#historic brownstone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckets-and-trees · 28 days ago

Text

Red, White & True: Brooklyn - Pre-Interview [7/13]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 5.8k Summary: After a week apart on the campaign trail, you're reunited with Steve to get ready for the biggest interview of your life.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: People have been asking about the wedding since chapter one, and you won't get EVERYTHING here, but you will learn a little about how those days went. This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 5 - EARLY AFTERNOON - BROOKLYN, NEW YORK]

As the car pulls up to the brownstone, your heart begins to race. The familiar facade of red brick and ornate cornices looms before you, a blend of historic charm and modern restoration. The wrought-iron fence that lines the front garden is exactly as you remember it, its intricate patterns casting delicate shadows on the sidewalk in the early afternoon sun. The trees that line the street are ablaze with color - brilliant golds, fiery oranges, and deep crimsons - a stark contrast to the evergreen palms you left behind in California just hours ago.

As you step out of the vehicle, the cool air nips at your cheeks. You gaze up at the four-story building, and the sight of it all brings a flood of memories from those two nights in June - the nervous energy of the night before your wedding, the surreal feeling of returning here as newlyweds though you were still virtually strangers. The first night Steve had been detained in New Hampshire, so you’d stayed in the house alone. The second night you had politely slept in separate bedrooms.

There had been no honeymoon. Instead the two of you had traveled to the Stark corporate retreat facilities two miles up the road from the rustic mansion Tony and Pepper had designed and built together for their family life in upstate New York, and the preparation for the presidential run had moved into the final phases of coaching, strategy, styling consultations, wardrobe outfitting, public address exercises and the like now that you had officially joined the team.

Thinking back on it now, you wonder how either of you managed to make it through the blend of politeness and awkwardness, the concerted efforts to be warm even though both of you were keeping your distance and taking turns testing the waters.

It would be laughable if it wasn’t your life.

One day you will probably laugh about it. Whether or not it will be with Steve by your side… that’s still not clear.

Though it does feel like that longterm reality becomes more of a possibility every day.

As you climb the steps to the front door, you hear a bevy of movement inside. Your pulse quickens, knowing Steve is already here. You've spoken every day this past week, but phone calls and video chats can't compare to being in the same room.

The week apart had been good for you. Instead of closeness by virtue of proximity, the two of you had had to connect purely through conversation; and without sun-up-to-sundown schedules that orbited around each other, the thirty guaranteed minutes became treasured, guarded, and looked forward to.

Sophia is rushing in ahead of you, and you pause for just a moment before stepping over the threshold, taking a deep breath to calm the skittering of your heart.

The entryway is warm and inviting, filled with the soft glow of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. There’s a thriving buzz of energy and discussion going on as campaign staff fill the living room and are filtering in and out. The scent of fresh coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of old books and polished wood that seems to permeate the brownstone.

There are many hello’s and greetings for you and Sophia, and you ask, “Where’s Steve?

"In here!" Steve's voice calls out from the direction of the kitchen.

You make your way through the bustling living room, nodding more greetings to staff members as you pass. The kitchen doorway comes into view, and your breath catches as you see Steve for the first time in a week.

You round the corner into the spacious kitchen and there he is, leaning against the counter in conversation with Bucky and Jake, a mug of coffee in his hand. The late afternoon sun streaming through the window casts a warm glow on his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the golden hues in his hair. He looks relaxed, at ease in a way you rarely see him on the campaign trail.

His eyes light up when he sees you, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"Hey," he says softly, setting down his coffee and taking a step towards you.

"Hey yourself," you reply, your own smile matching his. The kitchen suddenly feels very crowded - most of your life with Steve was surrounded by other people.

Diplomatically, Jake and Bucky begin conversing with each other, giving you a bit of privacy, and Steve closes the distance between you in a few strides. There's a moment of hesitation, both of you unsure how to greet each other after a week apart. But before you can say anything else, he wraps you in a tight embrace. The hug is warm and comforting, Steve's strong arms wrapping around you securely. You breathe in his familiar scent, a mix of soap and something uniquely him. Briefly the bustle of the campaign fades away, and it's just the two of you. A tension you didn't even realize you were carrying in your shoulders begins to dissipate.

"Welcome home," he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking into his familiar face. "Home," you repeat softly, testing the word. It feels right, somehow, in a way it didn't before.

Steve's eyes search your face, as if trying to memorize every detail. "How was your flight?"

"Long," you admit with a small laugh. "But productive. Sophia and I went over the schedule for the next few days."

"I'm glad you made it back safely," Steve says, his hand warm on your lower back as he guides you further into the kitchen. "I know the West Coast tour was grueling."

You nod, feeling the exhaustion of the past week in your bones, not that either of you are strangers to exhaustion these past months. "It was intense, but I think we made some real progress out there. The response at the events with Helen Santos was incredible."

Now that you’re at the counter, Jake and Bucky tune into the conversation with you. "I saw some of the coverage,” Bucky said, his eyes lighting up with interest. “You two seemed to really connect with the crowds."

"She's amazing," you say, a note of admiration in your voice. "The way she can command a room, inspire people... I learned so much just watching her."

"I'm sure you held your own," Steve says with a soft smile. "I heard great things about your speeches."

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words.

“Of course she held her own,” Jake interjects, looking like a proud dad, and you can’t help but glow at his proclamation - he’s the political aficionado and has no reason to give false praise. “We’ve got great polling and social media engagement surges we can tie right back to your work with Zoey over the last week.

“Now, we've got a lot to cover," Jake continues, his tone businesslike but with a hint of eagerness. "The interview is in three days, and we need to make sure we're all on the same page."

You nod, grateful for the shift to campaign matters. It gives you a moment to collect yourself, to process the warmth of Steve's greeting and the conflicting emotions it stirs within you.

"Right," you say, slipping into professional mode. "What's our game plan?"

Jake launches into a detailed rundown of the schedule leading up to the interview, outlining prep sessions and strategy meetings. As he speaks, you're acutely aware of Steve's presence beside you, his hand still resting lightly on your lower back. It's a casual touch, one that would look natural to anyone observing, but it sends a small thrill through you.

"We've got a mock interview scheduled for tonight after dinner, and we’ll try to wrap up between nine and ten-”

You and Steve exchange a surprised glance, both of your eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, did you say we'd be wrapping up at nine or ten?" Steve asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Jake nods, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That's right. You two marvel and joke all you want, but tomorrow isn’t just another game day, it’s the Super Bowl of interviews. You’ll need proper rest."

You can't help but chuckle, the sound bubbling up from your chest. After months of grueling 18-hour days that often stretched well past midnight, the idea of having an evening to yourselves seems almost decadent, a luxury you'd forgotten existed.

"I'm not sure I even remember what to do with free time," you joke, looking up at Steve.

“Alright, alright,” Jake says. “You get some lunch, Mrs. Rogers, and we’ll get going in about forty-five minutes.”

[OCTOBER 5 - EVENING - BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE]

The mock interview had gone well, all things considered. Lisa, always poised and professional in her role as campaign spokesperson, has taken on the role of faux-Oprah for the mock interview. She had been practicing for days, studying her posture, mannerisms, and way of speaking in order to mimic Oprah's signature warmth and openness.

Because Oprah was the one who had scooped in and taken the chance to interview Captain America and Mrs. Rogers.

Oprah.

Oprah would be in your home.

Talking to you.

Lisa had thrown many curveballs at you and Steve, probing for weak spots in your narrative and testing your ability to present a united front. For as many public addresses and press appearances as you had done, none of them had been jointly even if you and Steve had been at them together. This was the first time focusing on you and Steve as a married couple, side by side. By the end, you were mentally exhausted but reasonably confident. The real interview would be challenging, but you and Steve had a firm grasp on your rhythm and you felt prepared.

Now, as promised, you find yourself with an unexpected evening of freedom stretching out before you. The house is quiet, the campaign staff having departed for their hotels or to work on other projects. It's just you and Steve, alone in the brownstone for the first time since the awkward night after your wedding.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The quiet is almost deafening after the constant buzz of activity that's surrounded you both for so long. You can hear the tick of the antique clock in the foyer, the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the distant sound of traffic outside. It's strange, almost unsettling, to be surrounded by such stillness.

You glance at Steve, catching his eye. He looks as uncertain as you feel, standing there in the living room, hands in his pockets. The conversations over the phone while you had been apart had grown so natural, but now that you are physically together, alone as you so rarely had ever been, the question of what now? hangs in the air.

Just as you open your mouth to speak, both of your phones buzz simultaneously. You exchange a curious glance before reaching for your devices.

It's a text from Sophie.

Check the kitchen. Enjoy your evening off!

Intrigued, you and Steve make your way to the kitchen, your footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. The warm glow of the pendant lights above the island casts a cozy ambiance as you enter the room.

On the granite countertop, you find an array of options laid out before you. There's a mixing bowl, surrounded by ingredients; a package of cookie dough; a box from a bakery; and a card propped up in front.

You reach for the card, your fingers brushing against the thick cardstock. As you open it, you can't help but smile at the message inside.

Choose Your Own Cookie Adventure!

Option 1: Mix it up! All the ingredients are here for chocolate chip cookies from scratch. Recipe card included.

Option 2: Easy Bake! Pre-made dough ready to pop in the oven.

Option 3: Instant Gratification! Gourmet cookies from Levain Bakery.

Enjoy your evening off and indulge in something sweet together.

You look up at Steve, a mix of amusement and warmth spreading through your chest. "Well," you say, gesturing to the spread before you and handing him the card, "what'll it be, Captain?"

Steve's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, skimming the message and taking in the options. "I'm tempted by the instant gratification," he admits with a chuckle, "but there's something to be said for the satisfaction of making something from scratch."

You nod, excited at the prospect of doing something so normal. "I agree. So option one together?"

"Sounds perfect," Steve says, already rolling up his sleeves. "I have to warn you, though, I'm not exactly known for my baking skills."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Mine are rusty, so this should be interesting."

As you set to work, there's a comfortable ease between you that wasn't there before. The week apart seems to have reset something, allowing you to just be yourselves without the constant pressure of the campaign surrounding you.

Steve measures out the flour while you cream the butter and sugar together in the mixing bowl. The familiar motions of baking bring back memories of childhood, of lazy weekend afternoons spent in the kitchen with your mother.

"You know," you say, glancing over at Steve as he carefully levels off a cup of flour, "I used to bake cookies with my mom all the time when I was little. It was our Sunday afternoon ritual."

Steve looks up, a soft smile playing at his lips. "That sounds nice. What kind did you make?"

"Oh, all kinds," you reply, whisking the eggs into the butter mixture. "Chocolate chip was a staple, of course. But we baked through most of Martha Stewart’s cookie cookbook.”

“Sweets of any kind were a luxury when I was growing up,” Steve explains,

carefully adding the flour to your mixture.

As he says it, you remember that his formative years took place against the landscape of the Great Depression.

His voice takes on a wistful tone as he continues. "My mom would save up sometimes to make oatmeal cookies for special occasions. I remember the smell filling our tiny apartment."

You pause in your mixing, touched by the image of a young Steve eagerly anticipating his mother's rare treat. "That sounds lovely," you say softly. "I bet those were the best cookies in the world to you."

Steve nods, a faraway look in his eyes. "They really were. I've never tasted anything quite like them since."

There's a moment of comfortable silence as you both work, lost in your own thoughts and memories.

"You know," you say after a while, "I think there's something special about baking. It's not just about the end result, but the process itself. The measuring, the mixing, the way the kitchen fills with warmth and sweet aromas. It's methodical and therapeutic, in a way."

Steve nods thoughtfully as he folds chocolate chips into the dough. "I can see that. Following the steps, creating something with your hands."

You smile, watching him work. There's something endearing about seeing Captain America, the legendary super-soldier, carefully folding chocolate chips into cookie dough. "Exactly. It's a nice change of pace from the constant strategizing and speechwriting we've been doing."

As you work together to scoop the dough onto baking sheets, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter as you trade stories about kitchen mishaps and childhood memories.

Steve carefully slides the first tray of cookies into the oven, and your inner child buzzes with excellent knowing soon the kitchen will be filled with the warm, sweet aroma of chocolate and vanilla.

You lean against the counter, watching Steve as he sets the timer. There's a domesticity to this moment that catches you off guard, a glimpse of what a normal life with him might look like. It's both thrilling and terrifying. Nothing you’ve done together yet has been conventional in any way, but this is.

You grab a spoon and carve out a scoop of dough to enjoy while you wait. With this kitchen having multiple ovens, all your trays will be done at the same time.

"So, tell me more about your week," you say. "I know we talked every day, but it's not the same as being there."

Steve leans against the counter opposite you, his eyes warm as he considers your question while you savor the sweet, buttery flavor of the raw cookie dough.

"It was...different," he says thoughtfully. "Good in some ways, challenging in others. After everything that happened around Athens and Miami, I felt off-balance for the first couple of days. But the work helped ground me."

You nod, understanding exactly what he means. The campaign trail has a way of demanding your full attention, leaving little room for personal introspection.

"The rallies were energizing," Steve says, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "There's something incredible about connecting with people face-to-face, hearing their stories, their hopes for the future." He pauses, his brow furrowing slightly. "But I missed having you there beside me. It felt incomplete."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you try to keep your voice steady as you respond. "I know what you mean. The events with Helen and Zoey were amazing, but I kept turning to share something with you, only to remember you weren't there.”

Steve's eyes soften as he meets your gaze. "I'm glad we're back together now," he says quietly. "It feels right, having you here."

A comfortable silence falls between you, filled with the warm scent of baking cookies. You're acutely aware of Steve's presence across from you, the way his eyes linger on your face. There's an intensity to his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.

The timer dings, breaking the moment. Steve moves to check the cookies, and you can't help but admire the way he moves, graceful despite his size. He pulls out the trays, the smell of freshly baked cookies filling the kitchen.

"They look perfect," you say, peering over his shoulder. The cookies are golden brown, with melted chocolate chips peeking through.

Steve grins, looking pleased. "Not bad for a couple of amateurs.”

You gather a plate and some glasses from one of the cupboards. Steve fills the plate with cookies while you pour some (your preference) milk, and then the two of you gravitate to the living room and land on the couch, diving into the cookies and more conversation.

As you settle in, the warmth of the freshly baked cookies and the comfort of Steve's presence beside you create a cozy atmosphere. The living room, usually a hub of campaign activity, feels different now - intimate and personal. Like it could really be a home you and Steve could live in.

"These are actually pretty good," Steve says, taking a bite of a cookie. "Maybe we missed our calling as bakers."

You laugh, reaching for your own cookie. "I don't know about that. I think the country might have something to say if we suddenly abandoned the campaign to open a bakery."

"True," Steve chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Guess we have a back up plan.”

You laugh, and reach for another cookie.

“I have to admit, some days the idea of pulling the chute and bailing for a simpler life is too tempting."

You nod, understanding exactly what he means. "It's funny, isn't it? How something as simple as baking cookies can feel so... normal. So far removed from the craziness of our lives right now."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "It's moments like these that remind me why we're doing all of this. For a future where people can just live. Bake cookies. Spend time with their families without worrying about the next crisis."

You feel a surge of warmth at his words, at the reminder of the man you married - the one who sees beyond himself, who wants to make the world better for everyone. It’s key to why you were willing to leap blindly into the partnership. "You're right," you say softly. "It's easy to get caught up in the day-to-day chaos of the campaign and forget the bigger picture."

There's a comfortable silence as you both munch on cookies, lost in thought. The ticking of the clock and the distant hum of traffic outside continuing their soothing background noise.

"You know," Steve says after a while, turning to face you more fully on the couch, "If we win, if we don't, either way, things will never be quite 'normal', but..."

He trails off, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to continue. It's the first time either of you has really broached the subject of your future together beyond the campaign.

"But?" you prompt gently, your heart racing.

Steve meets your eyes, his gaze intense and sincere. "But I'd like to think we could have more moments like this. Quiet evenings, doing ordinary things together. Building a life that's ours, not just the one the public sees."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. It's a beautiful picture he's painting, one that you've wondered over yourself.

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest at Steve's words. The idea of building a life together, of having more quiet moments like this, is both thrilling and terrifying. You've spent so much time focusing on the campaign, on presenting the perfect image to the public, that you've barely allowed yourself to imagine what comes after. You’re married, but how married are you? How married will you be?

"I'd like that too," you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's strange, isn't it? We jumped into this marriage, into this campaign, without really knowing each other. And now..."

"And now?" Steve prompts, his eyes searching yours.

Now I can't imagine my life without you in it you think, but you don’t know if you are ready to say it.

You take a deep breath, mustering up at least some of your courage. "Now whether we're in the White House or not, I want us to keep building this."

Steve's hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. His touch is warm and comforting, grounding you in the moment.

"I want that too," he says softly, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. "When I first agreed to this arrangement, I never imagined..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly.

"What?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve's eyes meet yours, filled with an intensity that takes your breath away. "I never imagined I'd feel this way. That we'd fit together so well, not just as partners in the campaign, but as..." He pauses, searching for the right words. "As us."

Your heart races at his admission. It mirrors your own feelings so closely - the surprise at how naturally you've fallen into step with each other, the growing depth of your connection. You've both danced around this topic for months, especially the last weeks as neither of you can help but acknowledge the growing connection between you, but never quite putting it into words until now.

"I know what you mean," you say softly, squeezing his hand. "It's been unexpected, but in the best way possible."

Steve's eyes soften, a mix of relief and joy flickering across his face. His hand tightens around yours. "I'm glad I'm not alone in feeling that way," he says, his voice low and intimate.

The air between you feels charged, thick with unspoken emotions and possibilities. You're acutely aware of how close Steve is sitting, of the warmth of his hand in yours, of the way his eyes keep flickering to your lips.

"Steve," you whisper, your heart pounding.

He leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don't. Instead, you find yourself meeting him halfway.

The kiss is soft and tentative at first, a

gentle press of lips that sends a shiver down your spine. It's nothing like the chaste, public kisses you've shared for the cameras or at your wedding. It’s not even like the rushed spontaneous kiss when you got news of the Santos endorsement.

This is real, intimate, just for the two of you.

Steve's free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. You lean into his touch, your own hand moving to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

The kiss deepens, slow and exploratory. There's no rush, no urgency - just the two of you, finally allowing yourselves this moment of connection. It feels both thrilling and familiar, like coming home to a place you've never been before.

When you finally pull apart, you're both slightly breathless. Steve rests his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed, a look of contentment on his face that makes your heart swell. You take a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of your feelings and the moment you just experienced.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since we left Miami. Or longer.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

You and Steve shift back slightly, creating a small space between you, but your hands remain intertwined. The tension that had been building for weeks has eased, replaced by a warm, comfortable closeness. You both reach for another cookie, exchanging shy smiles.

"These really are good," you say, savoring the rich chocolate flavor. "We make a pretty good team in the kitchen."

Steve chuckles, his thumb absently stroking the back of your hand. "We make a good team everywhere, I think."

You nod, feeling a surge of affection for this man who has become such an integral part of your life. The living room, bathed in the soft glow of the lamps, feels like a cocoon of warmth and safety.

"I think we might need more milk," you say with a soft laugh, reaching for another cookie. The plate between you is already half empty, a testament to your shared sweet tooth and the quality of your baking.

Steve chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I'll get it," he says, but makes no move to get up, instead pulling you closer.

You sigh contentedly, resting your head on his shoulder.

As the night goes on, the conversation continues to become more intimate, more easy, more comfortable on the couch. Steve eats far too many cookies. You fight the exhaustion that’s been creeping up more insistently, especially as you feel more and more cozy on the couch and nestled against him. But at some point you lose the fight and drift off to sleep and your next moment of awareness is waking up the next morning in a plush king-sized bed, surrounded by luxurious sheets and pillows.

Steve must have carried you upstairs while you were sleeping, and you shift around to see if he’s there, only to find the other side of the bed empty and clearly untouched.

[OCTOBER 6 - MORNING - BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE]

You sigh, more than a little disappointed. But the sweetness of the time you did spend awake together eases the pain, and you have to admit that you would prefer to be alert and aware to appreciate going to bed with your husband for the first time.

You stretch, feeling the soft sheets against your skin. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine waking up next to Steve, his strong arm draped over your waist, his breath warm on your neck.

Shaking off the reverie, you swing your legs over the side of the bed to begin your day. You quickly shower in the en suite bathroom and get ready for the day. This isn’t a familiar space yet, but it is your new home, outfitted with a mix of new and familiar things for you from hair and skincare products to clothes in the closet. As you dress, you catch the faint aroma of coffee wafting up from downstairs along with the bustling noises of other people. The campaign work is already underway for the day, and you give yourself one more quick look before heading down.

Following the scent, you make your way to the kitchen. Steve is there, his back to you as he stands at the counter, pouring coffee into a mug and talking with Jake and Elsa. They immediately clock you coming in and look your way. Steve notices the shift in their attention and looks over his shoulder.

"Good morning," he says, turning to greet you with a warm smile. He looks sharp in a crisp button-down and slacks. "I hope you slept well."

"I did, thank you," you reply, padding over to the coffee maker.

Steve reaches into the cupboard to retrieve a mug and passes it to you.

"Thanks," you say, accepting the mug from Steve with a smile. As you pour your coffee, you can't help but notice how seamlessly he anticipated your needs. It's a small gesture, but it speaks to how in tune you're becoming with each other.

"Just in time to hear the final anticipated schedule for today," Jake says, his tablet in hand.

You nod, taking a sip of your coffee. "Of course. What's first on the agenda?"

As Jake begins to outline the day's activities, you and Steve stand closer to each other, your arm pressed lightly against his - or his arm pressed against yours. Either way, it’s another subtle but normal moment of intimacy.

Oprah and her team will show up around eight for breakfast and introductions. After breakfast, you’ll speak with her people while the do some initial exploration of topics and background stories to give Oprah notes and options to work from. Elsa reiterates - as she explained during the afternoon prep the day before - that this is the approach because Oprah wants her own context but to be able to have conversation within the interview for the first time, not recreating an exchange.

Lunch will be just you and Steve, Bucky and Sam, Oprah, her partner Stedman, and Oprah’s best friend Gayle. While the breakfast is for introductions, lunch is to relax and build rapport before the cameras are set up and you go into the interview.

As Jake finishes outlining the schedule, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness about the day ahead. Though you’ve developed relationships with Steve, Bucky, Sam, and many of the campaign staff, including Jake and Sophia, you can’t help wishing someone from your past was here today to be part of it all. The prospect of spending time with Oprah, one of the most influential figures in media, is both thrilling and daunting.

The house starts to buzz with even more activity. Stylists arrive to help you and Steve prepare for the day, and a catering team begins setting up for the breakfast.

You and Steve move to the living room, where Bucky and Sam are already seated, deep in conversation. As you approach, Sam looks up with a grin.

"Morning, lovebirds," he teases, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ready for the big day?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly as you settle onto the couch next to Steve. "As ready as we'll ever be, I suppose."

"You've got this," Bucky reassures you, his eyes warm and supportive.

"Remember," Sam adds, leaning forward with a grin, "if all else fails, just flash that million-dollar smile and charm Oprah like you charmed us."

You nod, grateful for his encouragement, and Steve takes your hand - which fels as much for him as for you.

Sam launches into a story about a particularly disastrous interview he once had, his animated gestures and spot-on impressions soon having all of you in stitches. Over the past few months, you've grown close to both Bucky and Sam. They've become more than just Steve's friends; they're your friends too. Bucky's quiet strength and dry humor have become a source of comfort, while Sam's infectious optimism and quick wit never fail to lift your spirits during the most stressful moments of the campaign.

There’s a stir of commotion, and you assume Oprah and her camp have arrived, but the face that comes around the corner and into the living room isn’t Oprah.

It’s Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, architect of this presidential plan, and your friend-sister-mentor, impeccably put together as always, in a crisp white blouse and tailored pants, her strawberry blonde hair falling softly over her shoulders.

Your heart leaps at the sight of her, a wave of relief and joy washing over you. Without hesitation, you jump up from the couch and rush to embrace her.

"Pepper!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms around her. "What are you doing here? I had no idea you were coming!"

"Did you really think I'd miss this? This is a huge day for both of you."

As you pull back from the hug, you can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. You had felt it, but hadn't realized how much you had craved an old familiar face, someone who knew you before all of this began.

Pepper smiles warmly, her eyes sparkling with affection. "I couldn't let you face Oprah without some moral support. Plus, I have a bit of experience with high-profile interviews myself."

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

Steve approaches, greeting Pepper with a hug as well. "It's great to have you here, Pepper. Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Pepper says, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile. "How are you both holding up?"

"Nervous," you admit. "But more secure now that you're here."

Pepper nods understandingly. "That's perfectly normal. Just remember, Oprah is incredibly skilled at making people feel comfortable. She doesn’t look to trap people or back them into a corner, she’s looking for the heart of the things that are important. Be yourselves, and you'll do great."

As if on cue, there's another commotion at the front door. This time, it's unmistakably Oprah's arrival. The energy in the house shifts instantly, a palpable excitement filling the air.

You take a deep breath, reaching for Steve's hand once more. Pepper gives you both an encouraging nod as you move towards the entryway to greet your guest.

And there she is - Oprah Winfrey, larger than life and yet somehow exactly as warm and approachable as she appears on screen. Her presence fills the room, commanding attention without even trying.

"Good morning!" Oprah greets you both with a dazzling smile, extending her hand. "It's wonderful to finally meet you in person."

Steve steps forward first, extending his hand. "Ms. Winfrey, it's an honor. Thank you for coming."

"Please, call me Oprah," she says, shaking Steve's hand warmly before turning to you. "And you must be Mrs. Rogers. I've been looking forward to getting to know you."

next part: BROOKLYN - THE INTERVIEW

I am sure we didn't find out everything you wanted to about your wedding, but... I had to leave something for Oprah! 🤭

THE UNSUNG HERO OF THIS CHAPTER IS @stargazingfangirl18!!! I was feeling very strung up with some of the ideas that I had intended for this story's plot coming up against some of the ideas that have developed as the chapters have been written, and she helped me get things sorted and to a place where I'm incredibly excited again!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x yn #red white & true #aspen wrote something

139 notes · View notes