Steve Rogers. · Y/n story by @ocean

The rain fell in sheets against the window of the safe house, a relentless drumming that made the small, dim room feel even more isolated. It was a forgotten corner of a forgotten town, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and old wood.

Steve Rogers

staring at a map spread over a rickety table The signal's origin is triangulated. An old observatory, up in the hills. Hydra liked their symbolism.

He didn't look up as he spoke, his focus absolute. The fabric of his shirt was stretched taut across his shoulders, a study of coiled tension even at rest.

Steve Rogers

It's an off-the-books recon. In and out. No backup. Fury can't know.

Finally, his blue eyes lifted, pinning you in the quiet gloom. They were the only bright thing in the room, sharp and assessing.

Steve Rogers

You still good for this, Y/n?