Lessons in Rule Breaking and Other Reader-Inserts*Steve Rogers*Reader*

A Cup of Truth

Steve cleared his throat, focusing on his mission – to keep you talking. There was no much point in denying it, was it?

"Eh... yeah, it's me. How-how did you know? I wear a mask-"

"Muscly... real muscly... and that ass," you muttered and Steve nearly choked on his spit, certain that he just turned red all over, including the area you pointed out.

Wait, did that mean that you had been checking him out?

So not important right now.

"Oh, uhm- how are you feeling? We have to-"

"You can't mask that ass. I'd know it anywhere," you continued babbling as if you hadn't heard him and Steve gulped, feeling his teammates, who still hadn't called a doctor, what the actual hell- watching you with interest. "...could bounce a penny off it... no, that ain't right, a quarter off of it, that's it... Dream of it sometimes... biting-"

Clint coughed loudly to cover his laughter, finally springing into action after that uncomfortable remark that gave Steve quite a visual he wasn't sure how he felt about just yet.

"Alright, as amusing as this is, we should get her some medical attention..."

Steve only took his eyes off of you for a moment, shooting Barton a look that screamed 'You think?!'

"I want to touch it... please lemme touch it—just once," you pleaded quietly, swaying even in your practically horizontal position, straining your neck to catch a glimpse of the object of your interest. "The best I've even seen-"

"I think it's ethanol she got injected with..." Natasha announced, sniffing the syringe with disgust in her voice. "High concentration."

And Steve felt like he just got hit by Thor's hammer... in his head. Seriously?

"...alcohol?" he asked, dumbstruck and utterly relieved, the heavy weight in his stomach lifting a bit. "You think she's merely... drunk?"

"Well, alcohol straight to the bloodstream is seriously nasty on its own, S-"

"Alcohol nasty, yesss. And this really hurts," your voice interrupted Natasha and Steve's heart clenched uncomfortably when the surprised grimace appeared on your face, your eyes indeed clouding in pain, looking up at him, doe-eyed, so vulnerable and trusting.

"Hey, no sad Steeb! Your eyes pretty too. Little pictures you draw... so suuuper cute. I like your hair. You came in the day, wind blew, so messy-- like bed hair, wanna try top that-- I betcha I can do better-"

"Sounds drunk enough to you?" Natasha hummed casually and Steve didn't even have to look at her to know she was smirking, while he was both fretting over your state and blushing to the roots of his hair because of your blunt compliments and unfiltered fantasies.

You turned your head slowly to Nat as she spoke, a crooked grin curling up your lips. "Hey, you're pretty too-"

Much to Steve's annoyance, the Russian spy had the audacity to chuckle and wink at you.

"Why thank you-"

"But prefer blonds," you babbled again, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "He's real nice. His biceps are like... huge. Bigger than my head-- ow, my head... spi-spinning- I think-? Whoa— oh... "

Steve called out your name in panic as you went limp in his arms, your body pliant, folding like a house of cards.

"I like her," Clint noted as he jogged to Steve's side, kneeling to take your pulse on the unharmed carotid with a furrow to his brows. "The medics are on their way, she'll hold on until then."