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lavellenchanted · 4 months

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The Courtship of Peggy Carter (fic coming soon)

When Steve returns to the 1940s, he knows he wants to be with Peggy, but he can't help but worry about how the years they have both lived through have changed them - so he proposes that they start dating and get to know each other again. But Peggy has her own ideas about how their courtship will go, and is a woman determined to get what she wants. Namely Steve. In her bed. Sooner than he seems to be planning to get there.

Happy holidays @margarethcarter! I'm your Secret Santa this year - I'm so sorry your gift is so ridiculously late, but this month has just been incredibly full on. I am hoping to get your gift finished and up soon, but I didn't want to end the year without you getting anything.

You said you prefer post-Endgame time period and mentioned Peggy finding out that Steve's acquired some game since she last saw him, which what inspired this fic, so I hope when it's finally finished you will enjoy it, but in the meantime here is a little preview for you!

***

“And this . . . you being here . . . is it for good? Or do you have to go back?”

Steve held her gaze, serious and steady, the way he always did whenever he wanted her to know that what he was about to say was something he had thought over carefully.

“I’d like it to be. I came back because this place, this time, is where I belong. I wanted to come home, to have the life I never got a chance to have. And I want, very much, for that life to be with you.”

For a moment Peggy felt as if she had forgotten how to breathe, her chest tight and her heart beating painfully hard against her ribs. She opened her mouth to tell him yes, that she wanted a life with him as well, but before the words could form he had brought a finger to her lips to keep her from speaking.

“But,” he continued softly, a tenderness in his expression that made her glow with warmth, “I don’t think that’s a decision either of us should be making right now.”

A faint frown creased Peggy’s forehead. “Why not?”

“Because of how good this feels.”

She couldn’t help quirking an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth curling upwards. “That’s a bad thing, is it?”

Steve chuckled. “No. I just mean . . . I’ve dreamed about being here with you for so long, it would be easy to rush into this. To forget that . . . a lot of time has passed, for both of us. And that we’re probably both different people than we were when I went into the ice.”

Peggy let out a slow breath. Part of her - the part that for the last four years had been filled with grief, sorrow and longing whenever she thought of Steve - was afraid, terrified that this moment of joy in finding him again was going to be cut short, and leave her with nothing but echoing silence of his absence once more. She wanted to cling on to him as tightly as she could, to hold him to her so she didn’t have to face the pain of losing him again.

Another, regrettably more sensible part of her, recognised that what he was saying was true. The four years she had spent being overlooked at the SSR had left their mark as surely as the war had, and now she was reinventing herself again as the Director of SHIELD. She felt very far from the young agent that had worked on Project Rebirth.

And Steve . . . right now she could only guess at the sort of things Steve had lived through, the reasons for the weariness that lurked at the back of his eyes, the sadness that seemed etched into his face, mingling with his joy when he had asked her if he could finally claim his dance.

“So what are you suggesting?” she asked, forcing a calmness she didn’t entirely feel.

But to her surprise - and a little to her relief - Steve smiled.

“I’m suggesting that we date. Like we would have - should have - if things had gone the way we planned. Get to know each other as we are now. And if after we’ve dated for a while, we’re both sure this is still something we want . . . well, then we can talk about what’s next.”

Peggy almost wanted to laugh. “Are you telling me you travelled back nearly a century in time just to ask me on a date?”

His smile widened to a grin. “To start with, anyway.”

#steggy secret santa #steggysecretsanta #steggy #margarethcarter #happy christmas and happy new year!#I WILL get this finished and up for you soon I promise #my fic #otp: the right partner

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emilybluntt · 4 months

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Suits and Squints

peggy carter as agent booth steve rogers as dr. brennan

a gifset based on this fanfic written by @capandcarter1918 sorry for the late christmas gift, i hope that you enjoy it!

thank you @steggyfanevents for organising!

#steve rogers #peggy carter #steggy #steverogersedit #peggycarteredit #steggyedit #steggy secret santa #steggysecretsanta #i really hope you like it!#and don't mind that i used your fic for this #and if you haven't read this fic #read it read it read it

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steggyfanevents · 6 months

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Steggy Secret Santa 2023 gift exchange - signups now open!

➡️ Sign up here. ⬅️

Event timeline

November 17, midnight CT: Sign-ups close.

November 20: All matches are sent. If you don’t have a match email from us, check your spam folder before messaging the event team.

November 20 - December 24: Make your gift.

December 24 - January 1: Post your completed gift. Make sure to @ your match, and don’t forget to tag @steggyfanevents and #steggysecretsanta so we can see and share!

Full event guidelines below the cut.

Steggy Secret Santa is hosted by the friendly elves at @steggyfanevents. Follow us for Secret Santa updates, or @ us to get answers to your burning questions.

Please help the elves out by reblogging this post!

And, as always… don’t you dare be late.

Event guidelines

Steggy must be the focus of your gift. Including other pairings is fine, but Steggy should be the main pairing.

If you send your match an anon message, be sure to specify that this is for Steggy Secret Santa, as some people are signed up for more than one holiday exchange.

If you change your Tumblr URL at any time during the exchange period, let the event team know.

If you need to drop out, let the event team know right away. Don’t let a Secret Santa go ungifted!

Keep things fresh! Don’t repost previous work - your own or someone else’s.

Not following the guidelines may disqualify you from participating in this or future exchanges.

Fanfiction

Minimum of 1000 words; no maximum word limit.

If your entire fic is posted on Tumblr, please add a “read more” after the first few paragraphs.

Optional: make a graphic to go with your fic.

Art/Graphics

Minimum width is 540 pixels; no maximum width.

If drawing on paper, please scan your drawing (don’t take a photo).

Optional: write a ficlet to go with your art or graphic.

Gifsets

Minimum 4 gifs in one set; no maximum number of gifs.

Optional: write a ficlet to go with your gifset.

#steggysecretsanta #type: mod post #type: announcement #steggy #stevepeggy #steve x peggy #steve rogers #peggy carter #trackmarvel

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geekynerddemon · 4 months

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Happy Holidays @somewhereapart

I hope this is good enough to be a phone wallpaper. I also hope this isn’t too nsfw for tumblr. It was. Here is where you can see it.

In my head Steve or one of the Howlies found the mistletoe and brought it back and stuck it at the door of their favorite supply closet (like the one from @doctorhelena ‘s story The SSR Supply Closet Crisis). Then Steve and Peggy were there while the office was pretty empty while everyone was in a pub or spending the holiday with a British family (that was a thing apparently) and one thing led to another and here we are.

I wish everyone health and happiness for the new year.

Thank you @steggyfanevents for organising this lovely exchange.

#steggy #**#steggysecretsanta #that’s America’s ass #honestly this was a self censoring piece of artwork #tumblr is a sensitive snowflake #i wish you were this sensitive to bots too

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roboticonography · 4 months

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@geekynerddemon, I'm your Steggy Secret Santa!

Your letter was so lovely, and I was really touched that you said that I could “gift” you an update to one of my WIPs. You’re such a kind and generous fandom friend - I always see you being positive and supportive on other peoples' fanworks. So I wanted you to have something special that was written just for you.

I saw this headcanon on your Tumblr, and I couldn’t resist expanding on the theme of Peggy wearing/stealing Steve’s T-shirts.

Of course, you also said that you wanted some angst before the happy ending, so we might have to take the scenic route to get to soft times and T-shirt crimes… and the route will be extra scenic for you, because I'm not quite finished your story.

Here's a small preview of what's to come. I hope to have the rest posted in the next few weeks. Merry belated Christmas, and thanks for being so awesome! Hope you're having a great day/month/year.

(Obligatory tag @steggyfanevents)

Having a Frenchman in their party opens all sorts of doors for Captain America and his Howling Commandos.

On this particular evening, it will open the front door of a cabane en pierre sèche, known to residents around Digne-les-Bains and—thus far, at least—unknown to the German army.

Using a three-pronged offensive of diplomacy, bourbon, and racy jokes, Dernier was able to coax the location from a cattle farmer who was skittish about hosting American soldiers on his property, but who eventually agreed to share directions to a stone hut that locals sometimes used as a hunting cabin.

“I think we’re lost,” says Dugan, for the fifth time. “Better let me see the map.”

Using the back page of Steve’s notebook, the farmer has drawn them a crude approximation of the path through the forest—cleverly concealed by Dernier with an even cruder doodle of a buxom blonde with Bambi eyes and a cartoonishly tiny waist. Unsurprisingly, everyone wants to play navigator.

“I’m the map,” says Steve, tapping his temple. “We’re right on track.”

Bucky claps Steve on the shoulder. “You should draw more sexy girls,” he says, solemnly, as if imparting important life advice. “You know, for morale.”

“I draw what I see,” Steve says dryly. “When was the last time we were within a hundred yards of a sexy girl?”

Bucky grins, and Steve realizes, too late, that he’s given his friend an opening. “Well, now,” he drawls, “that depends. Does Agent Carter count?”

She counts, for Steve, in more ways than one. But he knows better than to fall into the trap. “No,” he says shortly.

“Come on, Steve. You really never noticed that she was a beautiful dame?”

Steve has, in fact, noticed this—and what’s more, has told her so, to her face, in a moment of sheer lunacy that still makes him blush when he thinks of it. She wasn’t particularly impressed by his observation (or by him, generally) and he’s avoided making further such observations, either to Peggy or about her.

Bucky folds his arms expectantly. The other guys are quiet, seemingly occupied, but Steve knows they’re listening.

An ominous crackle of thunder gives him the out he’s looking for.

“Let’s pick up the pace,” he calls, increasing the length of his strides accordingly.

By the time the scrub and stunted oak recedes to open ground, they’re being lashed by the rain from all angles.

No one is entirely clear on the electrical conductivity of vibranium, so everyone gives Steve a wide berth as they cross the field. There’s a brief, uncoordinated scramble over some rocky ground, and then, at last, there they are.

The ancient stone hut isn’t much from the outside: a pile of rocks and moss that looks almost accidental. It’s easy to see why it’s been overlooked.

The inside consists of two rooms, each with its own fireplace. The back room contains a narrow cot, while the front room is furnished with a table and a few mismatched chairs, as well as a woodbox. Pelts on the floors of both rooms serve in place of rugs. The shelves are bare, aside from a miscellany of tableware, some hunting knives, and a couple of cooking-pots, to be used over the front room’s apron hearth. The window closures are just shutters and skins—no glass. Judging by the dust and cobwebs, the place hasn’t been occupied for at least a season.

Such glorified squatting is practically routine for the Howlies by now. Morita sequesters himself in the back room to tinker with his ailing radio kit; Jones starts a fire in each room, after checking to be sure the chimneys are clear; Dernier takes up a collection of ration-boxes and starts on dinner. The rest of the crew get to work securing windows, sealing up drafts, and chasing out wildlife. Dugan finds a stiff broom and redistributes the dust with unbridled enthusiasm until the others, eyes and noses streaming, beg him to stop.

Steve goes back into the storm to tackle the rusty pump. A solid ten minutes of super-powered elbow grease finally produces water that seems drinkable, if not aesthetically pleasing.

“Are you quite certain you found the pump and not the privy?” asks Falsworth, watching Steve decant the fruits of his labour.

Steve hangs the full pot over the fire. “Added vitamins and minerals.”

The fire is roaring, and it isn’t long before the water is boiled. Each man scoops a share, adding his own coffee or tea to make it more palatable.

There’s enough left for reconstituting their breakfasts in the morning, and for a quick wash, if anyone needs it—all of them almost certainly do, but they’re all tired, and too used to close quarters to care much.

Feeling warmer inside and out, they shuck off their uniforms and hang the essentials to dry. Everyone is wearing the standard woollen long johns as their base layer—everyone, that is, except for Steve, whose battle suit is twice as warm as standard issue. The same could be said for Steve himself, who endures the usual hooting and wolf-whistling when he strips down to his boxers and undershirt.

Dernier, supplementing the pitiful K-rations with some odds and ends from his own scavenging, has worked his usual magic over the hearth: a hearty stew of root vegetables in a wild mushroom gravy that looks more appetizing than anything Steve has made on his best day at home.

They portion it out equally among various plates, bowls, and canteen cups. Every flat surface becomes a seat, and nearly every mouth is too busy chewing to speak.

“Where the hell’d you find potatoes?” asks Dugan, who never met a companionable silence he didn’t feel the need to shatter.

“In the earth,” replies Dernier, his tone pure contempt. “Do they fall from the sky in America?”

Dugan makes a rude gesture.

Falsworth asks, “Do I detect fresh thyme?”

A torrent of rapid-fire French—something about herbes de Provence, and a few turns of phrase that Steve recognizes as generally unflattering, apparently aimed at English cooking.

Gabe translates, “Yep.”

The others laugh.

Morita emerges from the back room, the door slapping shut behind him. “Orders, Cap.” He squats over the hearth to collect his cup and spoon.

Steve pauses, his own spoon halfway to his open mouth, and waits.

“We’re picking up a friend.” Morita shovels stew into his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Should be here around 0200.”

Friend usually means British intelligence.

Peggy Carter is, technically, part of the SSR. But she’s also on loan from the SOE, and occasionally they like to call in favours. She’s been out on an assignment for at least a few weeks now—doing what, he can’t be sure.

All around him, the scraping of cutlery on tin has stopped. Dugan and Barnes exchange a meaningful look before pivoting to face him. Steve can feel his ears turning red; he suddenly wants to tell them both to shut up, even though they haven’t said anything.

Carefully casual, he inquires, “Any ID?”

Morita nods, his face splitting into a wide grin. “It’s her.”

[TO BE CONTINUED...]

#steggysecretsanta #steggy #fic preview #robofic

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agentmintea · 1 year

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You'll never know, dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away

{@steggyfanevents Secret Santa gift for angst-lover @darylas ❤️}

#steggy #steggy fanart #steve rogers #peggy carter #steggy art #not the most angsty thing but a nice tease #hope you enjoy!!!!#merry christmas and happy new year :)))#steggysecretsanta #my art #myartsystuff

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cafecitowriter · 4 months

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Bring Me You (Steggy Fic)

Summary: Steve decides to return to the past to live a life with Peggy, but nothing about his arrival goes according to plan.

It’s arguably the weirdest day of Peggy’s life.

A/N: Merry Steggymas, @roboticonography! I'm your Secret Santa!

You said you enjoyed canon and canon-divergent fics, snappy banter, swoon-worthy romantic gestures, comic misunderstandings, and of course, a good ole happy ending. So I hope you enjoy some post-Endgame hijinks where Steve tries to go back to Peggy, but ends up running into basically everyone else first.

Due to a combination of personal stuff and the fact that I've been travelling with spotty internet connections, unfortunately your gift is not done as I had hoped, and while I was so happy to hear the deadline has been extended, my current schedule means that it still won't be finished by then. BUT in the meantime, I do have this preview to share with you below, as well as this funky lil graphic. The full (multi-chaptered) fic will be finished and uploaded hopefully later in the early-ish new year.

Title taken from the song I Told Santa Claus to Bring Me You by Bernie Cummins and His Orchestra (which is about as holiday-y as this fic gets).

As always, thanks to @steggyfanevents for hosting!!

Fic Preview:

He’s hardly been sat in the squeaky booth for thirty seconds before one of the serves - a woman with bouncy curls and bright blue eyes - swoops in on him, half full coffee pot in hand.

“A coffee for your troubles?” she offers, not bothering to wait for an answer before pouring it into the mug that she must have brought over with her, because it certainly hadn’t been there when he arrived.

“You think I look troubled?”

“I think you look like trouble,” she teases with a breezy wink, clearly proud of herself for landing her own set up. “But that’s just my intuition. It’s what happens when you’ve been around here long enough.”

Despite her strong come on, she has a genuine warmness to her demeanour that makes Steve smile.

“You’ve been working here long?”

“Not anymore, actually - and good riddance let me tell you. I was never cut out for this line of work. But it’s my day off from rehearsals and Ruth called in a panic because two people called in sick and Marlene’s still out with her ‘sprained ankle’, and believe me, if it had been anyone else I would’ve said no but Ruth stuck her neck out for me during the peach cobbler incident of ’47 and now I basically owe her my first born.”

The woman stalls to give an obvious side eye to the counter where there’s another woman wearing an identical uniform - a redhead who’s been wiping the same spot on the counter since Steve arrived - before turning back to him with a lower voice. “Although if she had told me Babs was going to be here I would’ve pretended to be on the other side of the country. Which come to think of it was probably why she didn’t tell me- oh shoot, your sugar shaker’s empty, let me get-”

“I’m alright, thanks,” he interrupts quickly, both because he hasn’t taken a drop of sugar in his coffee since the one time Tony made him try one of those fancy lattes shortly after the Chitauri attack, and because if she left now, he wasn’t sure when she would be back to take his order.

“You’re plenty sweet yourself, is that it?”

Steve shrugged, but gave her a smile all the same.

“Honestly, I’m just hungry.”

#steggy #steggysecretsanta #andi writes

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doctorhelena · 2 months

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Summary: A mix-up with one of Howard's spy lipsticks leads to Peggy and Steve spending an unexpectedly candid evening at home.

Rating: R

Words: 15k

Chapters: 1/1

Note: This is my extremely late @steggyfanevents Steggy Secret Santa 2023 gift for the amazing @theawkwardterrier. I'm so sorry it's late, but as usual, it ended up considerably longer than I expected!

Read it on A03

Excerpt:

A ringing phone in 1949 was a far more common thing than it had been in 2023, but that didn’t stop Steve from worrying whenever theirs rang while Peggy was out, even though he knew perfectly well that nobody who worked for the SSR had any idea that Peggy even had someone at home to notify if anything should go wrong.

He hadn’t fully considered this particular consequence of retiring from the top-secret line of work that Peggy was still very much in the thick of. He knew, of course, that she was very, very good at what she did, and could absolutely take care of herself. It was just - well, he guessed he just missed working with her, missed knowing at least the general outlines of what she was doing out there. Their relationship had always been professional as well as personal, and now he wasn't part of that world anymore.

Before Steve had left on his journey to return the stones, Bucky had teased him that he wasn't going to know what to do anymore when he couldn't Google things, but in truth he did miss the casual ease of text messaging a lot more than he'd expected to. Maybe that was part of it. Even though he and Peggy had never actually had the benefit of anything like it, he'd been in the 21st century so long that he wasn't used to everyone being routinely unreachable.

Of course, it wasn’t that they never talked Peggy's work life. In the four months since Steve had arrived on her doorstep, they'd actually spent a lot of time discussing some of the intel he’d brought with him, and making plans for how they could use it to greatest effect to prevent the worst of the disasters of the original timeline. Steve's role was going to be more the guy in the chair than the guy with the shield (although clearly still the man with a plan, Peggy had teased him), but he was still involved. But as to her day to day work at the SSR - and even the finer details of her other side project, the development of SHIELD with Howard and Phillips - Steve was mostly in the dark.

He hadn’t realized how much it would bother him. Or maybe it was just that he still hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to do all day while Peggy was out saving the world. He hadn’t really planned that part out when he’d decided to come back and see if she’d be interested in making a life with him - which she very much had been - and, now that he'd recovered from the bone-deep exhaustion he'd arrived with, he was feeling a bit at loose ends.

He reached the hallway and answered the phone, his relief at hearing Peggy's voice lasting only until he processed what she was saying. “Darling, it’s me. I’m in a little trouble. Don’t ask me to explain just now.”

“Wh - ”

She cut him off. “Not now. I'm sorry to ask, but Mr. Jarvis isn't available, and I need a lift as quickly as possible from someone I trust implicitly. But I’m all right for the time being and it’s snowing quite hard, so there's no need to drive like a maniac.” She gave him her location, a phone booth a few blocks north of the White House, and hung up before he could ask any more questions.

Well, Steve thought wryly, this was more how he'd imagined his life with Peggy was going to go.

Read the rest on A03

#steggysecretsanta #fanfic #steggy #peggy carter #steve rogers #my fic

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littlereyofsunlight · 3 months

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I'm late!

Sorry, @doctorhelena for the belated Steggy Secret Santa gift! I'm still working on the rest, but I've got the beginning polished up and ready to share ...

I loved receiving your letter to @steggyfanevents/Santa: "here are some general ideas of things I particularly like (applicable to either fanfic or fanart!): - stories (or fanart) set during the war - AUs with Steve present during the Agent Carter timeframe - AUs in general - friendship and found family - secret relationships, but also Peggy and Steve getting teased about each other - shared adventure, working together to achieve a goal - banter - Peggy being badass and Steve loving it - hijinks and terrible ideas - the Howling Commandos, Howard, Phillips, the Jarvises, Angie, Rose, Natasha, Bucky, Sam, Tony, Pepper, Thor - Bernard Stark, Howard's flamingo"

I had a lot of fun pulling a few of these elements together to come up with this story. Hope you enjoy!

Peggy bit the inside of her cheek as they arrived at Howard’s Beverly Hills home. He'd assured them of their privacy when he’d offered this house as a place to lay low while the news of Steve’s return blew over. It was their best option—she just hoped this really was the place to wait it out.

The driver handed over their bags to Steve, who took them with a warm smile, despite his obvious exhaustion. Peggy noted the way weariness seemed to have settled into the laugh lines at his eyes, the crease on his forehead that never quite went away now, the perpetual, if slight, downturn his mouth had. She shook herself from her reverie, reminding her wandering, maudlin thoughts that she’d never thought she’d get to see his face again, let alone watch him age.

She rubbed at the simple band on her left ring finger. While Steve’s miraculous return had certainly caused a stir, it was the news of the wedding that had turned the press rabid.

Peggy looked at Steve. Steve looked at Peggy. There was, not for the first time since he’d returned, the feeling of uncomfortable tension between them. “Well,” Steve said, his voice congenial, “I’m fifty-percent convinced he’s not going to out us.”

Peggy nodded. “I might go as high as seventy-five percent, just knowing how well Howard pays.”

“He sure is doing us some favor.” Peggy found his tone inscrutable. This was a new development, since his return. The small lines on his face and, sometimes, the wrong-footed feeling that Steve was referencing something from where—when—he came from.

She shifted her purse strap higher on her shoulder. The California sun was hot, and Steve’s suit hadn't fared well on the transcontinental flight. She didn’t feel particularly fresh, herself. “Shall we go in?”

He inclined his head. “I take it you know the way.”

Biting back the sharp retort that flew into her head—this wasn’t the same callow Steve who’d suggested fondue was some kind of lewd act, after all—Peggy was acutely aware of Steve behind her as she strode up the front walk to Howard’s ridiculous mansion. The lawn was just as green and well-manicured as when she’d last been, two years ago. Peggy supposed Howard thought stuccoed walls and wrought iron details made the place stately, but she’d always found it cozy, despite its size. And of course, the pool made it especially appealing. She looked back at Steve—at her new husband—and thought idly of just how secluded the pool really was. She felt a flush come over her that she couldn’t blame entirely on the heat.

“Howard played host when I was here working a case with …” She fumbled for words as she reached the front door and dug into her purse for the key Jarvis had arranged to have messengered to her back in D.C. “Ahem, well … there was a scientist, I’m not sure I’ve had the chance to tell you about this one.”

Peggy’s mind raced. What exactly was she going to tell him in this moment about the escapade with Whitney Frost? Her flirtation with Jason Wilkes? Her dalliance with Daniel? Not exactly honeymoon talk. “Well, another time,” she finished inadequately, feeling suddenly quite tired. Opening the door, she stepped inside. The heat of the day hadn’t touched the cool tile entryway, and she sighed in relief. Peggy ushered Steve in after her and, with a final look back at the expanse of lawn and the eight-foot wall beyond it that encircled the property, she firmly shut the door and locked it.

“Alone at last,” she said, with a genuine smile for her new husband.

***

Steve took in the immaculate Spanish Colonial Revival details of Howard’s house. He’d visited Tony’s home in Malibu, once, before he rebuilt it. The setting had been spectacular, and the house had certainly gone out of its way to provide unobstructed views of the ocean, but all that glass and space had left it feeling empty.

Now, Steve wondered if it had been a reaction to this place and to Howard’s preferred style. There was dark, ornate woodwork, plush, heavy furniture and warm colors everywhere Steve’s eye landed. Light spilled into the vestibule from arched windows stretching above the front door. The tiles were an inviting orange, with a Moroccan motif bordering the floor. A staircase of dark risers and wrought iron lead, Steve presumed, to the bedrooms on the second floor. Beyond the stairs was a hallway into the back of the house, and to the left of the foyer Steve saw a study filled with bookcases and leather club chairs.

He suddenly became aware of Peggy’s eyes on him, her expression expectant. “Nice place,” he observed blandly. She raised an eyebrow, and he noticed, not for the first time today, how impeccably turned out she was. Her honeymoon suit crisply pressed, hat set just so, red, red lipstick looking freshly applied even with the transcontinental flight they’d boarded that morning. Steve knew his jacket was creased to hell and his collar had lost its starch—he was out of practice keeping his clothes up to this time’s standards, that was very clear.

And, he realized through his musings, there was a frown beginning on his wife’s incredibly beautiful face.

Steve reached out a hand, pulled her in close. “Did you say something about being alone?”

He was relieved when she melted against him immediately, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. “One hears that’s how newlyweds are supposed to spend their time, alone together,” she teased, her eyes soft as she looked at him. He’d been flagging on the drive from the airport, looking forward to a nap when they arrived. But now he couldn’t resist kissing her, pressing her fully against him, reveling in how her lush curves fit against his body.

“Good thing I cleared my schedule,” he murmured as they broke apart. She removed her hat and set it down on a table just to the side of the door. He let his hand roam down her shapely backside, knowing there were layers of nylon slip and girdle beneath the lightweight wool of her skirt. Maybe a nap could wait. Would she let him peel her out of each layer slowly this time?

Peggy rewarded him with a laugh before she leaned up to kiss him again. “I have a few items to add to your itinerary, darling.”

He wasn’t sure how long they spent, pressed against the door. Long enough for the shadows to change, lengthening over the stairs. Peggy’s stomach rumbled and Steve laughed. “Some things never change,” he said, a smirk on his face.

“Do people in the future not require nourishment at regular intervals?” Peggy quipped, smoothing her skirt back down. “If I’m hungry, I know you’re famished,” she said.

Steve dragged her hem back up a few inches. “I could eat.”

Peggy arched an eyebrow at him, her hand around his wrist. “Focus, darling.”

“I would be very focused.” He saw how her eyes darkened and her breath came just a bit quicker. He brushed the tips of his fingers against her thigh, keeping his touch light.

Her grip tightened and she exhaled. “Steve.”

He angled his head and let his lips graze the shell of her ear. “Peg.”

She sighed again, turning her head to kiss him firmly. “Lunch first.” She punctuated the imperative with a quick nip at his bottom lip.

“Is that an order?” he teased, chasing her lips as she pulled away.

Her eyes sparked at him as she put both hands on his chest. “It is indeed, Captain.” She stepped back out of his arms. “But if you find us provisions, you have leave to resume your mission after your wife’s been satisfied.”

Heat spread through his chest at that word. His wife. He couldn’t keep the goofy smile from taking over his face, even as he sassed back at her, “I’ve been trying to satisfy my wife this whole time, Mrs. Rogers.”

Peggy laughed as she took up her small suitcase, shaking her head with a smile that echoed his. “I’ll go freshen up. The kitchen’s back through there, and I expect Ana Jarvis will have left plenty in the larder.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” He resisted the urge to pinch himself as he watched her walk up the stairs. All the ways he’d struggled with the decision to find her, after everything that had happened to him—he’d nearly talked himself out of even trying to have this a dozen times. But somehow, Steve was here, with Peggy, and everything felt so right.

Even if they were technically on the run from the press.

Steve ventured to the back of the house, where the well-appointed kitchen was indeed stocked with food. Steve couldn’t remember if he’d ever learned when frozen french fries had been invented, but apparently it was before 1949. There was a box of those plus a few cans of Minute Maid concentrate in the freezer, along with a wealth of tupperware, all labeled in neat Palmer script with the contents and instructions for thawing and reheating. Steve whistled at the display and selected a stew to thaw for dinner later that evening.

There was a note taped to the fridge, and Steve scanned it quickly.

Peggy, my dear—

I’m desolate that I cannot offer you my heartfelt congratulations in person, and that my inspection of your illustrious gentleman will have to wait until Edwin and I return from our visit. Please help yourself to anything; I have arranged for more groceries to be delivered on Tuesday.

E says I must warn you that Bernard is suffering from some tropical malaise. But as sardines seem to cheer him up, I admit to being skeptical of my husband’s theory.

Affectionately yours,

Ana

Steve couldn’t remember who Bernard was supposed to be. But Howard had assured them both that his staff would give them their privacy while they stayed at his home, so Steve assumed the fellow would have to get his sardines elsewhere.

In the fridge, Steve found basic sandwich supplies. For his part, he was still a tiny bit sad that sriracha wasn’t yet a staple in American cupboards. Thinking of sriracha made him think of being on the run with Sam and Nat. Instead of shoving the memory aside, he let it wash over him. Two years of running that grief group had been good for many things, of course. But certainly, an unintended benefit was how it had prepared him to leave it all behind and return to Peggy.

Steve took the stairs two at a time, balancing the sandwiches, two glasses of water and a package of Oreos in his hands. He found Peggy down the wide hall, in a spacious bedroom with a private attached bathroom and a Juliet balcony overlooking Howard’s tree-filled side yard. She was still occupied in the bathroom, so Steve set down the food on one of the nightstands and pulled the inner lace curtains closed over the inset windows in the balcony doors, leaving the heavy velvet drapes open. The diffuse afternoon light that filtered through turned the room a cozy orange. By the time Peggy was done, he’d unpacked their suitcases into the closet and dresser provided, and stowed the bags underneath the giant four-poster bed.

She’d changed out of her suit entirely and had on her robe, her hair unpinned and falling softly to her shoulders in mahogany waves. “Sandwiches!” she said, and clambered up onto the bed beside him.

“Oreos, too,” he pointed out, delighted at her excitement over his extremely basic offering. “You were right about Mrs. Jarvis keeping the kitchen stocked. Which reminds me,” he fished the note out of his trousers pocket, “she left this for you.”

***

Peggy read the note quickly, mouth full of roast beef, and then tucked it under the water on the nightstand. Ana must have dictated it, as it wasn’t in her handwriting and she and Jarvis were on a trip to Europe, visiting cousins of Ana’s who had settled in the Netherlands after the war.

Steve had eaten a sandwich of his own, as well as several chocolate biscuits, and then he’d gotten up to hang his own suit and change into pajama pants as Peggy finished her own meal. Though it was three hours later by her internal clock, Peggy felt a bit of a thrill to be in her nightclothes in the daylight. She watched as the muscles beneath his white undershirt flexed with his movements, his physique somehow even more impressive now than when he’d first gone through the transformation of Project Rebirth. Peggy was grateful for all that had transpired to bring Steve back to her. She was grateful that the man he was now was with her in this time. She felt suddenly such a swell of overpowering love for him, she was happy to be sitting down as it hit. “Steve,” she managed, hearing the emotion thick in her voice.

He turned back to her, concern clear on his face. “Peg?”

She shook her head, smiling through the rush of feeling. She aimed for sultry when she spoke and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “You have leave to resume your mission at your leisure.” She toyed with the tie on her robe.

Immediately, his eyes darkened and the concerned dip of his brows smoothed over. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so?” Peggy nodded, unknotting her robe so she could let the neckline fall open. As Steve realized she had nothing on underneath, she watched his breath deepen and his hands clench at the suit he still held. “Remind me where we were?” he teased.

Peggy licked her lips eagerly. “I seem to recall you promised satisfaction.”

Steve tossed the suit behind him, ensuring it would truly need a thorough pressing before he could wear it again. He prowled back towards the bed. “Did you have anything particular in mind?—”

Before Steve had even finished the question, there was a loud crash on the balcony, accompanied by a sound Peggy could only describe as a goose attacking a chalkboard. Steve immediately closed the distance between them, pulling Peggy off the bed and positioning her behind him. The sound came again, this time accompanied by some shuffling and … flapping?

Peggy slapped a hand to her forehead. “Bernard!”

#steggy #peggy carter #steve rogers #my fic #steggysecretsanta #steve x peggy #doctorhelena

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