hmm… how about I put a handprint on mommy’s tummy? You two can do the rest of the painting.” 

The kids seemed pleased with this idea, and Steve let them cover his palm in yellow paint. They helped him press his hand to an open spot on your tummy in the middle, near the top of your bump. You beamed at him when his palm touched your skin and your baby kicked hard at his hand, seemingly aware that it was their dad. Steve, who would never get over the feeling, grinned back at you, absolutely ecstatic, before leaning forward again to press kisses all over your face. 

“Can I do a handprint?” 

“Me too!”

“Ask your mom,” Steve shrugged, not wanting to answer for you. 

You nodded immediately, of course, and Steve began helping them cover their hands in paint. You took Daniel’s small hand, slathered in blue paint, and helped him get it into the perfect position next to Steve’s handprint, while Steve took Emily’s purple hand and did the same on the other side of his handprint, gently pressing it into your skin. 

There was now barely any bare skin left on your exposed stomach as they pulled back their hands, grinning. You pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks and then nodded back towards the house, “Go with Daddy to wash your hands, okay?” 

They quickly ran off, leaving Steve to race after them, but they were back within minutes with clean hands, and Steve had returned with a camera as well. You let out a small groan when you saw that he was holding it in his hands, but you knew you’d appreciate a picture later on, even if you didn’t now. 

Knowing exactly what you were thinking, Steve gave you his best pleading eyes, “C’mon, baby, please? You’ll appreciate it later.” 

“Yeah, okay,” you sighed, shifting your position slightly, one arm moving to cradle your bump. 

“Smile, beautiful!” Steve grinned from behind the camera, causing you to break out into a very real smile as you stared up at your husband. The camera clicked once, and then twice, “Ugh, perfect.”

Heyyo! Could I get a fic where Steve is a cowboy and flirts with you at the local rodeo?? Extra points if there is a confident lean in a doorway/on a post to get all up in readers face? ~insert eyebrow wiggle here~

**Squeals** I fucking love a cowboy. And a MODERN cowboy! My small town heart can’t take it. Side Note: this just made me wanna write a whole bunch of stuff for cowboy Steve and Bucky and it's all your fault. Thanks for combining my two hyperfixations. 

Characters/Pairings: cowboy!Steve Rogers x Reader

Content/Warnings: if you don't like rodeos, this one ain't for you. 

Author Note: I just… really like cowboy Steve.

Beta read by the ever lovely @voice-of-velhart

The county night rodeo was something you look forward to all year. Held at the fairgrounds outside of your little town nestled at the base of the foothills, it was the kind of event that made life in a little town like yours feel real. The lights, the food, the market, the roar of the crowd, but mostly. The cowboys. 

Ropers, racers, and riders from all over come to this little event every year to show off and make a little cash. The prizes for winning weren’t top notch, and they weren’t part of the certified circuit. So it wasn’t like  there were big names making their way through, but that was part of the fun. A lot of the competitors were just good old boys using skills they use everyday back on the ranch. 

Well, everyone but the bull and bronco riders. 

Riders were a breed of their own. In it for the thrill and the glory, really nothing productive comes out riding a bull. Save for broken bones and a back that can’t stand straight by 40. At least bronc riders are showing part of the skill it actually takes to break a horse, but bulls were a pure dick measuring contest. Which was half the fun. 

You told your friends as much as you settled into your seats in the front row. “I mean really it’s just about looking cool to the other guys ya know.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They look pretty cool to me too.” Hannah drooled as another rider walked by. Dark hat pulled low, his protective vest undone to reveal the dark shirt beneath. 

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, sure, there was a certain magnetism to men like that. A kind of gladiatorial bravado that came along with all needlessly dangerous things. But you knew bull riders, in most cases it really was all bravado and they almost never stayed. 

“Sexy, you mean they look sexy. Believe me once they open their mouth nine out of ten times they aren’t as cute. Now if you want a real cowboy you want a roper. Team roping or steer wrestling are my preferred but…” 

 “Teaching the lady how to catch a cowboy I see.” A voice as warm as whiskey radiated through you. You glance down to see a big golden cowboy draped over the fence below you, his wide shoulders and big arms taking up most of the panel. “Did she teach you the hat trick yet?”

You bite your cheek, trying to fight the urge to smirk back, because his smile was contagious. Paired with that brown Stetson and a pair of cornflower eyes that were looking at you like you were made of candy. You could see this man was a charmer. He was a rider, he had to be. And guessing by his gear and spurs probably a bull rider. 

“The hat trick?” Hannah asked, looking between you and the cowboy as you leaned back on your bench seat. 

“It’s just a game they play, a little trick good ol boys like him use to claim a girl at events like these.” 

“Oh, come on now darlin’, it’s a rule not a game.” You roll your eyes. Having never been too impressed with men who thought they could claim you with a hat. “Wear the hat and ride the cowboy.” He clarifies for Hannah, with a wink making her giggle. But his glaze immediately falls back on you. “I’m Steve by the way.” 

“I don’t recall asking.” You tease. But Hannah gives you a smack on the arm, her eyes boring into the side of your head. Clearly already under this pretty cowboys spell. Amateur. 

“It’s ok darlin’, I'll give you that one for free. Can I have your name?” he asks, taking a step farther up the panel to get a better look at you. He really was massive, his vest only emphasizing the sheer size of him. Now under the full weight of his gaze it was almost hard not to squirm the way that his singular focus zeroed in on you. You gave your name, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. “That sure is pretty, almost as pretty as you. Couldn’t pass up a chance to talk to you. Will you be around after the Broncos?”

You would in fact be around. The rodeo was a weekend long event and your work gave out free tickets so you planned on being back, but you didn’t know if you were ready to tell him all that yet. “Maybe, but I take it you will?”

“What do you think darlin? Yeah I’ll be here all week in fact.” Hannah is staring into the side of your head, her gaze boring a hole into your temple. You have the feeling she is wondering why you haven’t caved, and honestly under other circumstances you would have. “I get the feeling you don't like us cowboys darlin’...” 

“I don't have any problem with cowboys, I just don’t play with bull riders.”

Steve raises a brow, a chuckle rumbling his chest. Damn it, even his laughter sounded warm. “Well, lucky me I’m not a bull rider.”

~~~~

Turns out Steve is a roper. Team with a guy named Sam and they are good. Amazing. Steve never misses. By the end of his first 6 second run your mind is filled with sinful thoughts about how good he is with the rope. 

They slowly work their way up the bracket. Every run seemed a little more impressive as they immobilized their steers with an ease that seemed above the skill bracket of the teams around them. Sam and his mare just seem to fly across the arena, swooping in after Steve grabs the horns to easily rope the hind leg and pull the steer taunt. They win first without a shadow of a doubt.

 As Steve and Sam go to collect their buckles Steve eyes search the crowd. Blue eyes focused on finding someone in particular. 

They land on you, with a flash of perfect white teeth and a tip of the hat he reminds you not so subtly that he expects to see you at the bar after this. You don't know whether to throw your popcorn at him or melt into a puddle and slide under the bleachers. 

God damn it. You are so gonna ride that cowboy…

Steve hasn't cried for years.

Ever since he was a kid, his father has chided him for crying because 'men don't cry, boy, stop that nonsense and grow up.' Even his mother would tell him that if he wanted to be the man of the house one day, he needed to learn not to be such a crybaby.

So he did.

He broke his arm in 5th grade and didn't make a sound, he was left alone in that big house for 2 weeks and instead of crying like the little boy inside of him wanted to do, he invited all his friends over and trashed the place. He didn't cry when his father slapped him for the first time or when they left and didn't come back.

They'd taught him well.

Except now he's crying and he doesn't know how to stop.

He'd come home from Eddie's funeral, admittedly a little tipsy, and the second the door clicked shut behind him, the tears started and they haven't stopped since. It hurts so bad and just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself, he remembers that he's sitting alone in the dark of his empty shell of a house and it all starts up again. He cries for his broken arm and the slap that still stings whenever he thinks of his parents, he cries for Eddie, for Max, and for himself.

He ends up reaching for the phone on the wall and, after putting in the wrong number twice, he calls Robin. She answers immediately, her soft "Hello?" bringing on more tears as Steve remembers everything they went through, everything he dragged her into.

"Robin." He sobs weakly as he lies down on the ground with the phone pressed to his ear. "Robin, it hurts."

"Oh, Steve, what's wrong? What hurts? Are you OK?" He can tell she's trying to stay calm for his sake but he can hear the slight panic in her voice and the tell tale rustling of her putting on a jacket.

"Everything hurts. I-I think I'm drowning."

"I'm coming, hold on."

Robin runs the whole way to his house. She barges through the front door and all the panic and fear that had been written on her face falls away as she lays eyes on Steve, who's curled up on the floor, still in his suit, and crying so loud it echoes through the house. "Oh, honey."

He wails into her chest as she scoops him up in her arms and joins him on the cold tiles. "I'm right here. Just let go, let it all out. I know it hurts now but you'll feel better afterwards. Trust me."

So he does. He let's every little thing that's hurt him over the years bubble up inside him and spill out.