Summary: Steve Rogers doesn’t like you, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up on your doorstep.
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: Smut, rough sex, unprotected sex. Little-to-no-prep before PIV sex because this is fanfiction and we don’t have time for irl biology.
A/N: Uhhhhhhh… I wrote something that only sucks a little. Like 60%. I’m kind of okay with posting it, and I apologize in advance for not posting for a while, I’m working on some things. I do miss you guys! A lot. In other news: happy 101st birthday to my favorite grandpa. He’s pretty great. This is all from Steve’s POV so it might not be as descriptive as my usual writing. Also, I haven’t written since May 23rd, so I am very, very rusty. Let me know your thoughts, enjoy! :) x
Links are being ugly, full masterlist in my bio!
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Steve Rogers doesn’t like you.
All-encompassing and difficult to ignore, his distaste of you becomes part of his personality. Your face makes him want to punch the nearest wall, and when you open your mouth, knowing and sarcastic at least sixty-percent of the time, he feels like clawing his eardrums out.
The aversion might’ve begun when you first were introduced to the team. Not even a month in and you had everyone wrapped around your finger— Sam bailed on his runs three days in a row, claiming I’m just being nice until she’s settled; Natasha was flipping you over her shoulder during spar sessions instead of him; Bucky invited you to their movie nights twice without asking.
Never mind the fact he and his teammates have saved the world, like, five times together (and that’s skimping out on the several times they’ve neutralized terror threats and hostile bases) — one would think there’d be some kind of loyalty. At least enough that they wouldn’t exchange him for the next shiny person that came along.
But no. There was no loyalty. There was only hey, she’s actually pretty nice! and she pinned me twice— I like her and why don’t you just give her a chance, Steve? She’s really smart, Steve. Fury’s pretty much in love with her, Steve. Why are you such an asshole, Steve? She makes the best brownies, Steve.
Well, Steve doesn’t even fucking like brownies. And he doesn’t like you.
Not when you came in and stole all his friends— his family, nor when you took over the communal kitchen and turned Sunday nights into meal-prep-whatever-the-fuck-that-is, let alone make those fucking brownies every goddamn movie night, filling the entire kitchen with that infuriatingly sweet scent.
He didn’t like you when you tried to get on his good side by getting to know him during missions, nor did he like you when you offered him your stupid brownies, claiming it was only fair because you’re the only one who hasn’t tried them yet, Steve.
You get under his skin, make him itch and scratch at something that isn’t even there.
Despair— that’s what he feels whenever you’re around. He’s desperate, aching for something he can’t quite put his finger on, but he knows it’s not the good kind of desperate. It’s not the kind where he can’t get you alone fast enough, his hands, lips, all over your body, eyes roaming over you like a promise. No, that’s not what he feels.
What he feels is like he can’t get away from you. Fists clenched and shoulders tense, eye twitching with every move you make— he feels like he can’t get rid of you.
In the living room, the kitchen. Even the gym, on nights he can’t sleep— you’re always there.
You’re suffocating, and the fact that he’s the only one that seems to feel this way about you doesn’t help in the slightest.
So, yeah. Steve Rogers isn’t your biggest fan.
But that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your doorstep at two in the morning.
