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"Tony Stark is a hero because he sacrifices his freedom for the greater good?" What is this insane headcanon?
Tony Stark is the only person who leaves Civil War a free man and unscatched *despite* having broken the Accords- twice- before the end of the movie.
He is the one person who *does not* sacrifice his freedom and hypocritically gets away with not only breaking the very laws he claimed to be upholding for selfish reasons- but also getting away with murder.
Also under the terms of the Accords he should have handed over all his suits to the government. He never did that.
...and that's without even considering the horrific impact the Accords had on people lower down the pecking order. Hank Pym and his daugher were being hounded by the government to give up their suits as because of the Accords. Which they were never consulted about and never signed for that precise reason.
In Agents of SHIELD, Inhumans are hunted down and killed by Neo-Nazis because of the Accords.
The Accords caused more death pain and destruction then anything else.
I challenge Tony fans to point to even one life that was saved because of them.
Its no wonder they were canoncially repealed within 10 years of being passed.
Tony Stark literally sold out mllions of people to an authoritarian government for the sake of his own convenience, and caused God knows how many deaths in the process.
Then his fans have the audacity to justify his actions with the usual HYDRA rhetoric about "safety and security". Its no wonder they idolize the MCU Elon Musk
And before they bring up Charlie Spencer isn't it *interesting* that an American legal adult was the person who was used to guilt trip Tony?
What about the thousands of Sokovian women and children who died? This is meant to be able stopping innocents dying after all. So.... those innocents don't count? Only the American one?
Tony Stark in CA:CW + the values of Captain America
#tony stark#cacw#tony stark is an authoritarian#tony stark fans getting all warm and fuzzy about authoritarianism is a horrific thing to behold#anti sokovia accords#cap 3#anti tony stark#steve rogers#captain america#also#saving Bucky is true to the spirit of Captain America#Bucky is a prime example of a man who was weaponized by the government against his will#he is what the government will do if they get control of enhanced humans#and they want to kill him because he knows too much#too many dirty secrets#he is the little person oppressed by government power#and Tony is all in favour of said governments killing him#says a lot
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Wanda Django Maximoff, The Scarlet Witch, as seen in-
Avengers: Age of Ultron (2025) - final battle scene
Captain America: Civil War (2016) - airport combat scene
Avengers: Endgame (2019) - thanos confrontation
#wanda django maximoff#wanda maximoff#marvel#avengers#bluueejay#bluueejayart#bluueejayart redraw#bluueejayart rotoscope#marvel art#marvel cinematic universe#mcu#mcu art#avengers endgame#captain america civil war#avengers age of ultron#aou#cacw#bluueejayart animations#bluueejay animations#forgive the old artwork in some spots#the endgame animation is over a year old at this point#all of my art exists in an inherent alternate universe btw#bluueejayart au#bluueejayart wanda#bluueejay wanda#romani wanda maximoff#romani wanda django maximoff#roma wanda maximoff#roma wanda django maximoff
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Bucky Barnes + Motorcycles
#bucky barnes#sebastian stan#winter soldier#catws#cacw#thunderbolts#marvel#thunderboltsedit#marveledit#parallels#my edit#usersavana#userquel#userdorka#userashe#useraurore#tuserhan#tuseraud#unearthlydust#mcufam#he's so extra#Bucky Barnes Ride A Motorcycle Normally Challenge: FAILED
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Bro kept talking about how the 6 other super soldiers were the strongest people to ever exist (stronger than him) but he literally just takes one down using one fist and 3 hits
#✮ reef talks#marvel#mcu#Bucky Barnes#winter soldier#the winter soldier#captain America civil war#cacw#Sebastian stan#james barnes#james buchanan barnes#super soldier
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Bucky Barnes in Captain America: Civil War (2016)
#marvel#mcu#bucky barnes#the winter soldier#the white wolf#sebastian stan#cacw#captain america civil war
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BUCKY BARNES - CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR
#sebastian stan#bucky barnes#cacw#marvel#my gifs#the winter soldier#captain america: civil war#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes
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Get your feet off the dash.
#marvelladiesdaily#blackwidowedit#blackwidowhub#marveledit#dailyavengers#dailymarvel#marvelgifs#*#by: nani#natasha romanoff#dailymarvelqueens#cacw#avengers: age of ultron
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#clintashaedit#marveledit#dailymarvel#dailymarvelheroes#natasharomanoffedit#natasha romanoff#*#gifs*#by eme#scarlett johansson#sjohanssonedit#cacw#dailymarvelgifs#marveldaily#womenofmcu#dailyavengers#marveladdicts#dailyteamcap#blackwidowhub#clint barton#clintbartonedit#jeremy renner#renneredit#cap3
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what’s on my mind you ask? bucky. it’s always bucky. but to be more specific…?
civil war bucky.
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#marvelladiesdaily#blackwidowedit#blackwidowhub#marveledit#dailyavengers#dailymarvel#marvelgifs#*#natasha romanoff#dailymarvelqueens#cacw#black widow#scarjo#scarlett johansson#sjohanssonedit#natasharomanoffedit#usereme#*gifs#nan#avengersedit#captain america: civil war
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Me anytime Bucky is mentioned
#comics#bucky barnes#marvel#marvel comics#marvel movies#winter soldier#bucky buchanan#bucky barnes marvel#bucky marvel#mcu#marvel fanfiction#marvel fandom#bucky mcu#bucky x reader#james buchanan barnes#the falcon and the winter soldier#captain america the winter soldier#cacw#catfa#captain america civil war#catws#captain america#sebastian stan#sebastian stan fandom
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I'm stressed so have some Bucky gifs!
#bucky barnes#marvel#sebastian stan#buckybarnesedit#bucky#james bucky barnes#i love him your honor#marvel cinematic universe#he deserves to be happy#the winter soldier#i love him so much#bucky obsessed#he deserves so much better#he's so cute#i love him#marvel mcu#he deserves the world#he makes me so happy#james buchanan barnes#tfatws#winter soldier#captain america civil war#cacw#my baby#best boy#hes the best#mcu#mcu fandom#james bucky buchanan barnes#he deserves the best
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CHRIS EVANS as Steve Rogers SEBASTIAN STAN as Bucky Barnes CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR (dir. Anthony Russo, Joe Russo)
#marveledit#marvelgifs#dailymarvelgifs#steve rogers#captain america#captain america: civil war#cacw#cacwedit#stucky#stevebucky#stuckyedit#stevebuckyedit#steverogersedit#buckybarnesedit#mcuedit#mcu#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#chris evans#sebastian stan#cevansedit#sebstanedit#sebastianstanedit#chrisevansedit#so much happening yet so much unsaid in this moment wow
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"Well done, Soldier"
Captain America: Civil War (2016)
#bucky barnes#sebastian stan#cacw#captain america: civil war#buckybarnesedit#sebstanedit#dailymarvelstudios#marveledit#dailyavengers#marveldaily#mcufam#usertammy#unearthlydust#userashe#yourbuckies#usersvenja#dailyflicks#gif#i barely ever watch this scene but this time it broke me :(
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Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier
How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:
He always holds back
With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.
I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)
This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.
If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.
*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).
2. His skills
People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).
In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.
3. Karli Morgenthau
And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:
She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.
"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"
The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.
Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)
The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:
"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."
Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".
Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.
[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]
"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."
Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.
He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.
4. Baron Zemo
You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):
Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.
The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!
This conversation also says a lot:
Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.
Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.
Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?
Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".
Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.
Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!
Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.
The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.
When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.
[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]
The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.
Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).
5. John Walker
John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.
Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.
John: I'm not like you!
Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.
"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."
John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.
"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"
This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.
The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.
(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)
And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?
He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.
We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.
#bucky barnes#the winter soldier#james bucky barnes#baron zemo#marvel#sebastian stan#tfatws#tws#cacw#catws#catfa#my opinion#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#thunderbolts#john walker#the falcon and the winter soldier#captain america the winter soldier#captain america civil war#captain america the first avenger#karli morgenthau#sam wilson
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Hey there! Can I request for Marvel Bingo “marriage of convenience” for Steve Rogers and female reader.
I’m not sure if you’re still taking requests, I just want to share what I have in mind, it’s up to you if you want to consider it.
So, Steve and reader both belong to influential families and Steve picked reader over her elder sister (Sharon/Peggy) to marry. They’ve known each other since childhood and Steve has been secretly in love with her but he doesn’t show and doesn’t even know if she likes him. So he gets married to her to protect her from her family. His love language is taking care of her… like a slow burn, a build up towards a passionate and beautiful confession of their feelings. If you wana make it spicy, that’ll be cherry on top.
MARRIAGE
⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6a01a8acc8f4a119d1589e5d1bba95ab/0f0d02173b6e9589-c3/s500x750/9ffc54c09bf1e9c5bfa5971d560c46dac67be007.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/dbf167c032113a7eb8104f39efab889a/0f0d02173b6e9589-08/s400x600/5964eefb1d9b96f5de17b1e7028a6df019449cfd.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/63b27f14d82f7e41b35b75db01ae1e2c/0f0d02173b6e9589-e3/s500x750/0250cc438832878e5f3098decbc208d540b46f50.jpg)
ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader
ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff
ᯓ★ Requests status: open
ᯓ★ Story type: one shot
ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said
ᯓ★ Word count: 7.3k
ᯓ★ TW(s): some little spicy scenes (2)
ᯓ★ My Masterlist
ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special
ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!
ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)
ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo
ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language
The polished mahogany table between you gleams under the dim light of the private study. You sit with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you try to keep your expression neutral. Across from you, Steve Rogers leans forward, his broad shoulders casting long shadows across the room. His blue eyes—soft, concerned, and endlessly patient—are fixed on you, but you avoid them, focusing instead on the crest embroidered into the sleeve of his finely tailored jacket.
The Rogers family crest.
The room is too warm, the air heavy with the scent of aged leather and wood polish. You’ve been in this study a hundred times before. It’s where your father and his friends would discuss business deals that shaped entire industries, where your sister Sharon would charm visiting dignitaries with her effortless wit and poise. You, on the other hand, always felt out of place here, like a child wearing shoes too big to fill.
But tonight, you are here for something far more personal.
“I won’t pretend this is how I imagined things going,” Steve begins, his voice steady but tinged with something unnameable—regret, maybe, or resignation. “But it’s clear to me that... things can’t continue as they are.”
Your breath catches, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something foolish. Of course, he doesn’t mean you specifically. He’s talking about your family, your situation. You know Steve well enough to recognize when he’s treading carefully, picking his words with the precision of a man dismantling a bomb.
“I know your father,” he continues, his jaw tightening briefly, “and I know what kind of man he is. The kind of... expectations he has for you and Sharon.”
You flinch at the mention of her name, your elder sister, the golden child of your family. Sharon was meant to marry Steve, not you. Everyone knew it; the whispers at gala events, the approving nods from their respective parents, the way Sharon carried herself around him like a queen certain of her crown.
And yet, it was you Steve had chosen.
The memory of that announcement still makes your heart race, even now, months later. It had been surreal, watching your father’s barely concealed fury, Sharon’s stunned disbelief. You hadn’t been able to look at Steve that night, terrified your face would betray the feelings you’ve kept locked away for years.
You clear your throat, forcing yourself back to the present. “Steve, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” he interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the intensity of his gaze makes it impossible to breathe. “You don’t deserve what they’ve done to you. What they’re still doing to you.”
The words hang in the air between you, raw and unvarnished.
“I want to help,” he says softly.
Your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice. He means it. He always means what he says—one of the many reasons you’ve loved him since you were too young to understand what love even was. But you can’t let him see that now, not when everything is so precariously balanced.
“Marriage,” you murmur, testing the word as if it might shatter on your tongue. “You think that’s the answer?”
“I think it’s the best chance you’ll have to get out from under your father’s thumb,” Steve replies without hesitation. “And it’ll keep you safe.”
Safe. The word feels foreign, almost mythical, like something out of a bedtime story.
“And you?” you ask, folding your hands tighter to steady them. “What do you get out of this, Steve?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer, his expression unreadable. Then he leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
“Peace of mind,” he says finally. “Knowing you’re not being hurt anymore. Knowing you’re not... alone in that house.”
Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard to keep the emotion at bay. You can’t let him see how much his words affect you, how desperately you want to believe in the future he’s offering.
“And what about Sharon?” you ask quietly.
Steve’s lips press into a thin line, and he looks away, his gaze settling somewhere over your shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he says after a moment. “She doesn’t... need me the way you do.”
The words hit you like a lightning strike, and you’re sure he can hear the hitch in your breath, even though you try to hide it.
You force yourself to nod, your mind racing. If you agree to this, you’ll be tying yourself to Steve in ways you’ve only dreamed about—and yet, it won’t be real. Not for him.
But then again, isn’t that better than nothing?
“Alright,” you say softly, the word barely audible.
Steve’s gaze snaps back to you, his brows knitting together in surprise. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gentle but insistent. “You don’t have to decide now.”
“I’m sure,” you say, more firmly this time. “If it’ll... help, then I’ll do it.”
He studies you for a long moment, and you wonder if he can see through the careful mask you’re wearing. If he knows how much of this decision is driven not by logic, but by the love you’ve kept hidden from him for so long.
Finally, he nods, a small, relieved smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright,” he says. “Then we’ll make it work. Together.”
Together.
The word echoes in your mind, a promise and a torment all at once.
And as Steve begins outlining the next steps, his voice steady and reassuring, you can’t help but wonder how long you’ll be able to keep your feelings buried now that the future you’ve always wanted is so tantalizingly close—and yet, still out of reach.
The weeks pass in a blur of arrangements. You’d never thought a wedding—your wedding—would be so impersonal, a series of carefully orchestrated events where your opinion seems to matter the least. Your family dominates every decision, from the floral arrangements to the guest list, while Steve listens patiently, occasionally intervening with quiet authority when the plans grow too elaborate or stray too far from practicality.
“We don’t need a five-tiered cake,” he says during one such discussion, his tone calm but firm. He sits beside you at the long dining table, his fingers grazing yours briefly under the polished surface. “Something simpler will do just fine.”
Your mother sniffs delicately, clearly displeased. “Simpler isn’t what people expect from a union like this, Steve,” she says, as if this is the most pressing concern. She doesn’t even glance at you when she says it, her sharp gaze fixed on Steve as if she can convince him to reconsider with sheer willpower.
He doesn’t flinch. “They’ll have to manage their expectations,” he replies smoothly, leaning back in his chair.
You catch yourself staring at him, your heart swelling with a quiet gratitude you don’t know how to express. Moments like this, small but significant, remind you why you fell in love with him in the first place. Steve Rogers has always been unshakable, a solid presence in the chaos of your life.
Still, your mother isn’t the type to back down easily.
“I just think,” she says, her voice laced with sugar-coated venom, “that Sharon would have been better suited to manage the kind of attention this marriage will bring. She’s always been... more poised under pressure.”
The words are a knife, slipping between your ribs before you even realize it. You glance down at your hands, your fingernails biting into your palms. This isn’t the first time she’s made such a comment, and it won’t be the last.
“Y/N is perfectly capable of handling herself,” Steve says, his voice cold enough to frost the edges of the room. “And if anyone has an issue with her, they’ll have to take it up with me.”
The silence that follows is heavy, your mother pursing her lips in annoyance but wisely deciding not to push further. You feel Steve’s gaze on you, but you keep your eyes fixed on the tablecloth, unwilling to let him see the cracks forming in your carefully constructed composure.
Later that evening, when the guests have gone and the house has fallen silent, you find yourself standing by the window of the guest room Steve insisted you use whenever you stayed over. The city lights shimmer in the distance, blurred by the tears you refuse to let fall.
You don’t hear him enter, but you feel his presence before he speaks.
“Y/N?” His voice is gentle, almost hesitant.
You wipe at your eyes quickly and turn to face him, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
He doesn’t buy the act for a second. He never does.
“They shouldn’t have said those things,” he says quietly, his expression shadowed with anger and something deeper, something protective.
“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” you say, trying to brush it off. But the tremor in your voice betrays you, and Steve’s jaw tightens.
“It’s not nothing,” he says, stepping closer. His hand hovers near yours, as if he’s waiting for permission to close the distance. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that, not from them or anyone else.”
You want to argue, to tell him that it’s fine, that you’re used to it—but the words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of years spent trying to live up to impossible expectations.
“I don’t know how you do it,” you whisper instead, your voice barely audible. “How you always seem so... steady, even when everything’s falling apart.”
His lips curve into a faint smile, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m not as steady as you think,” he says. “But when it comes to you...” He trails off, his gaze softening. “I just want to make things easier for you, Y/N. Even if it’s just a little.”
The vulnerability in his voice undoes you. Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and take his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a way nothing else can.
“Thank you,” you say, the words simple but heavy with meaning.
His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small, comforting gesture that sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to stay like this forever, to let go of all the fear and doubt and simply trust in the man standing before you.
The moment doesn’t last.
The wedding approaches faster than you anticipate, each day bringing new challenges and fresh reminders of your family’s disapproval. Sharon, in particular, takes every opportunity to remind you of what she sees as your inadequacy, her words barbed and cutting.
“You should really work on your posture,” she says one afternoon as you stand for yet another fitting. “You’ll be photographed from every angle, and we wouldn’t want people to think you’re uncomfortable in your own skin.”
You grit your teeth and force a polite smile, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
Steve, however, is less inclined to stay silent. “I think she looks perfect,” he says from where he’s leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed. His tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it that makes Sharon’s smile falter.
“Of course,” Sharon says smoothly, recovering quickly. “I’m just offering some advice. You know how the press can be.”
Steve doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you instead. “Ready to go?” he asks, his expression softening.
You nod, grateful for the excuse to escape.
In the car, the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, the quiet hum of the engine a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the day. Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console.
“You okay?” he asks after a while, his voice low.
“I’m fine,” you say automatically.
He glances at you, his blue eyes full of quiet concern. “You don’t have to be fine all the time, you know.”
The words hit you harder than they should, and before you can stop yourself, the tears you’ve been holding back spill over.
Steve pulls the car to the side of the road without hesitation, cutting the engine. He turns to you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you’re afraid he might say something that will break you completely.
Instead, he reaches out and takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Y/N,” he says softly, “you’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for. But you don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”
His words unravel something deep inside you, and you let out a shaky breath, the weight of everything finally catching up to you.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, ashamed of your tears.
“Don’t be,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
The sincerity in his voice is almost too much to bear, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.
The wedding day arrives sooner than you expect, the morning a whirlwind of activity and last-minute preparations. Your family is on their best behavior, their smiles polished and their words carefully measured. But you can feel the tension simmering beneath the surface, a reminder of all the unspoken grievances and unmet expectations that have defined your relationship with them.
Steve, however, is a calming presence throughout it all. He stays by your side whenever he can, his quiet strength a constant source of reassurance.
When you finally stand at the altar, his hands holding yours, the world seems to fade away.
“You ready?” he whispers, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You nod, your heart pounding. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steady.
And for the first time in years, you feel like you might actually mean it.
The moment the car pulls up to Steve’s penthouse, your breath catches in your throat. It’s not that you didn’t know it would be beautiful—everything about the Rogers family speaks of understated elegance and wealth—but seeing it in person is something else entirely.
The building is sleek and modern, towering over the city with floor-to-ceiling windows that glint in the afternoon sun. The lobby is quiet and luxurious, with polished marble floors and discreet staff who greet Steve with quiet deference as you walk through.
The elevator ride to the top floor feels endless, even though you know it’s only a matter of seconds. Steve stands beside you, his hands in his pockets, his expression calm and unreadable.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” he says softly, glancing at you.
“I’m not nervous,” you lie, gripping your clutch like it might save you from drowning.
He doesn’t call you out on it, just offers a small smile as the elevator doors slide open.
The penthouse is breathtaking.
The first thing you notice is the light. Floor-to-ceiling windows span almost the entire space, offering an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The open-concept design is modern but warm, with sleek furniture in neutral tones and touches of warmth in the form of rich wood accents and soft throws draped over the sofas.
But what strikes you most is how... lived-in it feels. There are signs of Steve everywhere: books stacked neatly on a low table, a well-used leather armchair in one corner, and a collection of vintage records on a shelf near the fireplace.
“You don’t have to unpack everything today,” Steve says as you step inside, his voice cutting through your awe. “Take your time.”
You turn to him, unsure of what to say. “It’s beautiful,” you manage.
He smiles, a little sheepish. “Thanks. I had it redone a few years ago. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s home.”
Home. The word feels strange on your tongue, foreign in a way that makes your chest ache.
Steve seems to sense your hesitation. “Come on,” he says gently, nodding toward a hallway. “I’ll show you to your room.”
You follow him, your heels clicking softly against the polished floors. The hallway leads to a series of doors, and Steve stops in front of one near the end.
“This is yours,” he says, pushing the door open.
The room is spacious and bright, with soft, neutral tones and a large bed that looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel. A vase of fresh flowers sits on the nightstand, their fragrance subtle but soothing.
“It’s perfect,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m glad you like it.” He hesitates, then nods toward the door across the hall. “That’s my room. I figured you’d want your own space.”
You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. I... thank you.”
Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking slightly awkward. “I meant what I said before,” he says. “I’m not expecting anything from you, Y/N. This arrangement... it’s about giving you a chance to breathe, not making you feel trapped.”
The sincerity in his voice is overwhelming, and for a moment, all you can do is nod.
That night, as you lie in the unfamiliar comfort of your new bed, you think about his words. About how, for the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel like you can finally exhale.
The first few weeks of married life are surreal.
Steve is considerate to a fault, never overstepping boundaries or making you feel uncomfortable. He leaves early for work most mornings, though he always makes sure there’s coffee brewing and a note on the counter with a simple message—Take your time today or Call if you need anything.
You spend your days exploring the penthouse, slowly making the space your own. Steve encourages it, even going out of his way to pick up little things he thinks you might like—a throw pillow in your favorite color, a set of candles that smell like lavender.
At night, the two of you settle into a routine of quiet companionship. Sometimes you watch movies together, sitting on opposite ends of the couch with a bowl of popcorn between you. Other times, you talk about nothing and everything—his work, your favorite books, the quirks of city life.
It’s easy, in a way you never expected.
But the outside world is harder to ignore.
The first time the two of you go out together as a married couple, the paparazzi are relentless.
You’re having dinner at a quiet restaurant Steve picked specifically for its privacy, but as soon as you step outside, cameras flash like fireworks, and voices shout questions you’re too overwhelmed to process.
“Steve! Over here!” “Y/N, how does it feel to marry into the Rogers family?” “Any truth to the rumors that Sharon was the first choice?”
The last question hits you like a slap, and you flinch despite yourself. Steve notices immediately, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back as he steers you toward the waiting car.
“Don’t listen to them,” he says quietly as the driver pulls away from the curb.
“It’s hard not to,” you admit, staring down at your hands.
He doesn’t respond right away, but when you glance up, you find him watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he says finally. “Least of all them.”
His words linger in your mind long after you return home, and you find yourself replaying them whenever the gossip columns grow particularly vicious.
It’s not all bad, though. There are moments of levity that catch you off guard, moments when Steve’s dry humor or unexpected playfulness makes you laugh so hard you forget the world outside entirely.
Like the time you catch him trying to teach himself how to cook.
“Steve,” you say, barely holding back a laugh as you step into the kitchen and find him staring intently at a cookbook, his apron already dusted with flour. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make pancakes,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“At eight o’clock at night?”
“Breakfast for dinner is underrated,” he says with a grin.
The pancakes are terrible—burnt on the outside, raw on the inside—but you eat them anyway, laughing together at the absurdity of it all.
Moments like these, small and unexpected, are what make you realize how dangerous this arrangement is becoming.
Because the more time you spend with Steve, the harder it is to ignore the feelings you’ve spent years trying to bury.
It happens gradually, the way you and Steve grow closer.
He starts leaving his door open at night, and sometimes you find yourself lingering in the hallway, talking until your voices grow soft and drowsy. Other times, he joins you on the couch, sitting closer than usual as the two of you share a blanket and argue over what to watch.
The tension between you is subtle but undeniable, a quiet hum that grows louder with each passing day.
One night, after a particularly long dinner with your family—where your mother spent most of the evening hinting that it wasn’t too late for Steve to change his mind—you come home feeling like you might shatter.
Steve finds you sitting on the floor of the living room, your knees pulled to your chest as you stare out the window.
“They’re not worth this,” he says softly, sitting down beside you.
“I know,” you whisper, your voice thick with unshed tears. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
He doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. The warmth of his embrace is comforting, and for the first time that night, you feel like you can breathe.
“You deserve better,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
You don’t respond, but the way you lean into him says more than words ever could.
The months slip by, and the world outside continues to watch, speculate, and gossip. But inside the walls of the penthouse, you and Steve carve out a life that feels uniquely yours.
It’s not perfect—there are moments of doubt and miscommunication, times when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under. But there are also moments of joy and connection, moments that remind you why you agreed to this in the first place.
And as you sit together one night, sharing a quiet meal and laughing over something inconsequential, you realize that somewhere along the way, this marriage stopped feeling like an arrangement.
It started feeling like home.
The nights blur together in a haze of quiet companionship. You and Steve continue to drift closer, though neither of you acknowledges it outright. It’s in the little things: the way he pours your coffee just the way you like it without asking, the way you find yourself lingering in the kitchen just to hear him hum softly while he cooks.
And then there’s the night everything changes.
It starts innocently enough. You’re sitting on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs as you both watch a late-night movie. Steve looks as relaxed as you’ve ever seen him, his long legs stretched out on the ottoman, his arm resting along the back of the couch.
“You’re going to fall asleep,” he teases when your head droops for the third time.
“I’m not,” you mumble, though the weight of your eyelids betrays you.
He chuckles softly. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
You barely manage to shuffle down the hallway, exhaustion tugging at your every step. When you finally collapse onto the edge of your bed, you don’t even bother to change out of your clothes, too tired to care.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” Steve says from the doorway, but you’re already slipping into unconsciousness.
When you wake up hours later, it takes you a moment to realize what’s different. The room is dark, but the steady warmth beside you is unmistakable.
You turn your head, your breath catching as you see Steve sprawled on his back, one arm draped over his face. He must have come to check on you and fallen asleep without meaning to.
For a moment, you think about waking him, but something stops you. Maybe it’s the way his face looks so peaceful in sleep, or maybe it’s the comfort of his presence. Whatever the reason, you close your eyes again, letting the soft rhythm of his breathing lull you back to sleep.
The next morning, you expect things to feel awkward, but Steve acts as if nothing unusual happened. If anything, he seems more relaxed, his smile a little softer, his touches lingering just a fraction longer.
That night, as you stand in the doorway of your room, you hesitate.
“Steve?” you call, your voice barely above a whisper.
He looks up from his place on the couch, his book resting in his lap. “Yeah?”
“Would you—” You hesitate, your cheeks flushing. “Would you mind sleeping here again? I just... I slept better with you there.”
You half expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he closes his book and sets it aside, his expression unreadable.
“Of course,” he says simply.
The warmth that spreads through your chest is almost overwhelming.
That night, you fall asleep with the quiet reassurance of his presence beside you, and when you wake up to find his arm draped lightly over your waist, you don’t move.
The next few weeks are a delicate balancing act. You and Steve don’t talk about the nights you spend together, but they quickly become a routine. He starts reading in your room before bed, and you find yourself looking forward to the quiet moments before sleep when you can hear the low timbre of his voice as he reads aloud.
But the outside world isn’t as accommodating.
It begins at a family dinner, one of the infrequent but mandatory gatherings your mother insists on hosting. The Rogers family is there, Steve’s parents a picture of poise and sophistication. Your own family is on their best behavior at first, their voices sugary sweet as they discuss inconsequential topics.
But then the conversation shifts.
“So,” your mother says, fixing you with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “How are you settling in? Married life seems to agree with you.”
“It does,” you say, keeping your tone polite.
“It must be so exciting,” Sharon interjects, her voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm. “Starting a life together, building a future...” She pauses, her eyes gleaming. “Planning for children.”
Your fork stills on your plate, but before you can respond, your mother jumps in.
“Yes, children are so important, aren’t they?” she says, looking pointedly at you. “I’m sure you’ll want to start soon, won’t you? After all, a family name like Rogers needs an heir.”
Your stomach churns, but you force a smile. “We’re taking things one step at a time,” you say evenly.
“Oh, but don’t wait too long,” your mother continues, ignoring your words entirely. “Sharon always said she wanted at least three. Isn’t that right, dear?”
Sharon smiles sweetly. “Of course. I’d already have one by now if I were in Y/N’s position.”
The words hang heavy in the air, a pointed reminder of everything they think you’re failing to be.
Steve’s fork clinks against his plate, and when you glance at him, his expression is stony.
“That’s enough,” he says, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Y/N and I will handle things in our own time. And I’d appreciate it if we could leave it at that.”
Your mother’s smile falters, but she quickly recovers, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “Of course,” she says, her tone saccharine. “We’re just so eager for you two to start a family. It’s such a big responsibility, being part of the Rogers legacy.”
Steve doesn’t respond, his jaw tight. You don’t miss the way his mother raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your family’s behavior.
The rest of the dinner passes in strained silence, and by the time you return home, your nerves are frayed.
“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as the door closes behind you.
Steve frowns, shrugging off his jacket. “What are you apologizing for?”
“For them,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself. “For the way they act, the things they say... It’s not fair to you.”
Steve crosses the room in two strides, his hands coming to rest gently on your shoulders. “Y/N,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t have to apologize for them. None of this is your fault.”
You nod, though the knot in your chest remains.
He hesitates, then pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with a quiet strength that makes your knees weak.
“They don’t get to define you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. “Not them, not anyone. You’re more than enough, Y/N. You always have been.”
The words break something inside you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry.
Steve doesn’t let go, holding you tightly until the tears finally subside. And when you pull back to look at him, the tenderness in his gaze steals the breath from your lungs.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.
“Always,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
That night, as you lie in bed with Steve’s arm draped protectively around you, you feel something shift. The walls you’ve spent years building are starting to crumble, and for once, you’re not afraid.
The nights you share become a solace, a quiet refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Steve is patient, never pushing, always letting you set the pace. And though neither of you says it outright, the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, speaks volumes.
Your family continues to hover on the periphery, their expectations weighing heavy. But with Steve by your side, the weight feels a little easier to bear.
And as the days turn into weeks, you find yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, this could be more than an arrangement.
Maybe it already is.
The penthouse is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city below. You’re curled up on the couch, your laptop balanced precariously on your knees as you type furiously. Working from home has its perks—no dress code, no commute—but today, your focus feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.
The ache in your neck reminds you that you’ve been hunched over for hours, so you decide to take a break. Stretching out your legs, you grab your phone from the coffee table and unlock it.
Scrolling aimlessly through your feed, you skim past news articles, memes, and a few updates from friends. And then you see it.
A headline that makes your blood run cold.
“Steve Rogers Spotted Cozying Up to Wife’s Sister: Is Trouble Brewing in Paradise?”
Your thumb hovers over the screen, trembling. Against your better judgment, you click the link.
The article is riddled with speculation, but it’s the photos that steal the breath from your lungs. One shows Steve and Sharon standing close in what looks like a cozy café, their heads tilted toward each other as if sharing an intimate moment. Another shows Sharon touching Steve’s arm, her smile coy.
The accompanying text twists the knife deeper: Sources say the two have been seen together frequently in recent weeks, sparking rumors of a secret affair. Could Sharon have been Steve’s first choice all along?
Your stomach churns. You know it’s ridiculous—you know Steve, the man who has been nothing but kind and devoted to you, would never betray you like this. But the images... the way they seem to tell a story you don’t want to believe... it’s too much.
Tears blur your vision as you toss your phone aside.
The door clicks open a moment later, and you hear Steve’s familiar footsteps in the foyer.
“Y/N?” he calls, his voice warm but tinged with concern. “I’m home.”
You don’t respond, your hands clenched into fists against your lap as you try to hold back the sob building in your throat.
When Steve appears in the living room, his expression shifts instantly. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He’s beside you in an instant, crouching down so he can look up into your tear-streaked face.
You shake your head, but the tears spill over anyway. “I... I saw something,” you choke out.
His brows knit together in worry. “What did you see?”
You reach for your phone with trembling hands, pulling up the article and thrusting it toward him. He takes it from you, his eyes scanning the screen with growing disbelief.
“Y/N,” he says after a moment, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“How can it not be?” you whisper, your voice breaking. “The photos... they look so—”
“They’re misleading,” he cuts in gently, his hands reaching for yours. “Please, let me explain.”
You look at him, searching his face for any hint of deceit, but all you see is the same Steve you’ve always known—the man who has been your rock through every storm.
“I ran into Sharon a few weeks ago,” he begins. “She approached me. She wanted to talk, to clear the air about everything that happened between us.”
“And you went to a café with her?” you ask, your voice trembling.
“Yes,” he admits, his gaze unwavering. “Because I wanted to make it clear that my choice was you, Y/N. It’s alwaysbeen you. She was upset, and I didn’t want there to be any lingering tension. But that’s all it was—just a conversation. Nothing more.”
The sincerity in his voice is undeniable, and yet your heart still aches. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to upset you,” he says softly. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning because, to me, it didn’t mean anything. But I see now that I should have been honest with you from the start. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
You look down at your hands, your tears falling silently onto your lap. “I felt like such a fool,” you admit.
“You’re not a fool,” he says firmly, his hands tightening around yours. “You’re the smartest, strongest, most incredible woman I’ve ever known. And I would never, never do anything to hurt you.”
The weight of his words sinks into you, and when you finally meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes takes your breath away.
“I love you, Y/N,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. And this marriage—it started as a way to protect you, but somewhere along the way, it became so much more. You’re my everything.”
Your breath hitches, tears spilling over anew. “Steve...”
He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I need you to know that my heart is yours. It always has been.”
You shake your head, your hands clutching at his shirt as a sob escapes you. “I do,” you whisper. “I love you too, Steve. I’ve loved you for so long, but I was so afraid you didn’t feel the same.”
A soft, disbelieving laugh escapes him, and his forehead rests against yours. “God, Y/N,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
The air between you shifts, charged with unspoken longing. His hands slide from your face to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips hover just inches from yours.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice barely audible.
You nod, your heart pounding as his lips finally meet yours.
The kiss is slow at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid to push too far. But the moment your hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer, the restraint breaks.
Steve lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. The world fades away, leaving only the two of you as he lays you gently on the bed.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion.
“Yes,” you whisper, your hands trembling as you reach for him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
What follows is a blur of heat and emotion, the culmination of years of unspoken love and longing. Steve’s hands explore every inch of you, his touch reverent, as if memorizing the very essence of you.
He whispers your name like a prayer, his lips tracing a path along your skin as he worships you with a devotion that leaves you breathless.
And when he finally joins you, the connection is so overwhelming, so all-encompassing, that it feels as if the pieces of your heart are finally falling into place.
Afterward, as you lie tangled together in the sheets, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you feel a sense of peace you’ve never known before.
“I love you,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice soft but sure.
“I love you too,” you whisper, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest.
And for the first time, you realize that the life you’ve built together isn’t just an arrangement. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted—and so much more.
Things change between you and Steve in ways that are both subtle and monumental. Gone is the polite distance, the carefully maintained boundaries. In its place is something real, something undeniable.
Steve is more affectionate now, his touches lingering longer, his kisses coming more frequently. He pulls you into his lap when you’re watching TV, twirls you around the kitchen while dinner simmers on the stove, and presses his lips to the back of your neck as you work at your laptop.
You, in turn, find yourself doing little things for him—pressing his shirts for work even though he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, surprising him with homemade cookies when he mentions a craving, sneaking into his office at lunch just to kiss him.
The shift doesn’t go unnoticed, especially at family dinners.
On the next one, held at your parents’ estate, the tension in the air is palpable from the moment you walk in. You and Steve arrive arm in arm, his hand resting comfortably on your lower back. When you lean into him slightly as your mother greets you, Sharon’s eyes narrow.
The evening unfolds as expected: your parents ask loaded questions about your life together, Sharon hovers like a shadow, and the Rogers look vaguely unimpressed by everything.
But something’s different.
You’re not the quiet, uncertain woman who let her family’s jabs and comparisons chip away at her. Not anymore. Steve’s presence beside you, his unwavering support, has given you a strength you didn’t know you had.
When your mother comments on how lovely Sharon looks, her gaze darting toward Steve as if to gauge his reaction, you smile sweetly.
“Yes, Sharon’s always been so polished,” you say, lacing your fingers through Steve’s. “But I think I’ve been glowing lately. Don’t you think, Steve?”
He looks down at you, his eyes warm and amused. “Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “You’re the most beautiful woman in any room.”
Your mother’s smile falters, and Sharon’s fork clatters against her plate. You don’t miss the way her cheeks flush with anger, nor the way she glares at you when she thinks no one’s looking.
Dinner continues in much the same way. Every time Sharon tries to draw Steve’s attention or steer the conversation in her favor, Steve redirects it back to you.
“You must miss being on the dating scene, Steve,” Sharon says at one point, her tone light but her eyes sharp.
“Not at all,” Steve replies easily, his hand resting on your knee under the table. “I’ve got everything I could ever want right here.”
By the time dessert is served, Sharon looks ready to explode. You sip your coffee with a smug smile, enjoying the rare satisfaction of seeing her knocked off her pedestal.
After dinner, your parents pull you and Steve aside.
“Why don’t you stay the night?” your mother suggests, her tone saccharine. “It’s been so long since you spent any real time here. We could all have breakfast together tomorrow.”
Steve hesitates, glancing at you. He’s always careful not to push you into situations you might not want, but tonight, you feel bold.
“That sounds lovely,” you say, surprising even yourself.
Your mother beams, clearly pleased to have you under her thumb for a little longer. Sharon’s jaw tightens, and you can’t help but enjoy the way her evening seems to be going from bad to worse.
Your old bedroom hasn’t changed much. The floral wallpaper, the antique vanity, the plush pink comforter—it’s all a reminder of the girl you used to be.
Steve steps inside, looking almost out of place in the overly feminine space. He closes the door behind him, his eyes sweeping over the room before landing on you.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, his voice low.
You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m more than okay.”
His hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer. “You were amazing tonight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Did you see Sharon’s face?” you ask, grinning. “She looked like she wanted to scream.”
Steve chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple. “You were enjoying that a little too much.”
“Maybe,” you admit, your grin widening. “But can you blame me?”
He laughs again, his hands sliding up your back. The mood shifts as his laughter fades, replaced by something deeper, something more intense.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your lips.
The heat in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, his mouth is on yours.
The kiss is slow and deliberate, his hands roaming your body with a reverence that leaves you breathless. When he lifts you onto the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress, you feel a thrill of anticipation.
You arch against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses a trail down your neck. The sounds you make are uninhibited, each gasp and moan spilling from your lips without thought.
“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you whisper, your hands gripping his shoulders. “I want this. I want you.”
Your heart pounds as he takes his time, his touch both gentle and insistent. Every caress, every kiss, every whispered word is a promise, a reminder of the love you share.
When he finally moves within you, the sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. The headboard creaks against the wall, and you can’t help the sounds that escape you—louder, more desperate, as you lose yourself in the moment.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that Sharon’s room is on the other side of the wall, but instead of holding back, you let the knowledge fuel you.
Steve seems to sense it too, his movements becoming more deliberate, his mouth capturing your cries in heated kisses.
Afterward, as you lie tangled together in the aftermath, your skin slick with sweat and your heart still racing, you can’t help but smile.
“You’re incredible,” Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“So are you,” you reply, turning to kiss him softly.
The satisfaction of the night lingers as you drift off in his arms, the weight of your love for each other wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
The next morning, Sharon avoids you entirely, her lips pressed into a tight line as you join the family for breakfast. You sip your coffee with a serene smile, enjoying the quiet triumph of knowing that for once, she’s the one who’s been bested.
Steve catches your eye across the table, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. You’ve never felt more certain that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
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