â§âËâ§"Unintended" part 9â§âËâ§
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader; Steve Rogers x Sharon Carter
(AU)Plot: Steve always dreamed of having a baby. While waiting to start a family with Sharon, his wife and the love of his life, Steve decides to freeze his sperm as a precaution. In his line of work, the future is always uncertain, so he took some steps to make sure that his dangerous lifestyle, made of combat and life threats, won't deprive him of the gift of becoming a father. But that choice, meant to protect his future, leads up to an unthinkable error. A woman who wasn't his wife. A pregnancy that never should have happened. And a future he no longer recognized.
WARNINGS: Sharon being obsessive. Sexual intercourse/first time together. Some mild description. NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC. Yet, MDNI. Fear of a miscarriage. I don't think there are others? Let me know.
âSharon-no⌠no, you listen-stop-â. Steveâs voice was sharp enough to cut through the low hum of the Avengers Tower. Another call. Another argument. His (hopefully soon-to-be) ex-wife was giving him hell and even that word felt too soft. It was supposed to be just another long day at work, but instead of focusing on mission reports, he was being verbally ambushed every few hours. Sharon claimed it was about divorce paperwork, about âbureaucratic details,â but it always dissolved into the same bitter back-and-forth. He was one call away from blocking her number entirely. At least he was at work, where he always was these days. She, on the other hand, hadnât shown up in nearly a week.
 They had met at the compound almost 8 years ago, teammates long before they were anything else. After one particularly intense mission, when adrenaline still buzzed in their blood, the brilliant, effortlessly magnetic agent had started to flirt with him. Steve had been helpless from the first grin. He remembered every detail: the secret glances, the stolen kisses in shadowed hallways that made them feel like reckless teenagers. Now those same corridors felt different, haunted, almost. Every footstep echoed with the tension of maybe running into her⌠or not. But she was actually missing in action at work; present with calls and e-mails from her lawyers, but nowhere to be found at the workplace.
Stark was furious, cornering Steve for what felt like the hundredth time. âHey,â Steve snapped at last, exasperation breaking through the tight control in his voice. âSheâs not my partner anymore, clear? Itâs not my job to know where the hell she is or what the hell sheâs doing.â
Tony rolled his eyes so hard Steve was half-convinced he heard it. âAnd who exactly am I supposed to ask, Cap? The mailman? You just talked to her!â Steve crossed his arms. âI didnât talk to her. She called me. Big difference.â Tony threw up his hands âNext time, hand her over.â Before Steve could answer, the phone buzzed again: Sharonâs name lighting the screen. Tonyâs eyes lit up like a kid spotting the last slice of pizza âPASS IT TO ME! PASS IT TO ME!â He lunged across the table. Steve let out a breath through his nose, the picture of patient exasperation, and with one slow motion pressed deny. The ringtone cut off. Tony froze âSeriously? You just⌠red-buttoned me?â. Steve set the phone face-down. âRed-buttoned her. Big differenceâ.
teve finally managed a stretch of peace.
During lunch heâd traded a few easy messages with teammates, and nowâmid-afternoonâhe buried himself in reports. Doing the work always settled him; it wasnât always easy, but duty gave him something solid to hold onto.
By the time the clock edged toward the end of his shift, he was already planning a quick stop at the furniture store. His new place still needed a few essentials: a small cabinet for the bathroom, maybe a coffee table.And, if he was being honest, some proper winter blankets. The nights were already nipping at the edges of autumn, and the single thin quilt heâd been pretending was âfineâ belonged in a 1940s barracks, not a New York winter. He could almost hear Bucky laughing if he found out.
Then his phone rang. He sighed, thumb already hovering over deny, until he saw the name. You. His chest tightened in a way he refused to call a flutter. He answered instantly. âHeyâ. Your voice spilled through the speaker, soft and warm, the kind of sound that could untie the knots in his shoulders. He couldnât help but smile. âHey,â you said. âI made a ridiculous amount of focaccia. Do you have dinner plans? I could drop some off, if youâd like. Promise itâs not just an excuse to bother you after a long day.â Steveâs smile deepened, a quiet chuckle escaping. âIf every âbotherâ was like this one, Iâd be the luckiest guy alive.â He leaned back in his chair, glancing at the clock. âI was actually about to head to the furniture store, finally getting a few things for the new place. Iâm wrapping up in about thirty minutes. If youâre free, maybe you could tag along⌠and afterward, weâll eat that focaccia at my place?â. Steve was over the moon when you finally accepted. In fact, he was so excited that he left work eight minutes early: a practically unheard-of event for him. Stark nearly dropped his coffee at the sight; Steve Rogers, the guy who never left work early, practically hopping through the hallways like a kid on Christmas morning. The drive to your apartment felt surreal, almost like a dream he didnât want to wake from. He pictured this being his everyday life: finishing work, driving to his beautiful wife waiting for him, and together planning shopping ideas for their new home and the baby. The thought made him grin uncontrollably. But then he had to calm himself down: this was too much, he couldnât get this carried away this soon. But it was kind of hard not to let himself dream of a dreamy situation that took his mind off the current one. Once he arrived at your place, he didnât even have to come up to get you: you were already there, waiting on the corner, all smiles and glowing warmth. Damn, you looked good. The short purple coat you wore perfectly highlighted your bump, and Steveâs chest tightened at how cute it was. He hopped out of the car to help you in, and you wrapped him in a warm hug before settling into the passenger seat. As he turned on the heater, Steve couldnât stop stealing glances at you. You looked so natural and at ease in his space: glowy face, proud little bump, that sweet smile, and your protective hand resting gently on it. Every small gesture made him feel like this, like his life was exactly where he was meant to be.
You and Steve wandered deeper into the showroom, walking through little displays of lamps and coffee tables. He quickly learned how opinionated you were about home dĂŠcor, something that only made him grin. âI should consider booking an appointmentâ he teased. You giggled âWell, I have a long list of clients. You might be waiting a whileâ. You both tested a row of armchairs. You sank into one with a delighted sigh. âThis one is so soft, like a cloud. Try it.â Steve lowered himself onto the cushion and chuckled. âFeels nice...very nice".
The two of you spent an absurd amount of time discussing the perfect bathroom cabinet. Steve argued for something simple, something âstandard issue,â while you opted for a design that would elevate the entire room. âItâs a big, beautiful houseâ you said, patting the top of a sleek cabinet âIt deserves some honorâ. He smiled, quietly enjoying the way you were talking about the place like it was already a home. For a fleeting second, though, he caught himself remembering old shopping trips with Sharon: how every decision back then had felt forced, her sharp critiques of his taste. He used to claim he loved it. He couldnât imagine why. Steve gave his head a small shake, as if the memory were dust he could simply brush away. You wandered ahead into the childrenâs section, where rows of tiny cribs and pastel-painted dressers glowed under soft lights. Steve watched you pause at a changing station, your smile warm but not present. âAm I a bad mom if I havenât bought all the useful things yet?â you asked, almost to yourself. Your eyes glistened. âEverything happened so fast⌠I was afraid to jinx itâ. Steve felt something tighten in his chest. You traced a fingertip along the smooth edge of a dresser, eyes fixed on the grain of the wood. âEverythingâs happened so fast,â you said âAnd I-â you took a shaky breath âI kept thinking if I bought too much, if I started filling the house with baby things before⌠before we were sure, I might jinx itâ. Your eyes glistened as you finally turned toward him âLike...what if something happened? And then Iâd be standing in a house full of reminders, tiny clothes, an empty crib, of what I almost had⌠and lostâ. The last word trembled, barely making it past your lips. Steve felt the air leave his lungs in a slow exhale. For a long moment, he just looked at you: the way your hand rested protectively over your bump, the quiet fear shining through your usually confident face. A deep, protective feeling warmed his chest, stronger than anything he could put into words.
âI think itâs time to get something then⌠at least for my place,â Steve said quietly, breaking the silence that had fallen. But even as the words left his mouth, a thought pressed in: one heâd been trying to keep at bay. My place. He hated the way the phrase sounded. He hoped, God, he really hoped, there wouldnât always have to be a my place and a your place. He wanted the baby to grow up with both parents under one roof, not be shipped back and forth like a weekend arrangement. He wanted a home. Their home. And yet, the moment the dream took shape, doubt followed hard behind. He wasnât even divorced from Sharon yet. How could he already be planning out a future with someone else? How could he be so certain just because this woman carried his child? A baby wasnât a contract, wasnât a guarantee that love would stay or that a life together would last. Steve knew that. He had always known it. But the truth was stubborn and simple: he wanted to believe anyway. Steve couldnât help thinking how wrong it all seemed, at least on paper. A baby before a relationship? Could love still find its proper order after being flipped upside down? And yet another, more unsettling thought followed close behind: was he forcing a bond between the two of you simply because you were carrying his child⌠and because heâd finally broken free from Sharon? Maybe two parents didnât have to be romantically involved to be good parents. Maybe this sudden urge to build a life together was just him, once again, trying to do the morally right thing. The voice of his 1940s upbringing still lingered, that quiet insistence on duty, marriage, and family. For a moment the weight of it all pressed in. Then he looked at you. And his heart skipped a beat and made him know something in a way his mind couldnât argue with. Was he forcing a connection? His heart didnât think so: no matter how many times his mind tried to double-check.
âMaybe we could⌠have a look and-actually, I was thinking-â
you faltered, heat blooming across your cheeks as the words tangled. âMaybe⌠only maybeâ you tried again, voice barely above a whisper âIf itâs not something youâre uncomfortable with- after the baby is born, just for the first few weeks-â. You stopped, eyes fixed on the dresser. â-we could stay at⌠my place. Or yours. Just so⌠both of us can be with her. And maybe⌠help each other through itâ. By the end your voice had softened to almost nothing, each word carrying the hope you werenât sure you were allowed to have. Steveâs chest tightened at your words. For a heartbeat he could only see you, hand resting lightly over the curve of your stomach, voice still trembling from what youâd just offered. This, sharing those first weeks, raising a child side by side was exactly what he wanted. And yet the old questions clawed back. A baby before a relationship. The order all backwards. The doubts circled, but when he met your eyes, uncertain, hopeful, a little frightened, something in him went very still. It wasnât duty that pulled at him. It wasnât guilt. It was you. It was the baby. Steve exhaled, slow and steady, as though letting go of every argument his mind had tried to build. His voice came low, warm, certain. âIâd⌠like thatâ he said at last. He took a step closer, the faintest smile softening his expressionâBeing there. For her. For you. That sounds⌠right. And beautifulâ. For a moment he simply stood there, close enough for you to feel the new confidence in him. âI donât know exactly what weâll beâ he added, a small shake of his head, âbut I do know I want to be in it, with both of youâ. You smiled and looked down, your cheeks burning with warmth. Steveâs eyes didnât leave you. He watched every subtle shift: how your lips trembled ever so slightly, the way your eyes flicked up to meet his, hesitant and uncertain. When you finally looked at him, flushed and radiant, something in his chest tightened. He felt it there, low and insistent: a mix of awe, longing, and therelief that maybe, just maybe, this, this moment, meant something real. âI think⌠I wish I could kiss youâ you whispered, voice barely above the hum of the showroom. Steveâs heart jumped, and for a second, he froze: not from doubt, but from how much he wanted it to be right. He thought of all the moments that had led here: the late-night conversations, the shy smiles, the shared excitement and fears, the glimpses of the life they could build together. And suddenly, he didnât want to waste a single second more. He stepped closer. His hands reached gently, instinctively, resting near your shoulders, giving just enough support without smothering. Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance.
When his lips met yours, the world dissolved. The clatter of carts, the murmur of other shoppers, the bright store lights...they all fell away, leaving only the warmth of each other. Your hand brushed against his chest, tentative at first, and he felt it: a tether that made the moment feel infinitely real. When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.âYou have no idea how long Iâve wanted that...The last time we did it was one week and an half ago...when you ate at my house for the first timeâ he murmured. You laughed softly, breathless, eyes wide, and he grinned, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
That evening, you wandered the store with Steve, picking out a crib, a portable changing table with shelves perfect for diapers, wipes, and every tiny product you could imagine, and even a rocking chair that looked like it belonged in a cozy nursery. The story behind this purchase was kinda hilarious...
âOh, you have to get this one! For breastfeeding? Absolutely essential!â a chatty, and maybe a little nosy, shopping assistant exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. Steve and you exchanged an amused glance. âTrust meâ she continued, leaning closer âI might be old now, but Iâm a mother of three. I have one at home, very similar, just a bit antique, and it was life-changing! You guys are such a young couple! I bet youâre planning for more little troublemakers. This is an investment you cannot missâ. Steve raised a brow, trying not to laugh. Meanwhile you were blushing like crazy. You nudged him playfully.
The assistant seemed to take that you were uncomfortable with the topic of "having more" (babies). âOne is fine, of course, but let me tell you⌠this chair? Worth every penny. Youâll spend hours in it, trust me. And the portable table? Donât even get me started: it saved my sanity more than onceâ. Steve glanced down at the rocking chair, running his hand over its smooth wood. He imagined sitting there, gently rocking your baby in his arms, feeling the quiet of a home finally his own, the house alive with small, perfect moments. He also immagined watching you breastfeeding the baby on that rocking chair. He thought about you in a soft robe (one of those he's seen you in countless times when he visited you for his weekly check-ins) sitting on that chair as you rock your tiny newborn in your arms; the baby's mouth wrapped around your breast, her eyes droopy and milk-drunk; he can picture your tired yet warm and motherly smile as you keep the baby close to your chest and whisper sweet nothings to lull her to sleep. What a sight, Steve thought smiling to himself: he couldn't wait to experience it for real.
As you and Steve wheeled your selections toward the checkout, he couldnât help but think how strange and wonderful it felt: this was the life he had only dared imagine in fragments. And somehow, with you beside him, it was starting to feel possible. The assistantâs eyes lit up as she accompanied you and Steve to the checkout: âWait, I forgot to ask, how far along are you?â she asked, leaning a little too close to inspect the bump. You flushed, glancing at Steve, who instinctively shifted to keep you close, his hand on the small of your back. "I'm almost seven months along..." you said shyly. âOh! And you two look so cute together!â she gushed, clapping her hands âReally, the perfect picture of young parents. Now listen- if youâre planning for more kids eventually, you have to think about space. Multi-purpose furniture, stacking storage⌠I could write a whole manual just for that!â. Steve chuckled embarassed. You laughed softly, hiding a grin against his chest âSheâs⌠enthusiasticâ you murmured. âEnthusiastic is one way to put itâ Steve teased, tightening his hold on you slightly as you continued to blush. The assistant leaned back, as if seeing your comfort with him made her mission complete âI tell every young couple this! Trust me, years of experience here. You can save so much space with clever planning. Multi-level changing tables, rolling carts, foldable cribs: you name it! And make sure you keep a cozy spot for the baby right next to you at night. Co-sleeping can be a beautiful and safe experience if done properly. Plus you don't have to get up at night to feed the baby. Keep in mind you'll have to feed her every 3 to 5 times at night at firstâ. You seemed a bit uncomfortable so Steve smiled trying to reassure you and pressed a light kiss to the top of your head. âCozy, she said huh? Sounds like someone else agrees with my prioritiesâ. You laughed, still a little pink, as the assistant talked your ears off with another half-dozen tips. And Steve? He just kept you close, enjoying the way your laughter and blush filled the space between them.
You and Steve arrived at his apartment to drop off all the new furnitureâit was definitely too small to fit everything in yours. You had brought the focaccia you had made at home that afternoon. You quickly laid the table as Steve sat on the floor, focused on assembling the bathroom cabinet. The crib and the rest of the furniture could wait a couple of months: this was the urgent piece, as Steve was tired of balancing his bathroom necessities on the border of his sink.
âWhen youâre ready, dinnerâs here,â you said, lowering yourself slightly behind him to rub his shoulder. Steve glanced back, smiling. âIâd crouch too with you on the floor but⌠the bump-â âHey, nonono, no crouching,â he interrupted gently, standing up. âNo pressure on that cute tummy. None at all.â. You laughed, shaking your head âIâm fine, really!â. Steve just shook his head, half amused, half serious, and gestured for you to sit comfortably at the table. âI said no. You sit. You relax. Thatâs the rule.â. You smiled at him, warmth in your eyes, and Steve felt that quiet, protective ache in his chest: this little shared life, these small, perfect moments, were exactly what he wanted to protect.
You and Steve settled at the table, plates filled with the focaccia you had brought. Conversation flowed easily, laughter between bites as you teased each other over minor things: how Steve always tried to cut his slice perfectly straight, how you piled on toppings because of you cravings. Every so often, Steve would lean in, stealing a quick, gentle kiss that made your cheeks burn. You laughed and swatted his shoulder, but secretly your heart fluttered with each little peck. By the time the meal was over, you were leaning back, smiling, when Steve looked at you, a hint of pleading in his eyes âStay the night?â he asked, almost begging. You hesitated. âI⌠have no clothes nor toothbrush or- or underwearâ you admitted. He grinned âMake do with mine?" you both laughed. "Plus I have a really comfy pj's" Steve said proud, stretching his arms. "This oneâs basically new, I only used it a couple of times, I save it for special occasions" he winked and you laughed. "'s a gift from Bucky, my best friend⌠I donât think I ever mentioned him to youâ. You shook your head. âYouâd like him. Grumpy, but⌠heâs familyâ Steve added, a proud, warm smile tugging at his lips. âYou guys will meet one day, heâs out of the country right now, but heâll be back in a couple weeksâ. You smiled back, eyes soft and warm, seeing the quiet pride he carried for his friends and chosen family.
That night, you stayed. Steveâs bed was warm and inviting, and the two of you curled up together. His hand rested gently on your bump, protective and steady. Your freezing feet tucked near his legs, soaking in his heat: he was literally a human torch [đwink by the author sorry ahahahah, reference to another superhero], and you were more than happy to be near him. The apartment was quiet except for the faint sounds of the city outside, the shared rhythm of your breathing, and the occasional murmur of Steve talking softly to the baby inside you. It was simple, it was ordinary: and it felt like home.
It happened naturally, one night just before you entered your seventh month. You and Steve made love. He had taken you to one of Manhattanâs nicest restaurants, elegant, yet warm and cozy. You shared a delicious meal, laughed together, and acted like a couple completely in love, so much so that an elderly couple nearby complimented you both. All you kept doing was blushing that night. He suggested stopping for gelato at a place he knew, but you gently urged him to go home instead. His new house finally felt like it had a heart. The large couch was inviting, but it was the bed that truly mattered, a bed you had slept in a few times before, sure, but it had always been just sleeping. That night, however, both of you knew it would be different. This time, sleep would only be part of the story.
The shift between you happened at a slow burn pace. On the drive to Steveâs house, your glances kept meeting. By the time he pulled into the driveway, the quiet between you felt charged. Steve stepped out first and came around to open your door. His palm lingered just a heartbeat longer than needed as he helped you out. You didnât race each other to the door; it simply felt natural to walk side by side, purposely. Inside, the familiar scent of Steve's home wrapped around you. Steve set the keys on the table, and for a moment the world held its breath. You looked up at him. Whatever words you might have found seemed unnecessary. The understanding was already there, unspoken but unmistakable. Steveâs hand found yours again, fingers lacing slowly. No declarations, no rehearsed lines, just the quiet certainty of two people stepping into the same moment together.
So thatâs how you found yourself at 7 a.m., for the fourth time since that night, laying on your side as Steve lazily yet purposely slipped in and out of your warm, velvety heat. Outside, rain tapped steadily against the windows, a rhythm that matched the pace between you two. Where there had once been fire and urgency, there was now only softness, and the unspoken need to simply hold each other. The past night had unfolded into a morning that seemed newly made: carrying a sweetness none of the others ever had held.
As you got closer to your peak, your lips curved into a satisfied smile: saying that you were glowing in that moment was an understatement. Steve kept his pace, steady, never faltering nor getting tired, despite having done all the heavy lifting until then. His gentle left hand kept your hips in place, caressing them from time to time, keeping you close to him: exactly where you belonged. But then his phone rang. You both stilled. Steve huffed annoyed and you turned around to face him. "Is it work?" you asked, a bit breathless from the activity you had been submitted to. Steve shook his head, waving it off and moving a strand of hair fallen on your forehead "Nothing important right now...Focus on me..." he whispered reassuringly. He kept his gaze focused on you, his lips kissing your temple every now and then, as praises slipped past his pink lips âDoing such a good job for me-â he cooed at you as you took everything he had to give. The insistent ring of his phone only seemed to motivate him to be more efficient and bring you to your pleasure before he couldnât ignore his obligations anymore. But it literally went on your nerves. âBaby-...maybe itâs- itâs workâŚwhat if they need you now-â you whined as the phone kept going: you didnât want Steve to stop, obviously but you didnât want to strip him away from his duty either. Plus that ringtone...ugh, it was bringing your closer a scream of annoyance than an orgasm. âIt can wait a couple of minutes, you canâtâŚâ Steve shot a glare at the phone positioned on the dresser: far enough away that reaching it to silence it felt impossible. As the phone went silent for a moment, Steve brought you two, together, to your climax. Then he slumped next to you, keeping his position as a big spoon. His heavy muscular arm draped over you, warm and steadying. You hadnât even had the chance to fully bask in the bliss of the post-sex haze when the phone started ringing again. âPlease, baby, answer itâ you whined, exhausted from that jarring tune. Steve chuckled, finally moving with care so as not to drag the covers off you, leaving your body shivering in the cool air, and picked up the device. âHello?â he said, his tone both visibly and audibly annoyed. You stifled a giggle, drinking in the sight of him au naturel. Nestled in the sheets, still carrying his scent despite having been changed twice since last night, you sank deeper in the warmth: the rainy weather making the atmosphere extra cozy. But then Steve's expression suddenly fell. âNo⌠she canât possibly be doing thatâ he said, voice tight with anger. Fear immediately prickled through you as you looked at him with wide eyes. Steve passed a hand on his nervous face, making it clear how frustrated he was and that something serious happened.
â§âËâ§Chapter1â§âËâ§
â§âËâ§Chapter2â§âËâ§
â§âËâ§Chapter3â§âËâ§
â§âËâ§Chapter4â§âËâ§
â§âËâ§Chapter5â§âËâ§
â§âËâ§Chapter6â§âËâ§
â§âËâ§Chapter7â§âËâ§
â§âËâ§Chapter8â§âËâ§
