The party was in full swing, the kind of gathering that only the Avengers could pull off—half high-society gala, half chaotic family reunion. Music thrummed through the space, the scent of expensive catering hanging in the air, & somewhere across the room, Thor was loudly challenging Bucky to an Asgardian drinking game.

You smiled to yourself, leaning into Steve’s side as he laughed at something Sam said. It was still new—this thing between you and Steve. New enough that the butterflies still fluttered in your stomach when he looked at you, new enough that brushing hands felt electric. But it was also easy, like you’d both stepped into something that had been waiting for you.

Steve pressed a quick kiss to your temple before breaking away. “I’m gonna grab something to eat. Want anything?”

You shook your head, lifting your nearly full drink. “I’m good. Just don’t let Tony rope you into something dumb while you’re over there.”

Steve smirked. “No promises.”

You watched him go, getting caught up in a conversation with Wanda on the way to the food table. Your attention drifted, pulled toward Natasha and Clint arguing about who could disassemble & reassemble a Glock the fastest, when a warm hand curled around your waist.

You turned just as Steve leaned down & kissed you, soft and sure, his lips tasting of something buttery and savory. You hummed into it, tilting your head to deepen it—

And then the itch started.

Your breath hitched, a strange tingling spreading across your lips, creeping toward your throat. A flicker of alarm shot through you as realization dawned.

You broke the kiss, eyes wide. “Steve—what did you eat?”

He blinked at you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, one of those little crostini things. Had some kind of pesto—”

Your stomach dropped.

Pesto.

Your allergy.

Panic flared as the first real wave of symptoms hit—your throat tightening, your breath suddenly harder to pull in. You gripped Steve’s arm, your voice barely above a rasp. “Epi—need my EpiPen.”

Steve’s face drained of color. "Shit."