40s Boys - Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Oneshots

steve rogers - blood

summary : steve x fem!reader fluff
•••

You sang along to the radio, dancing around the kitchen in your favorite red polka-dot sundress as you cleaned. It was a peaceful Sunday in Brooklyn. The sun was shining, and you opened the windows, letting a warm summer breeze drift into your kitchen.

Seeing how you didn't have work on this bright, warm Sunday, you decided to stay in and clean the kitchen instead of relaxing in the park or on the streets like everyone else in Brooklyn seemed to do. You had already swept and mopped the floor, wiped the counters, and dusted the shelves. You were currently reorganizing the dish cabinet, when a sudden knock on the door put a pause to your work.

"Who could it be?" You wondered aloud, and setting a stack of bowls aside, walked down the hall to the door.

"(y/n)?" A groggy voice asked from the other side of the door. You recognized it immediately as you grabbed the doorknob.

"Steve!" You exclaim, opening the door.

It was, in fact, Steven Rogers, your greatest and most trusted friend in the world. He lived only a block away, and you suspected he was coming over to visit or maybe read the Sunday newspaper, or perhaps even to offer help cleaning the kitchen, but wait -

"Why the hell are you bleeding?!" You ask loudly, ushering the blonde boy inside. Steve smiles guiltily and winces, a hand held up to his bloody nose.

"Well, you see-"

"Steve! My clean floor!" You wail as bright red blood drips onto the shiny tile.

"Sorry," Steve sits in the chair you pull out for him.

"Go on, what happened?" You ask, quickly handing him a dish rag to stop the flow of blood from his nose.

Steve leans forward, pinching the bridge of his nose and holding the rag up to his nostrils. "Well, I was out on Bedford Avenue, and there was a guy - a real jerk, (y/n), I swear - and he was mouthin' off."

Steve's voice sounded nasally due to the way he was pinching it. You lean against the counter, crossing your arms. "And what'd you do?"

"I told that knucklehead to lay off." Steve replies, glancing up at you with a glint in his eyes.

"So.. tell me how this happened." You gesture to the blood and bruises covering him.

"Well, he blew a fuse and socked me in the mouth."

"That quickly?" You ask, smirking at the blonde.

"Well, I might'a said some other things." Steve says, starting to giggle a little.

"Steven Rogers! What have I told you about fighting?" You ask, smiling.

"I know, I know. He was being a bully." Steve replies.

When the blood stops gushing from Steve's nose, you nurse the cuts on his face and hands.

"Sorry about your floor, (y/n)." Steve apologizes, glancing down at the drops of his blood staining the tile.

"Don't worry about it, I was cleaning anyways." You reply, placing a final clean bandage around his bruised knuckles.

"Aw, well that makes me feel worse." Steve grins guiltily at you. "Let me help you clean to make up for it."

You don't argue with Steve when he stands and heads to the broom closet in the corner. He returns with a mop and bucket in hand, whistling along to the radio.

You go back to cleaning the last few dishes, drying them off with a clean towel. Standing you your tiptoes, you set the clean stacks of plates back into the cabinets.

"(y/n)?" Steve asks, and you glance over your shoulder to find him looking at you intently.

"Yes?" You reply, shutting the cabinet door.

"I, uh, has anyone ever told you how good you look in that dress?" Steve asks, and your face flushes lightly.

You finger the material fondly, smiling. "No, I don't believe so. I only got it a few weeks ago."

"Well, you look beautiful. Dots look good on you." Steve smiles, resting his chin in the palm of his bandaged hands.

You knew your face was probably as red as your dress as you grinned and thanked him. What a wonderful Sunday it turned out to be.