#small!steve

"You're such a dork," Steve replied with a smile, opening his sketchbook to draw Bucky holding the cactus.

Bucky turned back to the small succulent and mused, "It needs a name." Steve snorted softly and glanced up long enough to see the light of the setting sun gently shining on Bucky as he fawned over the cactus. The sunlight gave the picturesque scene an air of almost romantic peace, just a handsome man in crisp attire standing at a low windowsil, a potted cactus sitting next to him. Everything was bathed in rose-gold light for a brilliant instant before the sun dipped below the horizon and the light faded to a dusky purple.

How Steve wished he could capture this moment forever and carry it with him.

"Stark Junior," Bucky decided, interrupting Steve's thoughts.

"Because you think Howard Stark is handsome?" Steve teased, enjoying the smile on Bucky's face.

"Shut up," Bucky mumbled, looking at the cactus with pleasure. "Punk."

"Jerk."

uhhhh thank you I just,,, small Steve and Bucky back in the 1900s makes me melt

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVE ROGERS!!!! (And also July 4th or something) I love how this came out! 

commissions — patreon

“A day?” Tony says, and Steve must be hearing things, because he thinks Tony sounds almost…dismayed.

“A day,” Strange confirms. “Perhaps they are very organized.” He pauses. “Or perhaps they did not really know what they were doing.” He peers at Steve some more. “Hmm.”

He disappears in a swirl of sparkling colors.

“That guy,” Clint says, shaking his head.

“Uh huh,” Tony replies, but his eyes are focused on Steve. Steve who’s five-foot-three again. Steve who’s shoulders are hunching under the attention.

He scowls at the ground. “Tony, will you stop starin’, I’m not some sideshow performer.”

Tony makes an affronted noise. “You think I’m staring because—oh thanks a lot.”

“Bruce,” Clint calls over Steve’s head, “you wanna—that thing. Yeah?”

“Oh, right the thing, yes.”

“I also would like to do the thing,” Thor yells, following after them as they make a rapid retreat.

Natasha looks at them both. “Stark, I’ll kill you if you fuck this up. Steve—stop being an idiot.” Then she’s gone, too.

Steve and Tony stare at each other for a long moment, Steve crossing his arms over his bony chest. It’s strange how foreign the body he grew up in feels now.

“Steve,” Tony says.

Steve stares hard at the floor.

“Steve,” Tony repeats.

Sighing in irritation, Steve lets his head come up, “Yeah, what, Tony—mmfh.”

Tony’s mouth comes down on his, both hands cupping under Steve’s jaw. Tony pulls him close easily with one arm around his waist, pressing their bodies flush together. He kisses and kisses and kisses until Steve’s head is swimming and he’s hanging on to Tony’s shoulders for dear life because his knees have given out on him. Tony holds him up easily.

“I’m not looking forward to seeing you sick,” Tony says, in a low, rough rasp that makes Steve shiver. “But I am so looking forward to getting to know the Before model of Steve Rogers.”

Steve is startled to see Tony’s eyes have gone dark the way they do when Steve really gets him going. “You’re actually still attracted to me.”

Tony gives him a dirty look. Then he reaches around and hooks his hands around Steve’s thighs, lifting him off the ground. Steve gasps.

“Incredibly,” Tony replies.

Steve smiles, a warm, happy fluttering growing in his chest. He hooks his ankles in Tony’s lower back. “Twenty-four hours, huh? Guess we better get started.”

Tony grins.

—

"Oh my god," were the first words out of Tony's mouth when he saw Steve. The second words were, "They weren't kidding when they said you were small. I actually have to look down--this is crazy. I can see the top of your head!"

He was babbling, he knew he was, but it was a shock, okay, seeing the guy he was used to looking up at, used to overshadowing him easily, reduced to someone he could probably wrap his arms around and hide. His biceps were bigger than Steve's hunched little shoulders.

Wait.

"Hey," he said reaching uncertain hands to curl around Steve's bony shoulders. It was strange without all the firm muscle filling his palms with heat, totally the wrong angle. God. This wasn't--this wasn't Steve.

Then the small blonde man turned his face upward and Tony swallowed down his panic, hands moving to cup Steve's face. Different jawline, but the nose was the same--hilariously huge on such a small face--and Steve's eyes. Those were completely unchanged. "There you are," Tony murmured.

Steve colored and dropped his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "So much for our plans, huh?"

No, yeah, okay, Tony thought, looking Steve over again. I can work with this. All the mannerisms were still there, recognizable, just a little reduced. Then Tony blinked, finally processing Steve's words. "What? No, are you out of your mind? I've been looking forward to getting my hands on you all week."

Steve flushed, a deep, familiar pink, eyes flicking up to Tony's for a second before dropping to the floor again. He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You don't have to... I know I'm not much to look at."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing I'm not as shallow as you seem to think," Tony replied, softening the words by sliding a hand into Steve's hair--still soft and thick--and coaxing his head back.

"Hell, Tony, I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

Tony shuts him up by kissing him and Steve's hands catch around his wrists, gripping tight--probably as tight as he can, Tony thinks, and it doesn't even hurt.

After a moment, his grip on one wrist loosens, his hand drifting around Tony's back to pull him closer. He presses up on his tiptoes and Tony can't help it, he grins into Steve's mouth. "Now you know what it's like."

"Shut up," Steve says and Tony realizes he's panting. He frowns.

"Hey, I know I'm a fantastic kisser, but--"

Steve's face has scrunched up, his brow furrowed and his hands white knuckled around Tony's jacket. It's starting to sound like he's breathing through a straw.

"Steve?"

"A-Asth-ma," Steve gasps and he's white as a sheet. Tony is just working up to a real panic when Bruce elbows his way between them and shoves an inhaler between Steve's lips.

"Breathe when I tell you," he orders and Steve nods, still trying desperately to breathe around the device. "Now!" Steve seals his moth around the mouthpiece and breathes in. "One more," Bruce says. Tony can see the instant it takes effect because Steve's face starts to relax.

"What-what is that?" he asks, breathless and feeble.

"An inhaler," Bruce says and presses it into Steve's hand. "It contains medicine to help when you have an attack."

"'S...amazing," Steve mumbles and it's Tony's turn to push Bruce back. Steve looks ready to keel over.

"Jesus," he says, ducking under Steve's arm.

--

Steve's only been serum-free two days before he catches a bug.

"Oh Gob," he moans from the couch, red-eyed and stuffy-nosed and milk-white, except for the streaks of crimson on his cheekbones. "Memory didn't do this justice." He closes his eyes and wheezes and Tony puts the tea he brought on the coffee table, nudging at Steve's shoulder.

"C'mon, sit up," he urges and, with his help, Steve struggles upright, his blanket spilling into his bony lap. Tony sits and stretches out his leg on the inside against the couch back, curling his fingers around Steve's shoulder and drawing him back when he's settled.

"F'rgot how awful 's is," Steve mumbles, sagging against his chest. His breathing sounds better when he's upright.

Tony kisses the side of his head and wraps his arms around Steve, relishing the way Steve fits inside them so easily. He's hot as a furnace, but Tony doesn't mind, he wants to take this in, Steve's original form, as long as he's got the chance, because he knows they're going to figure out how to get him back.

Steve's eyelashes are just as long in this body and Tony watches them slide reluctantly shut. "Th'nks, Tony," he mumbles, sagging against him even more. "You're warm. Feels good."

Tony snorts and murmurs back, "Shut up and go to sleep, you idiot." When Steve does, boneless and snoring, his face turned into Tony's bicep, he smiles.

--