I'd rather be happy than dignified

⤷ starring spy!steve rogers x spy!f!reader⌇action romance

❝ You and Steve are voluntold you’re married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other. ❞

directed by @blowingbarnes ⧽ showing july 6th .ᐟ

⤷ starring outlaws!stucky x f!reader⌇western romance

❝ As an outlaw, Steve Rogers has exactly two rules: keep moving, and don't go back. But for you he's broken the second one more times than he can count. He comes when he can, leaves before dawn, and you don't ask what he gets up to in between. Until one night it's not just Steve at your door, but his partner, Bucky Barnes, with your outlaw bleeding through his shirt and bounty hunters four days behind them. ❞

directed by @epiphanyrogers ⧽ showing july 11th .ᐟ

⤷ starring 40s!steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama

❝ It's the summer before college and the uncertainty of war looms over your future. Yet Steve Rogers always remains certain about one thing: you. He’s stubborn and sweet and so sure he can love you hard enough to make the rest of the world wait. But time is cruel, and it pulls you away from him over and over until the only thing left is a notebook that tells the story of a love too stubborn to be forgotten. ❞

directed by @buckybsdoll ⧽ showing july 13th .ᐟ

⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom

❝ When Steve is roped into talking about his love for an old flame on a late night radio talk show, among the many women who hear his story and fall in love with him is… you. ❞

directed by @singulartoast ⧽ showing july 16th .ᐟ

⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama

❝ The rules are simple: stay on your side of the street. Until one night you meet a boy. As tensions rise between rival gangs, two lovers dare to ask a simple question. Can happy endings exist in a warzone? ❞

directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 20th .ᐟ

⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom

❝ You’re determined to help Wanda find the perfect boyfriend - but Steve? He is totally wrong for her and it’s not just because you want him for yourself. You, having feelings for Steve? Ugh, as if! ❞

directed by @lunexiax ⧽ showing july 24th .ᐟ

⤷ starring ceo!steve rogers x sex worker!f!reader⌇romcom

❝ Years after paying for your company on one of the loneliest nights of his life, Steve Rogers comes back with a very different request. Tired of endless questions about his love life, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend. It should be an easy arrangement. After all, neither of you is looking for anything real. ❞

directed by @love-stucky ⧽ showing july 27th .ᐟ

⤷ starring bodyguard!steve rogers x popstar!f!reader⌇ romantic thriller

❝ The first time Steve Rogers saves your life, you hate him for it. The second time, you kiss him. As a relentless stalker closes in and your world becomes smaller and smaller, the one person you can rely on is the bodyguard who’s sworn to keep his distance. But the closer the danger gets, the harder it becomes to ignore the growing attraction between protector and protected. ❞

directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 31st .ᐟ

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVE ROGERS!

producer notes: what started as a half baked idea with @/love-stucky to do something to celebrate steve's birthday, somehow turned into an entire collab and the best excuse to read steve content all july! i have been so so so excited for this - selfishly perhaps, because i cannot wait to read all these fics, but mostly because of the wonderful writers who said yes and helped make this collab real. a huge thank you to every single one of you, ily guys. steve's best girls, assemble! <33

So before Steve could open his mouth and say something you were not yet ready to hear, you beat him to it, tossing a piece of opened mail on the counter. 

Steve blinked down at it, frowning once more as he glanced between you and the paper before him. “...my driver’s license renewal card?”

You huffed, leaning closer and stabbing your finger at the date of birth printed on the card stock. “Your birthday is in a few weeks! And you haven’t mentioned it at all!”

“Oh.” Steve’s big, broad shoulders lifted as he gave you a sheepish look, a rosy flush staining his cheeks and working its way to the tips of his ears. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” 

“Well what if I want to?” you glared at him. “You were just going to rob me of the full birthday experience?” You made something close to jazz hands that had Steve choking down a laugh because you did seem genuinely irritated by this. “That’s so selfish of you, Hercules,” you finished with a huff, crossing your arms for good measure.

Even though he was able to suppress his laughter, Steve wasn’t able to do the same with his smile. He grinned big, blue eyes twinkling with a very fond sort of mirth as he rounded the counter and pulled you into his arms. 

“You’re right, omega, I’m the worst.”

“Truly!” you nodded in agreement, your own lips twitching as Steve interlocked his hands at the small of your back and kissed your cheek. 

“Next year, I’ll be sure to set monthly reminders for you about my birthday so it’s always top of mind,” Steve murmured, kissing your other cheek. “It won’t be obnoxious at all.”

You nearly giggled, but were able to maintain your stink eye as you gave him an unimpressed look. “You better,” you hmphed, realizing your mistake a second after you spoke. 

That you didn’t object to the fact that you would still be here–with Steve–a year from now.

You hadn’t really thought much about the future since you were a young omega, still brimming with hope and not yet beat down by the state of the world. 

But now… after months of being in Steve’s orbit, of… whatever this was between you–because you still weren’t ready to admit that you were together–the thought of this whole thing not being temporary, of it being your future, of Steve being your future… 

Well, it was an idea that you didn’t hate.

You could tell by the warmth and softness in Steve’s gaze that he was thinking along the same lines as you, but again, you just couldn’t with what ifs, and big feelings, and more. 

Not yet.  

“So,” you cleared your throat, pretending to fiddle with the collar of Steve’s t-shirt so you could escape his intese gaze for a moment. “What would the perfect birthday look like to you?”

Steve was quiet for a moment, for more than a moment, and you felt a swirl of anxiety in your stomach, worried that you had upset him by side-stepping the almost emotional landmine. 

But when you peeked up at him, Steve’s gaze was just as warm and soft as a moment ago, and he was giving you a small, boyish smile as he replied, “I think I have an idea that we’ll both enjoy.”

A few weeks later, on Steve’s birthday, his idea came to fruition, and for the first time in a very long time–maybe ever–you really were getting the full birthday experience, even if it wasn’t your birthday.

But that didn’t make it any less perfect.

Because Steve had driven you upstate to a small lake house in the middle of the woods. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been out of the city, and it truly felt like a slice of heaven to be surrounded by nature and quiet and have Steve all to yourself on his special day.  

His special day was just part of the week-long vacation he had surprised you with, and he really had planned it all so perfectly. The fridge and pantry were stocked with your favorite prepped foods and takeout, so neither of you would need to cook. And he had gotten a cute little birthday cake, along with lots of other treats, from his favorite bakery. 

And now, you were both enjoying the gorgeous tranquility around you, as you and Steve sat on the dock out back of the house, watching the sun set over the lake. 

You gave a quiet sigh of contentment as you sank back in the circle of Steve’s arms, allowing your head to fall to the side as his nose skimmed up the side of your throat as he took his time scenting you. 

It was actually the first time you two had ever done this–scenting outside of sex–and you didn’t hate it. You were kind of obsessed with it to be honest.

In fact, you had never been so squirmy in your life, your mind pleasantly hazy and quiet for once as you gave a soft chirp when Steve pressed a kiss to your unmarked mating gland. 

“You smell so good, omega,” he murmured against your skin, inhaling deeply and purring with satisfaction as he basked in your scent. “You always do.”

Your inner omega chirped up a storm, loving Steve’s attention and admiration as you turned your face so you could nuzzle his nose with yours. 

Steve kissed you gently, his eyes so soft and happy as he told you, “This really is the perfect birthday.” His lips touched yours again, lingering this time before he pulled away and breathed, “Thank you, omega. I mean it.”

As he often was, Steve was so earnest in his words and feelings, but something about the sheer affection for you that was coloring his alpha scent had you feeling shy, and a little cranky to be honest. 

Because you were still getting used to how much Steve made you feel and want, even after knowing him for months. But you shoved down the minor flare of irritation that you knew was a defense mechanism, because you would not be bitchy with Steve on his birthday. 

So instead, you playfully rolled your eyes, murmuring, “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” Steve grinned. 

Your scent spiked with your own joy–and something wanting–and he huffed a laugh.

He leaned in and kissed your mating gland, laughing again as you squealed and tried to squirm away, overwhelmed by how sensitive that part of you was, especially under Steve’s attention. 

“How do you like it?” he rumbled, eyes twinkling as you huffed and twisted in his hold to glare at him. 

For a moment, you just gave him the best stink eye you could muster, and then, you pounced.

Of course you knew that Steve was letting you “attack” him as he fell back against the dock and took you with him. But that didn’t make it any less silly or fun as you wrestled with him until you straddled his hips and had his hands pinned above his head, preening your victory. 

“Well now that you’ve got me, what are you gonna do with me?” Steve husked, his eyes noticeably darker as you hovered over him. 

For probably the millionth time, you were nearly struck dumb by how gorgeous Steve was. His skin smooth and flawless, his golden hair gleaming in the setting sun and now perfectly mussed. And his eyes–those pretty blue eyes–so expressive as he watched you, as he waited for whatever you deemed came next. 

For a long, quiet moment, you just stared at each other, and then your eyes flickered down to another feature of his that you sure did love–those plump pink lips. 

Those plump, pink, kissable lips. 

“I have a few ideas,” you finally replied before swooping close and capturing his lips with yours. 

Steve groaned into your mouth as you traded pinning his wrists for framing his face between your hands. You made your own sound of delight when you felt his touch at your hips, his fingers pressing into you, holding you tight and urging your body against his even more.  

Your lips teased and tasted until both you and Steve were breathless, and when you finally pulled back enough to raggedly inhale a gulp of air, you paused for a beat, your eyes dancing as you said, “I want smores.”

“I want more too,” Steve immediately returned. His big hand cradled your cheek and tried to reel you back in for another kiss, but you pulled away. 

Giggling as you sat up over him, you shook your head, lips curled into a playful smirk as you tutted, “Keep it in your pants, Hercules. I want smores. You promised we’d make them using that little fire pit on the back deck.”

For a long moment, Steve just stared up at you, uncomprehending, gaping. And it was nearly enough to make you cackle, but then he blinked owlishly, his brain rebooting, and he didn’t look disappointed at all as he said, “Oh. Right.” Instead, he gave your hips a squeeze, his grin boyish as he continued, “I’ll go set it up now.”

You couldn’t help the dreamy sigh that bubbled past your lips as Steve helped you to your feet. Because he really was so good, so perfect.

And he was all yours. 

Preening for a different reason now, you looped your arm through Steve’s, pressing close to his side as you two began to slowly walk back up the dock. 

You felt mischievous as you glanced over and drank in the still flushed state of Steve’s cheeks, the way his lips were still kiss swollen, too.

“After smores, then I’ll give you more,” you teased, shooting Steve a wicked grin. “You can spend the rest of my night fucking me full of your cum and keeping me on your knot, birthday boy.”

Steve tripped over his own feet, making you burst into laughter as you grabbed onto him to help steady his steps, enjoying the way his flush deepened for an entirely different reason now as he shot you a stink eye. 

“You’re such a menace," he muttered, but he was already grinning again as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you flush against him. “But you’re my menace.”

“Well happy birthday to you,” you chimed, laughing into Steve’s side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

He held you just a little bit tighter as he murmured against your hair, “You’re the best birthday present ever,” rumbling his content as you caught his hand with yours, twined your fingers together, and stayed tucked close as you cleared the dock and made your way back to the lake house. 

—

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“Captain America cookies?” says Natasha flatly, looking up from her book.

You stare at the rest of them. “Seriously? No one in PR has told you guys about this yet?”

“Nooo,” says Steve slowly, still focused on the cookies. “But now I’m afraid to ask.”

You sigh. “Fine. There’s been this meme for the last, I don’t know, five years or so. On July 4th Eve, good patriotic little boys and girls leave out cookies and milk for Captain America, who will come by their houses after they go to sleep and leave behind truth, liberty, justice, and the American way.”

You motion to the cookies and milk in front of Steve, as if the rest is self-explanatory.

Bucky, somewhere on the couches, begins to snort with amusement.

“July 4th Eve,” says Steve, skeptical.

“Look, I did not make this up,” you say.

“She didn’t,” says Natasha, scrolling on her phone. “It’s a thing.”

“No shit,” says Sam, delighted. “Hand that over, lemme see.”

“Kiddo,” says Tony, possibly even more delighted, which also passes for devious. “Please, please tell me you did this growing up.”

You’re about to say no…

But then you see the stricken look on Steve’s face.

And the way Bucky is still snickering behind him.

And Clint already pulling out his phone.

“Every year,” you say, as wistful and pitiful as you can manage. “Sugar cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Oreo cookies. The most American cookies I could find, except that one year I was totally obsessed with biscotti. I guess they’re not American enough, though, because you never came.”

Steve’s eyes narrow, as if he senses that Someone is Mocking Patriotism. Well, you’ve got two choices now: either pull it back, or… lay it on thicker.

Bucky’s laid out on the couch, biting a pillow to keep from laughing. Sam’s texting hard on his phone, grinning like mad. And Clint? He’s filming this on his phone.

Really, it’s not like you have a choice here.

“I’m just thinking of all those little boys and girls out there, trying so hard to be the best possible patriotic Americans that they can be,” you say earnestly, folding your hands together, like you’re pleading. “Think of the children, Steve. Third, second, first generation Americans, who have grown up knowing that Captain America believes in them and wants them to know about justice and liberty. All their truths super self-evident. So many little American babies, hoping and wishing that they’ll get a visit from Captain America, who will give them the confidence to know… okay, yeah, I can’t do this,” you admit, giving up as laughter overtakes you.

Steve shakes his head slowly. “You almost got me.”

“Oh, seriously?” you groan.

“Another minute, I might have caved,” says Steve, reaching for a cookie.

But when you reach for one, too, he pulls the plate away. “Nope. My cookies. You’re not Captain America.”

“Spoilsport,” you sigh, and go to get the rest of the cookies from the kitchen.

*

You are deep asleep in your bed, so deep you’re not even dreaming. When:

“WHO’S STRONG AND BRAVE, HERE TO SAVE THE AMERICAN WAY?” blasts the music at top volume.

You sit straight up in bed and scream, flailing your arms before someone switches on the overhead lights, and then you stare, mouth open in shock.

Steve’s wearing his Captain America uniform, and before you can say a word, he throws a cloth bundle at you.

“Get a move on, solider,” he says briskly.

“Oh my God,” you groan. “Did I miss an alert, I am so sorry—”

“Not that,” says Cap, motioning to the bundle in your lap.

Which has unraveled, and now you can see that it’s an actual costume. Red and white and blue with sequins, like some old-fashioned showgirl costume.

Like…

“CARRY THE FLAG SHORE TO SHORE FOR AMERICA!” sings the recording.

Your mouth drops open. “Are you serious? Steve, did you break into the Smithsonian to steal another costume again?”

“Tony had it,” says Steve, without further explanation, and oh man, are you glad he does not elaborate.

“Um,” you say.

“We have forty-five minutes to get to Delacroix,” continues Steve. “And you are officially my fourth of July elf.”

“Elf.”

“Well, I could call you my chorus girl, but…”

You stare at him, still half asleep, not entirely sure you’re not dreaming.

“Tony also told me to tell you, and I quote—” Steve looks like he’s going to enjoy this next thing: “Put on the suit.”

You blink. “I do not understand that reference.”

Steve just grins back at you, like he is enjoying himself thoroughly.

“Shake a leg, chorus girl,” says Steve. “I’ve got a date with some cookies.”

*

The Quinjet makes it to Delacroix in 35 minutes flat. Nick Fury is going to have words for the pair of you, because you’re technically not supposed to go into super-sonic when it’s not for a mission, but whatever, it’s fun.

The chorus girl outfit is decidedly not fun. You feel like an idiot, but Steve just grins and gives you a thumbs up, and doesn’t even try objectifying you like you know Clint would (in a jokey, wolf-whistle sort of way). Natasha would smile and offer a compliment, and Bucky…

Well. He’d probably stop talking for a few minutes and then go back to pretending that he doesn’t see you as anything but a field partner.

Anyway, the trip is good, Steve gives you a little more training on flying the Quinjet, which is probably the cover for using the super-sonic, and he lands the jet outside Sarah Wilson’s house just before midnight. (After all, it’s not just you who needs practice time in the jet, which only bounces a few times and doesn’t even knock over any trees.)

“Carry these,” Steve tells you, handing you two small gift bags, one red and one blue, both overflowing with patriotic paraphernalia: toys, glow sticks, coloring books, and the like. You roll your eyes and carry them.

“How are we getting in?” you ask as Steve heads for the house. “Like, shouldn’t we go in through the fireplace or something? Or is that too close to breaking and entering? ‘Cause that would be super un-American of you.”

Steve pulls a key out from one of his utility belt pockets. You snort.

“Did you steal that from Sam?”

“No,” says Steve, and unlocks the front door. “He gave it to me.”

“Wait,” you say, realizing, “is the rest of the team in on this?”

Steve grins at you. “Who do you think suggested you should be my elf?”

He goes into the house, but you stay on the porch for a moment, letting it sink in.

“Those shits,” you breathe, and follow him.

It’s quiet, but you and Steve are good at quiet. There’s a plate of peanut butter cookies on the kitchen table, along with a glass of milk and a hand-drawn note in crayon. FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE CASS AND AJ WILSON. You grin and reach for a cookie—

“Nope,” says Steve firmly, pushing your hand away. “You’re not Captain America.”

Your mouth drops open. “I’m an elf, I should get cookies.”

“You’re leaving the rewards,” says Steve through a mouth full of cookie, and you scowl while you set the bags down next to the plate.

Steve munches on the cookies all the way back to the Quinjet, and finishes them somewhere over Missouri. You don’t get a bite, but you do get a solid fifteen minutes on the controls, so maybe it evens out.

You don’t even like peanut butter cookies. Whatever. Stupid Captain America.

You arrive at the farm outside Waverly, Iowa, shortly after midnight. There’s lights on in the farmhouse, though they switch off as Steve lands the jet.

This time, he clips a tree.

It’s quiet when you both slip into the house – Clint having given Steve his key, too – but a nightlight glows from the stairwell, which is probably where the giggles are coming from. Steve grins at you, finger on his lips, and you nod, trying not to laugh.

The way Steve’s voice booms is so on brand, you almost can’t hold back the laughter at all.

“Well, my patriotic little elf, I think we’ve just found the most American children in the state!”

The giggles get even louder, and are accompanied by fervent shhhhhhing.

“I think you’re right, Captain America, sir!” you say, raising your voice a little bit. “And those cookies look delicious!”

“They really do, Elf, they really do,” agrees Steve, scooping up a handful of the thumbprint cookies. “Raspberry and blueberry thumbprints with white-chocolate stripes are my favorite.”

You reach for one – but Steve shakes his head and pulls them away. “All right, Elf, time to recite the Patriotic Promise—”

“The what?” you mouth at him.

“I, Captain America, defender of FREEDOM and LIBERTY hold this truth to be self-evident, that this house is home to the best Americans in the entire state of Iowa!” says Steve.

Cooper and Lila aren’t even bothering to contain their laughter now. One of them is probably kicking the wall, judging from the knocking sounds.

“We the people in order to form a more perfect union establish that this household should always contain justice, tranquility, and…”

Steve loses the thread for a moment. Or maybe is overcome by patriotic fervor, you’re really not sure which.

“And continual success in the pursuit of happiness?” you suggest.

“And continual success in the pursuit of happiness!” yells Steve, giving you a thumbs up.

The laughter is joyful, the shushing is half-hearted, and Steve glows at you. You leave two more giftbags full of patriotic silliness, and take a picture with your phone to send to Clint.

This is the best night ever.

Right up until Steve takes every damn cookie and doesn’t let you have a single one.

“Captain America cookies,” he tells you, and he’s practically walking on air back to the Quinjet.

You are gonna kill him.

*

“You know it’s my birthday today,” says Steve, halfway between Waverly and San Francisco.

The Quinjet’s on autopilot, and you’re both stretched out in the back of the jet, because it’s the middle of the night and in a perfect world, you’d both be sleeping.

But no, you had to go and troll Steve Rogers, because you forgot that Steve Rogers invented trolling, and now you’re 30,000 feet above Wyoming on your way to San Francisco to deliver a gift bag of silly patriotic toys, and you’re not even going to get cookies in exchange.

If Tumblr wasn’t already a trash fire (and proud of it), you’d turn it into one.

“Oh my gosh, Steve,” you say, deadpan. “You’re kidding. I had no idea that you were born of the Fourth of July. That was absolutely never in any history textbook I ever had, ever.”

Steve throws a wadded-up piece of paper at you; you pick it up and throw it back. “Most people thought it was a publicity stunt.”

“No way. It’s so corny, it had to be real, you know?”

It’s quiet for a while, except for the sound of Steve throwing the paper ball up in the air and catching it again. You close your eyes and think about falling asleep, sure that Steve will wake you up when you land.

“Sometimes I hate being Captain America.”

For a moment, you think you’ve dreamed Steve speaking. You turn your head to look at him, and he’s still throwing the paper ball up in the air, catching it when it falls back down. He’s taken off the cowl and the shield is stowed in its locker; his belt is on the table behind you and he’s undone some of the fastenings over his chest, so the suit is a little looser around his torso.

“Symbol of America, so patriotic he was born on the fourth of July,” continues Steve, with that deep voice he uses when he’s making fun of something official. He scoffs. “Even the Howlies didn’t believe it, until Bucky told ‘em it was true.”

You shrink a little bit into yourself; it’s not like you were much better, with your so corny, it had to be real. “Steve, I—”

“It’s fine,” says Steve quickly, but he doesn’t look at you, and he throws the paper ball a little higher, as if he’s throwing out the bitterness and aggression at the same time. “I’m used to it. And it’s not like I make a big deal of it anymore. Hard to celebrate being a hundred when I don’t look or feel it, you know? Anyway, Clint really would try to put a hundred candles on the cake, and Dum-E would drown all of us before I had a chance to blow them out.”

You chuckle.

“There was a kid we knew in school – Jacob Feinstein. Born on the 25th of December, and he’d get so angry with people who said he was born on Christmas Day, because he was Jewish, right? Wasn’t Christmas to him, it was just his birthday. But to everyone else…” Steve shrugs. “I’m not any more patriotic than the next person because of the day I was born, no more than Jacob was less Jewish. I’m a scrappy little punk from Brooklyn who’s more socialist than patriot.”

Steve throws the paper ball again. “That was the hardest part of the USO tour. The adults all expected me to be this… patriotic figure-head, you know? Every one of ‘em would come up to talk to me, expecting me to spout whatever bullshit they believed, because they’re all good Americans, right? I gotta think the same way they do. And sometimes I did, but the type of person who goes to those shows wasn’t usually the type of person I agreed with.

“The kids, though. They didn’t care about the politics. They just wanted to know if I was really holding up all those girls and how heavy was the shield and if they could hold it too. This one kid – Idaho, I think – I hand it to him. Not this one, it was the prop one. Barely weighed a thing. His eyes get real big, and he says, I thought it was heavier. You hold it like it’s heavier. And I said, ‘It is.’ And after that, it was a lot easier. Because they knew I wasn’t Captain America, I was just Steve Rogers from Brooklyn playing a character they knew from the comics they were already reading. And I talked to them like that, like I was Steve Rogers from Brooklyn playing a character named Captain America, and you know, it didn’t change, when I woke up after the ice.”

You smile, thinking of the times you’ve seen Steve with kids, because it’s true; the kids all want to hold the shield, are surprised when he can lift them up above his head. He talks to them like he’s a friend who happens to be a bit bigger, like the shield’s just a prop, like his uniform’s just a costume. The adults, they all want to know his opinion as if he’s the last word on all things American.

“You ever see those PSAs I did for the schools?”

The change of focus catches you off-guard. “Online, sure; they were after my time.”

“Same thing all over again. It’s Steve Rogers playing a character everyone thinks they know. Pretty sure that’s why all the kids make fun of them. I can’t even blame them, I’d do the same thing.

“But those kids we meet in the Make-A-Wishes. And the ones wearing the shield on their shirts, and hanging around to watch us take off in the Quinjet. Those kids. They know it’s just a costume. They know I’m Steve Rogers first, even if everyone else forgets.”

“I’m sorry I forgot.”

He twists to look at you. “You didn’t, though. Those kids know I’m playing a character, but they never make me feel like I don’t deserve to be. Sometimes I’m not sure I should be carrying the shield. But those kids make me really want to try.”

You smile at him. “I like that.”

He smiles back. “My mom was a nurse. First responder, they’d say now. But I just knew, when I was a kid, that I hated her going to work and leaving me alone when I wasn’t feeling well. Or if I just wanted her around, because I missed her. But she went to the hospital, every day, because that was her job. And I was proud of her, I knew it was a good thing, what she did. But sometimes, I wished she’d care about me more than she cared about strangers. Even though I knew she loved me more than anyone else on the planet. The Wilson and Barton kids, and Cassie Lang… maybe they feel different, maybe not. Except their dads and uncle are usually in a lot more danger a lot more often than my mother ever was.”

You think, but don’t say: Sarah Rogers’ job still killed her in the end.

“So if I can do this one thing for them,” continues Steve. “Something to make them laugh, to give them a really good memory… use Captain America to let ‘em know I see them and not just that they’re a hero’s kid… well. That can’t be a bad thing.”

You smile up at the top of the jet, letting that sink in.

Except.

“You’re wrong about one thing, though.”

Steve twists on his cot to look at you. “Oh? What’s that?”

“It’s not your hundredth birthday. You’re only ninety-ni—owwww!”

You yelp as Steve casually reaches over and knocks the latch holding up the cot, and you tumble to the floor, both of you laughing as you throw bits of wadded-up paper at each other’s heads.

It’s about twenty minutes later when Steve lands the Quinjet in the street next to Scott Lang’s house in San Francisco. It’s a quiet, pretty little street, and instead of a key under the front mat, you find a lock-breaking kit with your name on it.

“Great, you can earn your keep, Elf,” says Steve lightly, and you stick your tongue out at him and open the unlocked door.

“That seems very unsafe,” says Steve dryly.

“Yeah, but really funny if I’d locked it for him first,” you say smugly, dropping the kit on the table inside the door. “Anyway, only an idiot would break into an Avenger’s house in the middle of the night.”

“What’s that make us?” asks Steve, with a grin.

It’s dark in the house, and you think Cassie’s probably already asleep, a suspicion borne out when you find the note on the kitchen table.

Sorry guys, tried to stay awake but she conked out at 10.30. She decorated everything herself. Do me a favor, take a selfie and send it to me so I can prove it wasn’t me eating them? See you next week.

Scott

The cookies are amazing. They’re sugar cookie men and women, each one decorated to resemble a different Avenger. There’s even a cookie Nick Fury, and a cookie Pepper, and a cookie Maria Hill.

Steve picks up the Captain America cookie, laughing, and you take a picture quickly. Not a selfie, but it’ll work.

“We gotta take these back with us,” says Steve, munching on one of his legs, like a heathen who doesn’t realize the heads should be eaten first.

“I’ll go find some plastic wrap or something,” you say, and rummage in the drawers until you find a piece of foil.

“Hey, wait,” says Steve before you can cover the plate. He reaches over and snatches Cookie!You.

“Seriously, Steve?” you groan – but then he hands you the cookie.

“Go on,” he says, through the rest of Cookie!Him. “They’re really good.”

You break into a grin. “Really?”

“Well,” says Steve, “you earned it, cookie elf.”

You grin and look happily at your cookie. It’s too heavy on the icing in some places and the squiggles are lopsided and you don’t actually have orange on your costume but you don’t even care. Cassie Lang made you a cookie. Life is amazing.

“Also eating you would just be weird,” continues Steve.

“Yeah,” you agree cheerfully, dropping the gift bag for Cassie on the table and following Steve back out the door, making sure the knob locks automatically behind you. “Cassie Lang is my favorite.”

You as a cookie! You are gonna protect that girl through thick and thin.

The Quinjet takes off and Steve sets the course for home. You have lost all track of time, but there’s a cot back there with your name on it, and you can sleep in. You are the Cookie Elf, you have earned a late morning. And also a cookie.

It’s a gorgeous night, so many stars above the summertime clouds. You’re exhausted and you want to eat your cookie and you also don’t because it’s you. And Steve’s right, it would be weird.

Can you keep a cookie forever? You’ll have to look it up.

“Gonna be perfect for fireworks tomorrow,” says Steve, coming back to lay on the cot across from yours. He sounds so perfectly satisfied and full of cookies. “Well. Later today, I guess is more accurate.”

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy birthday.”

Steve folds his hands on his stomach and smiles. “The best,” he agrees.