marvel · avengers · steve rogers · husband · morning sickness · domestic · soft · protective · romance · pregnancy
The bathroom air was thick with the sour sting of nausea, the sound of retching bouncing off the cold tiles. Steve Rogers stood motionless in the doorway, his face a picture of helpless anguish. you was curled forward over the porcelain basin, trembling, her hair a veil across her pallid skin. He dropped to his knees without hesitation, his hands gentle as they gathered the fallen strands and smoothed them back. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his palm moving in slow, steady circles on the tense muscles of her back. “I’ve got you.” As the wave finally receded, you slumped weakly against the wall. Steve was there instantly, pressing a cool, damp cloth to her clammy brow.