Trope-Tastic: Steve Rogers + 1. There’s only one bed.
Practically falling through the front door, you breathed a sigh of relief. Steve was on your heels and together you enter the safe house, utterly exhausted.
You and Steve had been sent on a mission to a Hydra base in the Alps. When things went drastically south, you flew the quinjet as close as you could without being tracked and walked the last ten miles to the safe house, a small cottage on the outskirts of a little rural Italian village.
Things were complicated by the fact that you had taken a bullet to the thigh back at the base. Steve had his fair share of cuts and scrapes, but being a supersoldier made it a little easier for him to push through. He had tried to offer his help for the first few miles, but you were far too stubborn.
By the time you were about halfway there you started to fall, Steve wrapping his arms around you before you hit the ground. He carefully picked you up and began carrying you.
“I’ve got you,” He had said, somehow managing to walk faster.
“Sorry…” You had replied, hating to be weak, hating to have to rely on others.
“Just don’t die on me, okay Y/N?” Steve had reassured, a small smile peeking through the concern on his face.
Then there you were, thankful beyond reason to have reached the safe space. After closing the front door behind you, Steve scooped you up once again and laid you down onto a nearby sofa. Somehow finding even more energy, he was off in search of medical supplies.
Your kind companion returned in record time, apologetic for what was about to happen. You merely gritted your teeth and prepared as he swiped antiseptic over the wound. You were in too much pain to care when he had to rip the leg off of your mission suit. The next few moments were filled with screams and pain, but by the end, the bullet was out, and you were stitched up.
“Thank you,” You breathed, wiping the sweat from your forehead.
Steve just nodded, fixing you with a shy smile that made your heart flutter. When he started to tend to his own injuries, you swatted his hand aside and took over. It was the least you could do after he had freaking carried you for six miles.
“You’re going to need to take off your shirt…” You said, trying not to blush at the request. He had a large gash reaching from his collarbone almost all the way down his pectoral.
Steve looked a little sheepish, but complied, pulling the red white and blue material over his head. Having been friends since he came out of the ice, you’d seen him shirtless before, of course. You had to patch him up during other missions, and the training room got really hot….but the sight still made you feel like you couldn’t catch your breath.