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welldonebeca · 2 years

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Miss, PhD (I)

Summary: Steve doesn’t have a crush. In fact, he is too old to have one. It doesn’t matter that he is too interested in the Stark girl. This means nothing. AKA: Steve has a crush on young Doctor Stark, PhD. He just needs to figure that out before she moves on from her crush on him. Pairing: Steve x F!Reader WC: 750+ words Warnings: Slow burn, university AU.

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Masterlist

Professor Steve Rogers raised his gaze to the classroom door as he heard some giggles outside, scoffing and rolling his eyes. He would bet some good money on how it was you, walking around and about with some undergrad students, on your daily stop at his very own door.

Currently, you were working towards your PhD, but Steve knew you for quite some time now.

Y/N Stark, an engineering prodigy just like your father before you.

You were an undergrad a long time before Steve was hired to teach Art Practise and Art History at Stanford. According to what he had heard about you, you were the youngest student to ever grace the Engineering department when you first landed in the school, at just 10. Today, as far as he knew, you were working on your PhD and weren’t even 18.

He had no idea what you were studying, or even how you did it, because anytime he lied eyes on you - and that was a lot, considering you were always at his door - you were just wasting your time with other young people.

You were the second-smartest person had ever met, only bested by your own father, who he had had the opportunity to meet when he was invited to a talk you were giving about women in STEM, and Doctor Anthony Stark was sat in the first row to applauds his only child, the pride of his heart. He was pretty young, still in his mid to late forties, and was accompanied by his wife, your mother, a tall redhead who was the first to hug you when your talk was over.

He wondered where he was most days, though. Who would leave their underage child living by herself in California?

It didn’t even sound legal.

Steve was an artist turned professor. He always wanted to do art, but never quite found his style or the drive to make it into a living job, but really like teaching. So here he was, in one of the best universities in the country, trying to show young kids the way to art.

“Hey,” you reprehended someone. “Don’t touch it!”

Steve walked to the door with a scoff on his face, ready to find a bunch of kids poking his small exposition around, but opened it only to find you and a pair of girls - who he had never seen around you before - staring at the little exhibition of paintings he had done in front of his classroom, with you standing closer to it than the two of them, looking puzzled at something.

“Appreciating the paintings, miss Stark?” he called you.

Your lips curled in an annoyed scoff before you even looked at him.

“I don’t know, Mister Rogers,” you frowned. “I just don’t understand this.”

He walked to your side, sighing.

Of course you didn’t. Every time you two met, you would be sure to tell him how you didn’t understand a single thing about his exhibitions, from paintings to sculptures, sketches, pictures and even the small free classes he would host once a month for the community.

“What don’t you understand, Miss Stark?”

You were staring at one of the bigger paintings, a storming sea under a clear sky, looking puzzled.

“This,” you turned at him. “I just don’t get it.”

He looked at the work and then at you.

“What do you think it means?” he asked, at last.

Something crossed your face, and he tilted his head in curiosity as you chuckled, looking too vulnerable for a brief moment.

“It looks like something I would make as a kid,” you told him, at last, looking a bit amused.

Steve lost the faint smile he still had on his lips, rolling his eyes as your friends giggled, and he was about to say something before you two heard someone clearing their throat, and he glances at your friends again, and they didn’t look interested at all in the art on the walls.

“Come on, Y/N,” a blonde girl poked you on your back, one of the friends you were with. “We should go shopping.”

You glanced back at her, seeming a little conflicted, and then checked the painting again, squinting your eyes and then stepping back.

“I have to go,” you spoke, finally, sounding a lot less caring than before and stepping back. “Thank you for your time, Mister Rogers.”

He sighed, pressing his lips together in annoyance.

“You are welcome, Miss Stark.”

You rolled your eyes, but said nothing, walking away with the two snickering girls.

Yes, he really hoped you found your way before it was too late.

. . .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

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