Summary: You and your boyfriend Steve can’t sleep, so you both take it upon yourselves to pass the time.
Characters: Steve x Reader
Warnings: Nightmares and insomnia, I guess. I’ve never done warnings before.
Word Count: 1,818 (It’s a beautiful number.)
Author’s Note: So this is one of many that I had originally written on Quotev. It’s not exactly copy and paste though, because I wrote it along time ago and…it was pretty bad. I was going to just edit it, but it got out of hand and now its a completely different story. But I really hope it turns out well! The gif isn’t mine btw. Love you!
You buried your face in his chest, sighing softly as his arms wrapped around your waist. You lay your palms flat on his chest, both of you on your sides. He gently kissed the top of your head, nuzzling his nose in your hair with a kiss. The gesture makes you smile. With a synchronous sigh, you both close your eyes.
As relaxed as one should be when snuggled up next to a warm, buff super soldier who’s holding them close, you both are still like that thirty minutes later. And as comforting as it should be to have the woman he loves the most curled up against him, pressed to his torso as her breaths ghost over his chest, Steve couldn’t manage it.
"Hey,“ you say softly.
"Hey,” he says back. It had become a reoccurring thing that you’d both lay awake at night, trying to fall asleep but to no avail. It, as you both agreed, felt like jet lag.
It hadn’t always been that way. When you first moved in with him, you had discovered that Steve would get nightmares. They were mainly about the war. Every dead body, every pained scream, Bucky falling to his death. Anyone that he could save, everything he couldn’t prevent, all of it haunted him. He had fought in the war to save people, not put them in harms way. At first, you would just cradle his head and hold his close, and he’d get a peaceful sleep. But eventually, they came creeping back into his mind. When his nightmares came back, yours began. They were mainly nightmares about him, lonely and too scared to sleep, huddled in a dark corner with nobody to help him-including you. The idea that you couldn’t help him get though his troubles scared the hell out of you. So to avoid the nightmares, the both of you began to stay up late. That’s when the insomnia began.
Eventually, you both had been staying up so frequently that your body clocks shifted. Now, whenever either of you tried to sleep, it felt like the ghost of insomnia was forcing your eyes open.
"Any luck?” you asked, taking a palm off of his chest to card through his golden locks.
“Not tonight, Doll,“ he sighed. You practically melted at the nickname that he had been calling you for two years now, but the feeling quickly went away with the reminder that you’d probably get less than four hours of half-hearted sleep.
He puled away from you slightly to lift your chin, pressing his forehead to yours.
“This is just ridiculous,” he said. “We get around half as much sleep as we’re supposed to, and it makes us both worse in the field.” You could only nod, your lips forming a blank face. God knows that you’ve both had this conversation before. Many times before.
“But,” he said, “You’re not allowed to do that.” He turned his wrist so that he could still lift your chin up, but his thumb caressed your expressionless bottom lip. This was definitely something that you’d never heard him say before.
“Do what?” you asked.
“Frown,” he stated simply. “I need to see your smile, Darlin’.” You broke out in a blush, burying your face in his chest.
“Well if it bothered you so much, why didn’t you say anything before?” you asked defensively.
“I didn’t want you to think that you’d always have to fake a smile from me,” he explained. “I only want the the real thing; I’ll know if it’s anything else claiming those pretty lips of yours.” Unable to hold it back, your face broke out into a smile. One that he could feel against his chest.
“There, are you happy?” you asked through your curled lips.
"No. You’ve got to show me,” he insisted. Slowly, you lifted your chin to reveal your sheepish smile.
“There it is,” he grinned, pressing his lips to yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without it.” You giggle against his mouth and he pulls away to gaze into your eyes.
“You know, just because you made me smile doesn’t mean I’m still thrilled to be wide awake at twelve thirty at night, old man,” you said. Being up this late while running on four hours of sleep could make anyone cranky.
"Old man?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “I’m not old. I’m a ‘survivor of time’.”
“Sure. And I’m not tired, I’m just ‘low on energy’.” He rolled his eyes at your banter. You both went another ten minutes without words before the both of you got antsy.
“I can’t just sit here and wait for sleep!” you finally said, sitting up.
“What do you plan on doing?” he asked, still laying on the pillows. “There’s not much to-”
“Bake!” you decided in the middle of his sentence.
“Really? You can’t sleep, and now you want a sugar high?” His apathy was greeted by you sticking out your tongue.
“Complain all you want. You know you love my baking, Rogers.” Those words alone seemed to have him defeated. He heaved a breathy sigh.
“If you really want-”
“I win!” You grabbed him hand and dragged him out of the bed, maneuvering your way through the apartment until you reached the kitchen. You turned on the light, which made the both you squint and groan.
“Alright, what should I make?” you asked him once he had adjusted to the light. He eyes still weren’t cooperating-it definitely had nothing to do with keeping his eyes closed for seventy years.
“Whatever you want, Doll,” he assured. “As long as you make it, I’ll eat it.” The compliment made you bite your lip. One of the things that you loved about him the most was his politeness. He’d always been one to flatter you until your face turned as red as Iron Man’s suit, and he’d almost always have something different to tell you each time.
“Then we’re going to make cookies,” you decided. He made a face like he was pondering your decision.
“Peanut butter and chocolate chip?” he clarified. You nodded with a grin, making him curl his fingers into a victorious fist. He had made that specific recipe with you many times before. Not because it was your “go to”, but because he loved them so much. You had come to learn his preferred balance of the peanut butter and chocolate chips, and would meticulously count the amount in each ball of dough before sticking them in the oven.
You instructed him to get out basic cookie ingredients, like flour and sugar, first. He knew exactly what to get, so he fished through the pantry until he had found every ingredient, balancing them all on various parts of his arm.
“Sure, make the ninety-five-year-old man get everything,” he teased, setting everything on the marble kitchen island.
“What happened to being a ‘survivor of time’?” you asked, raising a brow at him as you pulled out different sized bowls from a cabinet. There was a pause of silence as he tried to formulate an answer that would make sense.
“That only works in my favor,” he defended firmly, making you giggle. You both began measuring ingredients, and soon enough you both had a large bowl of peanut butter and chocolate-filled cookie dough. When you turned around to pull out a pan, he dipped his finger in the mixture and pulled out some dough, trying to give himself a taste before you returned.
Placing a long cookie tray on the counter, you unsuspectingly began forming small balls and placing them on the cookie sheet. When you looked over at him, he was innocently watching you with a still mouth. Narrowing your eyes, your decided to try something.
“Steve, can you remind me how long they have to bake?” you asked.
“Chur, tis-” he began, but he stopped the moment he realized he had been discovered with a mouth full. However, the guilty puppy dog eyes he gave moments after had your heart melting before you could scold him.
Groaning in defeat, your scowl turned into a grin as you pulled the collar to his shirt towards you, forcing his head down so that you could place a kiss on his lips. He smile against you, his hands finding your hips. You could taste the cookie dough between his lips, humming at the fact that you had really outdone yourself.
“I’m definitely doing that again,” he mumbled, making you pull away to roll your eyes. Yes, you had to pull away just to roll your eyes.
Following that was your long, meticulous process of counting out the chocolate chips. After about twenty minutes of counting and redistribution, you deemed them ready to bake. He excitedly slipped the tray onto the middle rack and closed the door, turning on the oven light just in case.
You stumbled towards the couch, laying down on it with your head at one arm and your feet hanging off the other. Seeing that you had taken up all of the space, but not wanting to lay down on you and burden you with his weight, he lifted you bridal style, eliciting a squeal of surprise. He let himself lay on the couch, setting you down on his tiny hips so that you straddled him.
“Hey!” you scolded, smacking his arm, but he just smirked up at you.
“What is it, Doll Face?” he asked, pulling you face down to his. You gasped, holding yourself up by placing your arms on either side of him.
“I was laying there,” you pouted.
“And you were looking so beautiful too,” he said, successfully making a blush blood rush to your face. “You’re cute when you blush.” He lifted an arm to card his fingers through your hair, gazing into your eyes.
Deciding to give in, you collapsed on his chest. You pressed your forehead against his, staring into his baby blues, and any dismay you were feeling towards him melted into love. It was moments exactly like this that made you fall in love with him all over again. The little moments when it was just the two of you, staring at each other in blissful silence. When thoughts like, “How did I get so lucky?” and “he looks so sweet and sincere like that” raced through your mind at a mile a minute.
You naturally buried your face into his neck, his arms instinctively wrapping around your back so that one remained in your hair.
“I love you,” he whispered into your hair, closing his eyes.
“I love you too,” you mumbled sweetly against his skin. And finally, oh god, finally, you were allowed into the warm embrace of sleep.
You were abruptly awaken by a strong smell that threatened to bring tears to your eyes.
“Darling, did you set a timer for the cookies?” Steve’s groggy voice asked.
TAGS (By the way, if you’re reading this, thank you so much. Also, if I tagged you, thanks for letting me tag you and not thinking I’m annoying. I can guarantee you if you said yes I 1000000% freaked out.)
I headcanon that our favorite grump hedgie has a very big sweet tooth and he likes to use his Chaos Control powers to steal food from Sonic’s kitchen, just to pissed him off and because Amy makes the best cookies.