Work Text:
Very rarely was your boyfriend ever returned to you in good condition. Every time he left the apartment for a mission, he came back painted in shades of navy and plum from head to toe. He was lucky, at least, that the tower had its own med bay where he could get his major wounds patched up. Stitches, dislocated limbs, the like. The only thing they couldn’t repair was the aching in his muscles, the emotional weight of a mission, basically anything they couldn’t slap a band-aid on and call good.
Tonight was one of those late nights. You were sitting on your couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly and waiting for Steve to come home. You were wearing one of his old t-shirts, something you did when you started to miss him. The only light in the room was a dimly lit lamp to your left, and the only sound the record player scratching over some good ol’ Frank Sinatra. Though Steve’s taste in music was outdated, you didn’t mind too terribly much.
When Steve finally stumbled in at half past three in the morning, you shot up from your spot on the couch to help him inside.
“It was a rough one,” he mumbled, wincing as you placed your arm around his torso to support his weight.
“I can tell,” you replied, kicking the front door shut with your foot and leading him to the couch where you’d been just moments before. Steve landed on the cushions with a groan, clutching his side as he went down. You folded your arms over your chest and gave him a disapproving look.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he said, holding a hand up to stop you before you could even start, “There was nothing I could do about it.”
“Steve, you literally carry around a giant metal shield,” you said, “How do these guys manage to beat the shit out of you every single time?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Y/N,” he replied half heartedly. There it was, the statement to end any disagreement you ever had. You stared down at your battered boyfriend for a few moments before making a decision as to how to help him.
“You need a shower,” you said, moving closer to him and running a hand through his tousled blonde locks lovingly. He nodded in agreement, motioning for you to help him up. You grabbed his large hand in yours and pulled, lifting him off of the couch. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hand retreating to that spot on his side.
Within five minutes you had him undressed and standing under a steady stream of temperate water. It wasn’t easy, but you’d managed to find a temperature that wouldn’t boil his skin or make him feel like he was frozen in ice… again.
Not long after he had climbed in, you soon followed, figuring he could use all the help he could get. You’d stripped down to your undergarments, not intending to actually shower but instead help Steve. It helped that he was so insanely huge in the torso department, most of his body blocked the flow of water from reaching you.
“You don’t have to help me, you know,” he half whined as you reached behind him to wet your hands before pouring shampoo into them.
“No, I do,” you replied curtly, standing on your toes as carefully as you could and lathering the soap in his hair. His eyes closed, the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp making him forget about the pain in his side.
“Nat wanted me to tell you hi,” he said after a few moments, having regained his senses.
“Are you passing notes about me in class?” you asked, smiling slightly. He chuckled at your joke then winced, immediately regretting the action. You rinsed his hair and moved on to conditioner.
“Only to brag about you,” he admitted. Your heart jumped into your chest the moment he smiled that adorable half smile of his. “I mean, how many of them get to say that their girlfriend helps them shower?”
“That’s a question I don’t want answered,” you laughed, rinsing his hair once more and running your hand down his chest. You were sure to avoid the places that were stitched up or a different color than the rest of his skin.
“Y’know, I’m starting to feel a little under dressed,” Steve said jokingly, leaning forward and capturing your lips in a kiss. You smiled against his lips, your stomach doing flips as he toyed with the hem of your underwear.
“It’s a little hard to want to have sex with someone when they can’t even shower on their own, Steve,” you said, breaking the kiss, “Besides, I’ve only washed your hair.”
Fifteen minutes, two pairs of sweatpants and one tank top later, you were laying in bed, Steve on his unwounded side. He was running his fingers over the skin of your arm lightly, a small smile playing on his face. It was kind of the most adorable thing you’d ever seen, him laying there smiling sweetly as he caressed your skin.
“How’d I get so lucky to call you mine?” he asked, his voice quiet. It was even more adorable.
“No idea,” you replied, one of your hands lost in his damp hair.
“I’m glad I can count on you to take care of me, Y/N,” he said, his voice serious, “Especially when I don’t think I can take care of myself.”
“Well, it helps that I get to see Captain America naked,” you teased. Steve laughed, the noise filling every empty space in your heart.
“I know I say this a lot,” he said, “but everything I do is worth it as long as I get to come home to you at the end of the day.”
“I just like it when you actually come home to me,” you said, the hand that was in his hair coming down to trace his jawline, “So don’t stop doing that.”
“I promise,” he said, smiling and pulling you closer to place a kiss to the top of your head.
Steve never thought anything would feel like home again, ever since he came out of the ice. And yet, here he was, finding home in your presence.