One Thing for Sure - ch. 1 (Steve Rogers)
A/N: this is first fic I’ve started from scratch in like three years😭 so apologies if it’s not all that great but I had to try and help feed my peoples need for an enemies to lovers troupe with Steve Rogers 🫡
- rating: Mature//MNDI (canon-typical violence, cursing, eventual smut)
- summary: Steve and you simply don’t get along, worse than cats and dogs, to put it simply you hate each others guts. He was a self righteous flag totting asshole who never missed the opportunity to remind you of your fuck ups and you made sure every change you got to annoy him you did. That’s was the thing we’re between you two since you first met but will you ever find a common ground and get along? You team sure as hell hopes so.
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One thing for sure and two things for certain. You hated Captain America, that glorified Ken doll drove you up a wall.
His self righteous and arrogant attitude towards you made it almost impossible to understand what people see in him. You were coming back from a mission when you got a call from him over a secure line,
“You were supposed to be back hours ago Y/N.” You scoff and roll your eyes as you step into the quintet and bring her to life. “You know the time goes by so fast when I don’t have Captain America up my ass pestering me.”
You heard a chuckle from the other end of the line letting you know that you were on speaker and someone beside him found your remark funny.
“It’s unprofessional, you should have called in. We’ll be talking about this more when you get back.” The line went dead and you stare at the phone in confusion, who the fuck does this man think he is?
You arrive back at the avengers tower and take slow and cautious steps, making sure not to irritate the cut you received on your abdomen.
You put a gauze over it to hopefully stop the bleeding but it was now almost soaked in your hands. You grab your bag from the jet and sign it back over to the hanger staff and make your way to medical.
“Ms. Y/N I am to notify you to see Captain Rogers when you arrived.” You scoff at FRIDAYs words and say, “Tell the bastard he’ll see me when I’m ready .” You groan as you make it into medical and go to your favorite physician, you throw your bag down in her room and shut the door.
“ Y/N you know people do these things called making appointments— holy shit!”
