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ladywintersoldat · 1 month ago

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Baba Yaga's Daughter ~Bucky Barnes Imagine~

Summary: You, John Wick's daughter, first meet the Winter Soldier. Then you meet him as Bucky Barnes.

Author’s Note: Based on this little prompt I wrote.

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/Tags: minor characters deaths, crossover, John Wick's daughter!reader, Winter Soldier!Bucky at first, trust issues at first

Do not repost this anywhere!

Everyone in the underground world knew you. Even though your father worked hard to make sure you weren't know, someone had saw you and John and told everyone. And because of that, your father had no choice but to train you for your own protection.

Your father hated having to train you when he had to take you in. But he knew it was for your own protection. And despite the harsh training, you wanted to be like your dad because you had lost your mother to his work and you had thought of nothing but wanting revenge for the last nine years.

"I'm going after them. The ones who killed mom," you tell your father.

You had just graduated college (as per your mother's request) and you wanted nothing but revenge for her.

"I figured," your father sighed.

"I know you didn't want me going into the business but you know I have to do this," you tell him.

"I know. That's why I put in some favors with some people who are more... friendlier than others," your dad tells you.

"How so?" You questioned.

"Told them that you would do some minor work in exchange for information on your mother's killers."

"Done. Where do I meet them?" You asked.

John motioned you to follow him so you wouldn't disturb your step-mom, Helen. You loved Helen. She was kind and never interfered with your relationship with your father. You were glad that she was the reason why your father retired from the underground world.

You both went down to the basement where he grabbed a black backpack, hidden behind some shelves.

"Had this for you when you were ready," your dad tells you, handing the backpack over to you.

"You're not going to stop me?" You questioned.

"No. Because you won't rest until they're all gone."

"I'm surprised you didn't get to them first," you tell him.

"I got to the man responsible for the leak. The others disappeared before I could get to them. Plus, I had you still. Couldn't leave you behind," your dad says.

"What's in the bag?" You asked, looking inside.

"Everything necessary for you. I've trained you to get stuff done quickly. Burner phone with my number only so I know you're alive or if you need my help, cash, and favors."

"I thought I needed to earn these favors?" You questioned.

"You're my daughter. You never need to earn favors from me. I will always be on your side no matter what," your father tells you.

"Thank you dad."

"I want updates. I know I'm retired but you know I will drop everything for you," your father says. You wrapped your arms around your father, hugging him tightly.

"I won't let you down," you tell him.

"You can never let me down. I don't want you thinking you can handle this on your own. If you need the help, call me. Don't hesitate," your dad tells you.

"I will. I love you."

"I love you too."

~~~~~

You stared down at the men that lied dead in front of you. You looked around before letting out a laugh. It was over. After two weeks, you did it. Every single man who killed your mother because she gave birth to John Wick's only child was dead.

You picked up your burner phone and called your father.

"Hello?"

"It's been done," you breathed out.

"Are you injured?"

"Just some scratches. The others had it worse," you tell him.

"Go to the Continental Hotel. Get a room and rest for the night. I'll come get you tomorrow at the cafe nearby," your dad tells you.

"Got it. And the clean up?" You asked.

"I'll send you the number. You're going to ask for a dinner reservation for the men you're with right now. Give them the address and they will come and clean up the mess. Make sure you pay them."

"How much?"

"Five."

"Got it. Thank you. I'll call you when I'm at the hotel," you tell your dad.

You waited for Charlie once you made the reservation. You sat nearby as you watched the cleanup crew take care of everything.

"Are you following your father's steps?" Charlie asked you.

"Just cleaning up some things. Thank you," you tell him, handing him the five coins.

~~~~~

You walked into the hotel before going up to the front desk. You smiled softly at Charon who was more surprised to see you.

"Y/n Wick. You've grown," he mentioned.

This wasn't the first time you had stayed at the hotel. You had been there once with your father when he went to find the man who was responsible for telling everyone about your mother, leading her to her unfortunate death.

"Hi Charon."

"Two nights?" He asked.

"Just one. My father will be picking me up in the morning."

"Of course," Charon said before giving you a hotel room key.

"Enjoy your stay Ms. Wick."

"Thank you."

You headed upstairs and up to your room. You took a hot shower before drying up and replacing some bandages on your cuts. You took out the burner phone to call your father.

"Hello?"

"At the hotel. I just showered and I'm probably gonna go to sleep already," you tell him.

"Get some rest. Then you, me, and Helen can go out for dinner tomorrow? Celebrate your graduation already," your dad suggested.

"I'd like that."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll see you tomorrow. Night dad."

"Night sweetheart."

You heard a knock on your door, making you get up from the bed to answer it. You opened it to see a worker standing in front of you. They held a garment bag in their hand as they stood in front of you.

"Mr. Scott asks you to join him for dinner."

"I don't have a dress for the occasion," you tell them.

"A gift from him. He'll be expecting you at the restaurant," they tell you, handing you the bag.

"Thank you," you say.

Once you made yourself presentable, you walked downstairs to meet with the owner. You found him sitting alone, a drink in his hand as he looked down at some book.

"Mr. Scott?" You say, getting his attention. Winston Scott looked over at you before getting out from his chair.

"Y/n Wick. It's been a while since I last saw you," he greeted, kissing your cheeks. He pushed your chair out so you could sit in it. You sat down as he pushed the chair in for you.

"How are you Mr. Scott?" You asked.

"Doing well. I heard you graduated college. What did you major in?"

"I double majored in political science and nursing."

"I'm sure your father is proud."

"He is. Is there any reason to why you asked me to join you for dinner?" You asked.

"A celebration for your graduating in college. But I also wanted to ask you if you plan on following in your father's footsteps?"

"I hate to break it to you but I am not. I was just... cleaning some things up," you explain.

"I see. Well then. Shall we eat?"

"Yes please."

Whispers began to grow in the restaurant. You looked over to see a man with a bodyguard with him. Except, the bodyguard had a metal arm with a red star on the bicep area.

"Please excuse me," Mr. Scott says. You nodded as you kept your eye on the bodyguard.

He wore a mask to cover his lower face. You watched as Winston Scott talked to the man with the body guard. The three men walked over to the table before joining you as well.

"I don't believe we've met," the man tells you as you stood up.

"No we haven't. I'm Y/n Wick," you introduced yourself. You watched as the man's face grow more pale.

"As in John Wick's daughter?" He asked.

"The very one."

"Is your father here?" The man asked, looking around.

"No. Not at the moment," you say.

"Forgive my rudeness. Ivan Titov," the man introduced himself.

"Pleasure," you say. You looked over at the masked man.

"And you sir?" You asked.

The masked man didn't speak.

"Please do not mind him. He is just here as a precaution for me," Ivan tells you. You glanced at Winston as he just gave a nod. You looked back and nodded.

"Well then gentlemen, should we eat?" You asked.

"Of course. Please," Winston said.

You sat back down before looking up at the masked man. He continued to stand nearby, watching over Ivan.

"Is your body guard going to eat as well?" You asked Ivan.

"He'll eat later," Ivan assures you. You nodded before looking down at the menu.

"He knows not to fight in here correct?" Winston asked Ivan.

"Of course. But as I said before. He is just for extra security."

"Y/n, have you heard of the Winter Soldier?" Winston asked you.

"No. Who is he?" You asked.

"He is my body guard. A fine soldier that serves under Hydra," Ivan said. You stared up at the Winter Soldier as he stared back at you.

"Does he have to wear the mask?" You asked.

"Yes."

"I see," you say, looking away.

After your meal, you wanted nothing more than to go to your room.

"Thank you for the meal, Mr. Scott. It was delicious."

"Of course."

"I must ask before you leave, Ms. Wick. Are you following into your father's path?" Ivan asked you.

"No. I just had to do something. But I will be off to finding a job that doesn't involve with this line of work," you explained.

"Of course," Winston nodded at you.

"Goodnight gentlemen," you smiled politely. The two stood up as you got up. You turned to leave but tripped over the chair's stand. Ivan's body guard quickly caught you, making you look up at him. You stared into his blue eyes for a bit.

"Thank you. I apologize for my clumsiness," you say, straightening yourself up.

"Are you alright though?"

"Yes."

"Why don't my body guard escort you back to your room? Make sure you don't trip and fall again," Ivan joked.

"If you don't mind," you say.

"Of course not. солдат. проводи молодую леди в ее комнату. убедись, что она не станет лакомством для гидры. (Soldier. Escort the young lady to her room. make sure she isn't a treat to Hydra).

"да, сэр."

"Thank you, Ivan. Goodnight," you tell the two before walking off.

"You don't have to walk me back," you tell Ivan's body guard. He stayed silent as you both got into the elevator.

"If it's alright, can I ask to see your face?" You asked him. "See who my savior was from letting me fall on my face?"

He stayed silent as he stared at you. You let out a small sigh before the elevator doors opened. You walked back to your room but stopped before you entered the key.

"Please? I'm curious to see who you are," you tell him.

The masked man stayed silent as you reached up to his mask. He quickly grabbed your wrist, making you jump a little in surprise.

"I cannot allow that," the masked man says.

"Of course. Sorry. Goodnight," you say, opening your room door. "And thank you. For saving me."

The Winter Soldier felt a little surprise as you said thank you for saving him. He wasn't a savior. He was a killer. But yet, you thanked him for saving you. He watched as you closed your door, leaving him alone to head back to his handler.

~~~~~

Six months had gone and you had forgotten about the body guard. And you haven't stepped foot back into the underground world.

You grabbed your breakfast sandwich as well as your coffee before heading out of the cafe. You walked along the sidewalk until you got to the stop light. Today felt like a calming day. The weather wasn't too bad or too warm. You looked around at the crowd before your eyes landed on a familiar figure.

Bucky felt the presence the moment you got close enough to see him. He turned around to see you standing by the corner. The woman from six months ago at the Continental Hotel. The moment your eyes met his, you knew that he was the body guard from before.

You turned away, heading to an alleyway where you hope he would follow you. And sure enough, he did.

"I know you," you tell him. "You're the body guard from the hotel."

"I'm not that man anymore," Bucky says.

"Mmm. Can I ask you this at least? Are you doing okay?" you asked him.

That was a first. Were you always this caring? Were you an assassin? Why were you at the Continental Hotel? Are you part of Hydra? So many questions ran through Bucky's mind.

"I'm okay."

"You don't look okay. Do you even have a place to stay?" You asked him.

"I'll be fine."

"Uh huh. Look, why don't you come back with me? You look lost," you tell him.

"You don't want to be close to me," Bucky warned.

"Try me," you challenged.

"Who are you with? Hydra?"

"Hydra? That Nazi organization that just crumbled? No. I'm not affiliated with any organization nor do I want to."

"Then why were you at that hotel?" Bucky questioned.

"I needed a place to stay for the night," you shrugged.

Bucky could tell you weren't lying. And based on your outfit which was a thin skirt and a thin blouse that complimented your figure, you couldn't have been hiding any big or major weapons.

"Look, I'm not going to attack you and I can feel that you're not going to attack me. All I want to do is help because I can see that you need it," you tell him.

"How can you tell?"

"I'm good at reading body language. I'm not going to hurt you," you say, taking a step forward to Bucky. "You can trust me."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Bucky asked.

You nodded at him- knowing that he was still on guard. You took out your small notepad in your purse along with a pen. You wrote down your address before handing it to him.

"Look, if you want, to show that I am friendly, here is my address. If you want to take up on my offer, you can. I'm not here to hurt you or hurt anyone. I already completed what I needed to do and I am just living my life," you tell him. Bucky took the small piece of paper before you walked away from him.

Two days later, Bucky showed up to your door. But before he came to you, he watched you. Making sure you weren't some secret Hydra spy that was trying to get him back. Instead, Bucky found you to be nothing but normal.

"If I asked for your help and you betray me, I won't hesitate in killing you," Bucky tells you.

"Same here," you tell him before letting him inside.

You tossed him some spare clothes that you bought just in case.

"Was prepared in case you would take up my offer. Here's some spare clothes. Go shower and we can talk," you tell him.

"You sure you're okay taking in a complete stranger?" He asked.

"Back then you seemed helpless in a way. I just want to help. Besides, call it even since you saved me from when I tripped," you tell him.

"I don't think it's smart for you to help someone like me," Bucky tells you.

"I'm a big girl, I can handle myself," you tell him.

Bucky got out of the shower as you were cooking dinner. You put a plate on the table for him and yourself before sitting down.

"I made some dinner if you're hungry," you offered.

"Thank you."

"It's good to know you eat. Last time I met you, you weren't allowed to eat with us. Felt kinda awkward just eating in front of you," you admitted.

"I wasn't allowed to even if I was able to join you."

"Why not? Were you some kind of puppet?" You asked.

"Yeah. I was."

You fell silent. You mentally kicked yourself for asking that.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You didn't know. At least I hope you didn't know."

"Why don't we start over? I'm Y/n. Y/n Wick," you introduced yourself.

"Bucky."

"No last name?"

"I can't remember."

You stared at him confused.

"What did they do to you?" You asked. Bucky looked over at you. You can see the sadness in his eyes.

"A lot."

"If you want, I can help you when you're ready to open up," you offered.

"Thank you."

~~~~~

“I knew him,” Bucky tells you as he stared at the screen. You looked over to see Captain America on the screen.

“Bucky, if you know him, then we should talk to him. He has the resources that can help you,” you tell him.

It’s been a month since Bucky came to you for help. And during that time, you did what you can to help him remember. It was a slow process but he began to remember some minor things.

“I don’t think I can,” Bucky says.

“Do you want me to come with you?” You asked.

“Would you?” Bucky asked.

“Of course. But we should be prepared in case something goes wrong. Better to be prepared,” you said.

You walked into your room and opened your closet. You moved the fake wall away, revealing your hidden weapons. You grabbed some handguns and some knives before walking out.

“Come on. Let’s go talk to Steve,” you said.

“And if he asks me to stay with him and the Avengers?” Bucky asked.

“You should. Like I said, they can help you better than I can,” you tell him.

“But I want you with me. I can’t do this without you. You’re a great fighter. I’ve seen you before,” Bucky tells you.

“I’m not really interested in affiliating myself with an organization. I already told you this,” you remind him.

“Please. I need you,” Bucky said, holding your hand with his left. You stared at your hands. This was the first he’s ever held you with his metal arm.

“Fine. I’ll stay with you.”

You arrived to the Avengers Tower with Bucky. Bucky had told the receptionist to let Steve know that Bucky was here for him. Which didn’t take long for Steve to come down with some backup.

“Bucky?” Steve asked.

“It’s me. I’m not The Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky tells him. “I came for help.”

“And her?” Steve asked looking at you. You gave a little wave as you leaned against the front desk.

“She stays with me. She convinced me to come here,” Bucky said.

“Civilian?” Steve asked.

“Not exactly,” you answered.

“Who are you?” Natasha asked.

“Y/n Wick,” you answered.

The last name instantly hit Natasha. But it seemed that it didn't phase Bucky, which meant he didn't know who your father was.

“Y/n said you would be able to help me,” Bucky tells Steve.

“Of course. I’m here with you buddy. Till the end of the line,” Steve said. Bucky looked at you before reaching his hand out to you. You took his hand before you both followed Steve, Natasha, and Sam to the elevator.

“Does he know about you?” Natasha asked you.

“Not fully,” you explained.

“Will you tell him?”

“When the timings right,” you shrugged.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #daughter!reader #alisonwritesimagines

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ladywintersoldat · 2 months ago

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Bonus:

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ladywintersoldat · 2 months ago

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He got it from his husband 😗

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ladywintersoldat · 2 months ago

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#hot 🔥#bucky barnes #murder thighs

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ladywintersoldat · 2 months ago

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Such a beautiful ending to an amazing journey!!

I’m still basking in the afterglow of RW&T ☺️ But a hoe can’t help but wonder…what would spicy alone time be like once election night and surprise night!! are over and Mr. and Mrs. Rogers are finally alone? 😏😘

This ask got my mind working, and then my muse sat me down and got me writing, and what I ended up with answering for this ask turned out to be better than the other idea I had originally intended to shuffle out as the epilogue, so...

Red, White & True: Election Day, Pt. 4 EPILOGUE

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 2.9k Summary: The hours after the election results are made official are full of public and press and speeches and congratulations and celebrations, but, at the end of the night, it's just you and Steve. Together.

Content/Warnings: political/campaign discussions, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn, strangers to friends to true love, SMUT (unprotected vaginal intercourse), feels, so many feels

Notes: 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

It is after 2am when you take a very full elevator ride up to the fifteenth floor with Steve and your friends, all squished together.

The Secret Service detail bid you good night as you and Steve reach the door to your suite, separating from your friends who continue down the hall to their own rooms. The giddy energy that's carried you through this whirlwind evening still buzzes between you, though exhaustion is beginning to creep in around the edges.

As the door closes behind you with a soft click, you get to shut out the rest world for the night. The suite is exactly as you left it—your stained blouse still draped over a chair, the garment bag from your wedding dress now empty on the bed, and Steve’s hastily discarded tux hung over another chair—but everything else has changed.

"Mr. President-Elect," you murmur, the title still feeling foreign on your tongue as you slip off your heels.

Steve's eyes find yours in the dim light of the suite, his expression softening. "I still can't believe it," he admits, loosening his tie with one hand, shrugging out of his suit jacket with the other. "I keep waiting to wake up."

"Which part?" you ask, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you move toward him. "Winning the presidency or marrying me twice?"

Steve laughs, the sound soft and intimate in the quiet of the room. He reaches for you, hands settling on your waist to draw you against him. "Both feel equally improbable," he admits. "But I know which one matters more."

His eyes hold yours with such intensity that your breath catches. After everything—the speeches, the crowds in Central Park chanting his name, the congratulatory calls from world leaders already flooding in—he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.

"I love you," you whisper, sliding your hands up his chest to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair.

"I love you too," Steve murmurs against your lips, pulling you closer. "More than I ever thought possible."

His kiss is tender yet passionate, carrying all the emotion of this extraordinary day. You melt against him, your bodies fitting together perfectly as his hands trace the curve of your spine.

Steve's phone rings, the sound harsh and intrusive in the quiet intimacy of the room. He groans against your mouth, hesitating for a beat before reluctantly pulling away to check the caller ID.

"It's Jake," he says, his brow furrowing. "At this hour?"

You glance at the bedside clock—2:17 AM. "You should take it. He wouldn't call unless it was important."

Steve sighs, looking torn between duty and desire. You place a gentle hand on his chest. "I'll get ready for bed," you whisper, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Steve nods and answers, "Jake, what's up?" His expression shifts as he listens, brow furrowing with concentration. "I see... Yes... Hold on." He covers the mouthpiece and mouths "sorry" to you.

"It's fine," you whisper. "Come join me when you're done."

Steve gives you a grateful smile before returning to his call, his voice dropping to that serious presidential tone you're still getting used to. You slip away into the bedroom, leaving him to handle whatever new development has arisen in the hours since you became the First Lady-elect.

In the bathroom you brush your teeth and wash your face, removing the makeup that somehow survived tears, kisses, and the chaos of a historic night. In the mirror, you catch sight of your wedding dress - the only thing you took time to carefully hang I the closet before rushing to change into something more appropriate for Steve's victory speech and rushing back into campaign mode.

The delicate fabric gleams softly in the dim light, and I find myself drawn toward it. My fingers trace the intricate lace at the neckline, remembering how it felt to wear it tonight—not as a political prop but as a woman in love. The dress had now witnessed both the beginning of your arrangement and the true beginning of your marriage. And yet both times, you’d missed out on one final element.

But it was something you could still experience.

A smile curves your lips as the idea forms. With a decisive motion, you reach for the wedding dress, slipping it off the hanger. The silk whispers against your skin as you pull it over your head, the familiar weight settling around you. It feels different now—charged with meaning and memory.

When you step back into the bedroom, Steve has just ended his call, placing his phone onto the dresser with a sigh that transforms into stunned silence when he sees you.

You move toward him slowly, the dress rustling around your ankles. "I realized there's one wedding tradition we missed. Twice now."

“I would hate to shirk on such an important responsibility,” Steve responds, understanding what you mean. His eyes darken as they travel the length of your body, taking in the elegant silhouette of the dress that now represents not duty, but choice. His choice. Your choice.

"You are..." he begins, words failing him as you reach him. His hands hover at your waist,

reverent in their restraint. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he finally manages, voice rough with emotion.

You reach up to cup his face, thumb brushing against his beard. The word hangs in the air between you as you and Steve look at each other, alone and with nowhere else to be.

Slowly, softly, Steve raises his hand to trace his fingers over the neckline of your dress, touching it with the same reverence one might touch a priceless artifact.

This.

This was why you wanted to put the dress on for him one more time.

Steve leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that steals your breath away. It's tender at first, almost worshipful, but deepens as his hands finally settle on your waist, drawing you against him. You feel the solid warmth of his chest through the delicate fabric of your dress, anchoring you in this moment that feels suspended between dream and reality.

His hands slide to the back of your dress, fingers finding the delicate row of buttons that run down your spine. He breaks the kiss only to turn you gently, and you can feel his warm breath against your neck as he begins to undo each button with deliberate care.

"I've wanted to do this since the first time I saw you in this dress," he confesses, his voice low and intimate in the quiet room. His fingers brush against your skin as each button comes undone, sending shivers down your spine. "Even then, when I barely knew you."

You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of his touch. "I wasn't the only one thinking about it that night?"

"Not even close," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he reaches the last button at the small of your back. The dress loosens, silk sliding against your skin as he slowly pushes it off your shoulders. You turn to face him as it pools at your feet, leaving you in nothing but the delicate lingerie you'd worn beneath.

Steve's breath catches, his eyes darkening as they take in the sight of you. The reverence in his gaze makes you feel powerful, cherished, desired. You reach for him, fingers working at his belt with urgency.

"Mr. President-Elect," you whisper against his lips, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "I believe you're overdressed for the occasion."

His laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against yours. "Can't have that, Mrs. Rogers."

You reach for his tie, already loosened earlier, and pull it completely free. As the silk slips through your fingers, his hands come up to cup your face, the kiss deeper now, filled with a hunger that's been building all evening. Between the historic victory and your surprise wedding, you've both been surrounded by people, forced to maintain the public faces expected of you. But now, alone in this suite, you can finally be just Steve and his wife—no titles, no expectations, just the two of you and the love that grew against all odds.

Your hands make quick work of his shirt buttons, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He shrugs out of it, letting it fall to join your dress on the floor. The sculpted planes of his chest never fail to take your breath away, and you trace your fingers over the warm skin and chest hair, feeling his heart pounding beneath your palm.

"I still can't believe this is real," you whisper, pressing your lips to his jaw.

When your hands move to his belt again, Steve catches your wrists, bringing them to his lips. "Slow down," he murmurs against your skin. "We have all night. We have forever."

The word 'forever' sends a thrill through you.

Steve's hands slide up your arms, across your shoulders, and cup your face with infinite tenderness. His thumbs trace your cheekbones as he looks at you with such intensity it makes your heart race.

"I want to remember every moment of this night," he says.

“Me, too,” you agree.

Steve lifts you with effortless strength, cradling you against his chest as he carries you to the bed. He lays you down with such tenderness it makes your heart ache, following you down until his body hovers over yours, his weight supported on his forearms.

"I never thought I'd have this," he confesses, voice rough with emotion as he looks down at you. The vulnerability in his eyes makes your breath catch. "Any of it. A second chance at life. Someone to share it with. The opportunity to serve my country again."

You reach up to trace the furrow between his brows, smoothing it away with gentle fingers. "You deserve it all, Steve. Everything."

He captures your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before guiding it above your head. His lips find yours again in a kiss that steals your breath—passionate yet unhurried, as if memorizing the taste and feel of you. His other hand slides down your side, tracing the fullness of your waist, the flare of your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin as his lips trace a path down your neck. "I love you," he repeats, the words a promise pressed into the hollow of your throat, the curve of your shoulder, the swell of your breast.

Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him to you as sensation spirals through your body. Every touch, every kiss feels heightened. His beard creates a delicious friction against your sensitive skin, making you arch beneath him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as his mouth continues its journey downward, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts through the delicate fabric of your bra. His hand ghosts over the edge of the lace, and he glances up, seeking permission in your eyes before deftly unhooking the clasp.

The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on your newly exposed skin, quickly chased away by the heat of Steve's mouth. His tongue traces patterns that make you gasp, your body responding to his touch with an urgency that has you feeling heady. His fingers dip beneath the edge of your panties, finding you already slick with want for him. The sound he makes—half groan, half reverent sigh—sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

"Steve," you breathe, his name a plea on your lips as he works you with precision, knowing already how to touch you to bring you to the edge.

Your hands fumble with his belt again, and this time he doesn't stop you. Together you rid him of his remaining clothes until there's nothing between you but skin and heat and the promise of what's to come. He settles between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing against you in a way that makes you both gasp.

For a heartbeat, he pauses, hovering above you with those earnest blue eyes trained on yours. "My wife," he whispers, the words filled with wonder.

"My husband," you answer, reaching up to trace his jaw with reverent fingers.

When he finally slides into you, it's with a slow deliberation that makes you both sigh with pleasure. Your bodies find a rhythm as ancient as time itself, yet wholly new in the depths of emotion behind each movement. His forehead presses against yours, his breath mingling with your own as you move together, building toward something transcendent.

Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper, and he groans your name against your neck. The sound of it—raw, unfiltered desire—pushes you closer to the edge. His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding the spot that makes you arch beneath him.

"Look at me," he whispers, and your eyes flutter open to meet his. The connection between you in that moment goes beyond physical—it's your souls recognizing each other, finding each other when neither of you thought you’d get to experience love like this.

The intensity of his gaze is your undoing. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, and you cry out his name as your body tightens around him. Steve follows you moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buries his face in your neck, a strangled groan escaping him as he finds his release.

For several heartbeats, you remain tangled together, breathing heavily, skin damp with exertion. The weight of him anchors you to the moment, to this reality that still feels dreamlike in its perfection. Eventually, he shifts to lie beside you, drawing you against his chest where you can hear the steady thump of his heart gradually slowing.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare shoulder as you both bask in the afterglow. The city outside continues its restless pulse, but in here, time seems suspended. Tomorrow will bring responsibilities and challenges unlike any you've faced before, but tonight belongs to just the two of you.

Steve presses a kiss to your forehead, his beard tickling your skin. "I can't believe we have to be up in four hours," he murmurs, though there's no real complaint in his voice.

"Worth it," you reply, snuggling closer to his warmth. "Though I suspect this is good practice for presidential sleep schedules."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. "True. Jake was calling about the transition team meetings tomorrow. They've moved everything back an hour, thank god."

"Thoughtful of them," you say, tracing idle patterns through the hair on his chest. "Good thing you took the call then.”

"Mmm." Steve hums in agreement, his fingers still tracing lazy patterns along your spine. "But I'm thinking we might need to establish some boundaries. No more 2 AM calls unless the country is actively under attack."

You laugh softly against his chest. "I'm not sure the leader of the free world gets that luxury."

"Maybe not," he concedes, shifting to look down at you, his expression suddenly more serious. "But I want to make sure we don't lose this—us—in everything that's coming."

The weight of what lies ahead settles over you both. In just a few hours, your lives will accelerate into a whirlwind of transition meetings, security briefings, and the thousand details involved in preparing to move into the White House. The thought makes your stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"We won't," you promise, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with gentle fingers. "We'll make time for us, even with everything else. I've seen how seriously you take your commitments, Steve Rogers. And I happen to know I'm one of them."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "The most important one," he corrects you, blue eyes intense in the dim light.

You smile, feeling a wave of tenderness wash over you. "Then we'll figure it out together. Day by day."

Steve nods, pulling you closer against him. "Together," he echoes. The word holds new meaning now—not just the two of you navigating a fake relationship or even a real one, but partners facing the scrutiny and demands of leading a nation.

You settle against him, your body molding perfectly to his as exhaustion finally begins to claim you both. His breathing gradually deepens, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you toward sleep. But before you surrender completely, you take a moment to commit this to memory—the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady rhythm of his heart, the faint city lights filtering through the curtains casting a soft glow over the sanctuary of this room.

Just before you drift off completely, you feel his lips press against your hair.

"Good night, Mrs. Rogers," he whispers. "Thank you for saying yes. To all of it."

You smile drowsily, nestling closer. "Best decision I ever made," you mumble against his skin, finally drifting into sleep.

This night marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another—for you, for Steve, for the country. Whatever challenges await in the morning, right now, wrapped in each other's arms, you are exactly where you're meant to be.

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ladywintersoldat · 2 months ago

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I love this chapter so much!!! Happy new chapters and growth. Can't wait to see the epilogue and deleted scenes. Great job and thank you for taking us on this journey. Stay Gold!

Red, White & True: Election Day in New York, Pt. 3 [17/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 5.8k Summary: Everything draws to an end, and results are coming in.

Content/Warnings: political/campaign discussions, marriage of political convenience, slow burn, really the slowest burn, strangers to friends to true love

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

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[NOVEMBER 3 - 7:52PM - FIFTEENTH FLOOR SUITE, THE PLAZA HOTEL]

A handful of states close their polls at 6pm, and so as you sit up in the suite eating dinner with staffers and your parents, you’re starting to see a few spots on the map change from grey to red or blue. Kentucky and South Carolina have gone red; Vermont, Virginia, and North Carolina are in the blue; and nothing has been projected or called for Steve yet - who will show up in green on the map. The campaign spent a lot of time jumping in and out of Georgia since it would be a key swing state for everyone, and their polls closed at seven, but it will likely be hours before things are definitively called there.

With three major contenders, a candidate only needs a minimum of 34% of the ballots to take their votes in the electoral college in forty-eight of the fifty states.

Your father passes you a plate of appetizers from the elaborate spread catering has set out. In true Plaza fashion, every morsel looks like a miniature work of art, but your appetite is fickle as you watch the electoral map with one eye while trying to maintain conversation with the others in the room.

"You've barely touched your food," your mother observes, her voice low with concern. "You need to keep your strength up. It's going to be a long night."

"I know, I'm just nervous." You gesture vaguely toward the television where Anderson Cooper and Jake Tapper are holding court with a robust cohort of political analysts and thought leaders, debating and analyzing all the developments so far. In addition to the presidential race, there are Senate and House races that will determine how things will stack up in Congress.

She puts a hand over yours with a knowing smile. "I remember your father before his first big promotion decision. Couldn't eat for two days."

"That was different," your father protests mildly, though his eyes twinkle with amusement. “Nothing close to a presidential race.”

On the television screens throughout the suite, CNN's John King stands at his "Magic Wall," the giant interactive electoral map that has become a fixture of election night coverage. The camera catches him mid-sentence as he zooms in on the Midwest.

"—and we're just getting the first results from Indiana now," his voice carries over the ambient conversation in the room. "With sixty-two percent of precincts reporting, we can now project that Indiana will go to Independent candidate Steve Rogers."

The room falls silent, all eyes turning to the screens as a section of the map flashes and then fills with green—the color the networks have designated for your campaign.

"Indiana," King continues, tapping the state with practiced precision, "with its eleven electoral votes, becomes the first state to be called for the Rogers-Young ticket tonight. This is significant, folks. Indiana has traditionally been a Republican stronghold in presidential elections. The last time it went Democratic was for Barack Obama in 2008, and that was considered a major upset at the time. For Rogers to take Indiana suggests that the independent campaign has successfully carved into traditional Republican territory."

A cheer erupts from the campaign staff, high-fives and hugs exchanged across the room. Jake punches the air, his face alight with vindication.

"I told you the ground game there was working!" he exclaims to no one in particular. "Those extra rallies in Fort Wayne and Evansville paid off!"

Your father wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. "First one on the board," he says, his voice thick with pride.

"It's just one state," you remind him, though you can't help the flutter of excitement in your chest.

"But it's a sign," your mother adds, her eyes bright. "People are listening."

Steve makes his way over to you, navigating through the celebrating staffers. When he reaches you, he leans down to kiss your cheek, his eyes bright with cautious optimism.

"One green state on the board," he murmurs against your ear.

"Eleven electoral votes closer to two-seventy," you reply, referencing the magic number needed to win the presidency. "Only two hundred and fifty-nine to go."

With the first green state on the board, it’s no longer a pipe dream that Steve could win states. But the question is will he - or Monroe or Peterson - earn the two hundred and seventy needed to win the presidency outright?

The network cuts to a commercial break, and you take the opportunity to check your phone. Messages have been pouring in all night—from friends, former colleagues, even a few celebrities who've publicly supported the campaign. But one text catches your eye—from Oprah.

Indiana's just the beginning. Keep watching Ohio. I've got a feeling.

Ohio would be an incredible get. But so was landing an interview with Oprah, who’s now optimistically texting you on election night.

You glance across the room at your husband - former Captain America - speaking to the current Captain America and shake your head ever so slightly.

How is this your life?

The evening progresses in a blur of projections and anticipation. Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Governor Peterson’s home state of Michigan remain too close to call, but Florida's thirty electoral votes flash red at 9:15 PM, sending a wave of grumbling and groaning through the room. Connecticut and Delaware come in as green to give Steve ten more votes between them.

Maine - one of the two states that can allocate votes - doles out three blue to Monroe, but Steve takes one green from their share. Missouri, New Jersey, and Rhode Island come in for Steve, but it’s still only 50 votes with Peterson at 36 and Monroe taking most of Democratic New England to sit at 63.

Steve paces, he stands in quiet consternation by the window, dives into data with Jake, and cycles back through it all again and again. Jake is adamant that Steve shouldn’t appear in public again until it’s time for his speech - that visits to the crowd in Central Park or in the Grand Ballroom downstairs should only come from his VP candidate Charlie Young, Charlie’s wife Zoey, or you.

You find yourself drifting to Steve's side as he stands alone by the window, looking out at the Manhattan skyline glittering against the night. His reflection in the glass shows a man deep in thought, shoulders tense despite his attempt to appear composed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you ask softly, sliding your arm through his.

He turns slightly, offering you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just wondering what the Founding Fathers would think of all this. Three viable candidates, a former Avenger on the ballot..."

"I think they'd be impressed by how far we've come," you reply, leaning into his warmth. "Democracy evolving, adapting."

"Or they'd be horrified that a super soldier could potentially be president."

You squeeze his arm. "They'd see what I see—a good man trying to do what he can for his country."

Before Steve can respond, there’s another joyous uproar when Illinois and its nineteen votes go green for Steve, bringing him up to 69 votes and surpassing Monroe for the first time tonight.

The energy in the room spikes with each new state called. Aides rush back and forth with updated numbers, tablets displaying real-time data from key precincts. The clink of glasses and nervous laughter punctuate the tension as everyone watches the map slowly fill with colors.

Sophia weaves through the crowd toward you, tablet clutched in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other. Her face is flushed with excitement, eyes bright with the adrenaline that's keeping everyone going.

"We just got word from our team in Ohio," she says breathlessly, leaning in close so you can hear over the chatter. "The numbers from Cleveland and Columbus are stronger than we projected. If the trend holds—"

Just then, Jake calls out from across the room, "Pennsylvania's been called by AP! We took those nineteen, baby!”

The room erupts at Steve taking his first swing state off the board from red or blue, with people jumping and hugging, including yourself and Sophia.

In your excitement, you don't notice Sophia's drink tilting precariously until it's too late. Cold liquid splashes across your silk blouse, the dark cola creating an instant stain that spreads down your front. The icy sensation makes you gasp, jumping back reflexively as the room continues celebrating around you.

"Oh my God!" Sophia's eyes widen in horror, her hand flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I can't believe I just did that." Her face flushes crimson, mortification replacing her previous excitement. "I'm never this clumsy!"

"It's just a Diet Coke," you assure her, grabbing a nearby napkin to try and dab away at the liquid - but it’s reflex more than anything. You know it won’t help in this case. “I’ll go change, it’s fine.”

Sophia grimaces in sympathy. “I think there’s a change of clothes already laid out for you in case something like this happened.”

You laugh. “It’ll be good to stretch my legs anyway. I’ll be right back.”

You slip out of the suite without drawing any attention to yourself - except for your Secret Service agent, who falls in step with you - and head down the hallway.

With Pennsylvania in the pile with Kansas, Louisiana, and Iowa that came in just before, Steve’s up at 108 electoral votes.

Peterson’s red has surged up to 90, but Monroe’s blue have held steady at only 63.

So a little Diet Coke spill cannot dampen the buzz of impossible excitement you’re feeling in your bones.

The agent remains in the hallway once you key in the door. The Secret Service has had this floor on lockdown all day, precluding a need to check your room.

You kick off your heels immediately, then step in front of the mirror to survey the damage and laugh to yourself. It’s bad. But months on the campaign trail mean your team has extra clothes ready to swap out for you or Steve at any given moment. And, sure enough, when you step through the small sitting room into the bedroom of the suite there’s a garment bag laid across the king size bed. You begin to unbutton your blouse, then blink and turn back to look at the bag again.

“No…” you say out loud to no one, as you step closer to the foot of the bed. “What…?”

Why is your wedding dress here? Surely it’s not some symbolic nod they want you and Steve to make about your arranged marriage… That would be insane.

There’s a click of the lock at the door, and then Steve’s voice. “Sweetheart?”

Your heart rockets all a-flutter in your chest at the way the endearment rolls so naturally off his tongue.

“In here,” you call, your voice wavering slightly as you stare at the wedding dress.

Steve appears in the doorway, and you immediately notice he's changed out of his navy suit into a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. His eyes find yours, then follow your gaze to the garment bag on the bed.

You note that he doesn’t look surprised at all.

Instead there is a curious mix of determination and vulnerability in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"Steve, why is my wedding dress here?"

"Because I was hoping you might wear it again," he says, his voice low and steady despite the emotion you can see flickering in his eyes.

"Wear it again?" you repeat, confusion clouding your thoughts. "Tonight? For what?"

Steve crosses the room slowly, his movements deliberate as he comes to stand before you. The soft light of the bedroom casts shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the earnestness in his eyes. He takes your hands in his, and you're surprised to find them slightly trembling.

Or is that you?

"Sophia's drink was no accident," he says with a half-smile, and suddenly everything clicks into place—the furtive conversation with Bucky and Sam, the meaningful glances, Sophia's uncharacteristic clumsiness. "I needed a moment alone with you."

You shake your head in disbelief, but warmth is spreading through your chest as realization dawns. "In the middle of election night?"

Steve's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, his touch grounding you as the world seems to tilt on its axis. "I couldn't think of a more perfect time."

Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours.

"These last months have been the most extraordinary of my life," he continues, his voice gaining strength. "Not because of the campaign or the people or the possibility of making a better future for the country, though all those pieces have been incredible in their own right, but because of you. Because I've had the privilege of falling in love with my wife—really falling in love with you—day by day, moment by moment."

Your heart swells at his words, eyes misting as you see the raw sincerity in his gaze. This is Steve Rogers—not Captain America, not the presidential candidate—just the man who has become your whole world.

“You were asked to be my wife,” Steve says, matter-of-fact, “and not even by me, but now I want to ask if I can be your husband?”

"Steve," you breathe, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

"Tonight, the country is deciding if they want me as their president, but I already know what I want. I want you, for the rest of my life, not because a strategy demanded it, but because I love you. Because I choose you. Because when I look at my future—whether it's in the White House or back at our brownstone in Brooklyn or anywhere on this earth—the only thing I know for certain is that I want you beside me."

Emotion makes your throat ache as you watch him gradually sink to one knee before you. The gesture is so achingly traditional, so sweetly earnest coming from a man who has lived through a century of change, that tears spring to your eyes.

"Steve Rogers," you whisper, cupping his face with your free hand, "are you proposing to me on election night?"

"We've done everything backwards," Steve continues, a gentle smile playing at his lips. "Had our wedding before our courtship, built a life together before we even knew if we wanted one. But I'm asking you now, marry me again tonight?"

“We’re a little busy!” you laugh breathlessly.

He cocks his head to the side. “No, we’re not. Polls are still open on the West Coast, and in Alaska and Hawaii. Unless you’re refusing me…”

You can hear the tone of sarcasm in the last part, but you’re still quick to exclaim, “No!” practically shouting. “I mean, yes, of course I want to marry you again," you say, your heart soaring. "But when you say tonight, you mean…"

"I mean right now." The smile that breaks across his face is radiant, making your heart flutter. He stands, pulling you against him in one smooth motion, his arms encircling your waist.

"But how? When?" you ask, your mind racing with logistics even as joy bubbles up inside you. "We can't just—"

"We can," he interrupts gently. "It's all arranged. The Terrace Room is ready for us. Your parents and our closest friends are here. Since technically we’re renewing vows, we don’t need an ordained officiant, but Sam knows a chaplain who works with the VA, and he’s waiting for us downstairs."

You blink in amazement. "You planned all this? During the most important night of the campaign?"

"This is the most important night of our lives," Steve corrects you, his hands warm and steady at your waist. "Not because of the election, but because it's another beginning for us. Our real beginning."

Your eyes search his face, finding nothing but absolute certainty there. This man who has faced down armies and aliens and impossible odds is looking at you like you're his greatest adventure yet.

"What if you win?" you ask, your practical side making one last attempt at reason.

"Then we celebrate twice," he says simply. "And if we lose, we still have something beautiful to mark this night."

The logic of it strikes you suddenly—the perfect symmetry. Your marriage began as a political calculation, a strategy to win an election. Now, on election night itself, you have the chance to transform it into something chosen freely, with full hearts and clear eyes.

"Yes," you say finally, your voice strong and sure. "Yes!”

Your mind is spinning, overwhelmed by the sheer audacity and romance of his gesture. "But what about—"

"The campaign? Jake has it under control. The results? They'll come in whether we're watching or not. Speeches? It’s still anybody’s game. We have at least an hour." His hands cup your face tenderly. "This is our moment. Everything else can wait a little while."

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, half disbelief, half pure joy. "You're impossible, you know that? Planning a surprise vow renewal ceremony on election night."

"I prefer the term 'strategic,'" he counters with a grin.

You shake your head, marveling at this man who you imagine will continually find ways to surprise you for the rest of your lives together.

You lean in, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I love you, Steve Rogers."

"I love you," he echoes, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss that promises forever.

You're about to deepen the kiss when a furious pounding on the door startles you both. The hammering is so intense it seems to rattle the entire door in its frame.

"Steve!" Bucky's voice booms from the hallway, urgent and breathless. "Open the damn door!"

"Coming!" Steve calls, releasing you reluctantly.

The romantic bubble has been pierced by whatever emergency has Bucky sounding so frantic. Steve strides quickly to the door, yanking it open to reveal Bucky standing there, chest heaving as if he's just sprinted the length of the corridor.

"Georgia, Texas, and Ohio," Bucky announces, his eyes bright with something between disbelief and triumph. "All three just came in green. Within five minutes of each other."

Steve's face goes blank with shock. "What?"

"Texas?" you whisper, the impossibility of it making your voice falter. "Texas went green?"

Bucky nods vigorously, his metal hand gripping the doorframe so tightly you can hear it creak. "Forty electoral votes from Texas. Santos practically went door-to-door for us the past five days.”

"How?" Steve breathes. "Texas has only failed to go red with Carter in the seventies, Bartlet with Hoynes as his VP, and Santos in ‘06 and ‘10.”

“Wait,” you interject. “Georgia and Ohio, too? Georgia and Ohio?”

Bucky beams. “Another big swing state in the South and the state that almost never gets it wrong when it comes down to who ultimately wins the presidency.”

“Republicans never win without taking Ohio,” you add, all of you knowing way more about electoral college lore at this point than many political operatives and politicians.

“And, like I said, forty from Texas. With seventeen from Ohio and sixteen from Georgia. That's seventy-three more in our column. We're at two-nineteen and counting."

Your jaw drops and Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you just say two-nineteen?”

“Oh, you missed New York - but we banked hard that you’d take your home state - and Wisconsin came in after you left, too, giving you twenty-eight and ten respectively.”

Steve leans against the doorframe, his face a mixture of shock and dawning realization. "Two hundred and nineteen electoral votes?"

"Just fifty-one more to go," Bucky confirms, his eyes gleaming. "Jake's losing his mind up there. The networks are scrambling. No one saw Texas coming."

You grab Steve's arm, dizzy with the implications. "We're actually doing this," you whisper. "We're actually winning."

The enormity of it hits you both at once. What started as a long-shot campaign, an idealistic bid to change the nature of American politics, is now on the verge of making history. The independent candidate who many dismissed as a symbolic protest vote is now within striking distance of the presidency.

Bucky watches your faces with a mixture of joy and impatience. "So, are we still doing this thing or what? Because the window of free time has narrowed significantly if you’re still… wait, did you ask her?"

Steve nods, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent question there.

"Yes," you say firmly, squeezing his hand. "We're absolutely still doing this. I don't care if every state in the union turns green in the next twenty minutes—I'm marrying you again tonight, Steve Rogers."

Steve's face breaks into that radiant smile that still makes your heart skip, and he turns back to Bucky, who’s grinning almost as much as Steve. "Wedding's still on. Tell everyone to meet us downstairs in fifteen minutes."

Bucky grins, already backing away down the hall. "Better make it ten! And I'll keep Jake from having a coronary when he realizes you're still going through with this."

As he disappears around the corner, Steve closes the door and turns back to you, his expression a mixture of wonder and determination.

"Two hundred and nineteen electoral votes," you breathe, still processing it.

Steve laughs, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around once, the movement lifting you slightly off your feet. His joy is infectious, electrifying the air between you.

"I don't even know what to say," he admits, setting you down gently. "But right now, I care more about being your husband—your real husband—than I do about being president."

His words make your chest swell with emotion. In this moment of potential political triumph, his focus remains on you, on the relationship you've built from such unlikely beginnings.

"Two-seventy might happen tonight," you whisper, "but either way, we're happening right now." You run your hands up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

Steve kisses you then, a kiss filled with promise and certainty. When he pulls away, his eyes are bright with determination. His fingers trail along your jawline, tender and reverent. "I should go change. Sam's got my suit in his room."

You nod, reluctant to let him go even for a few minutes. Steve takes the wedding band off your finger, promising to give it back to you next time he sees you. "Something borrowed," he murmurs.

"Ten minutes," you remind him, brushing your lips against his one more time before stepping back.

"Ten minutes," he confirms, his eyes lingering on you as he backs toward the door.

When he's gone, you turn to face the wedding dress, freeing it from the garment bag and running your fingers over the delicate fabric. It seems like a lifetime ago that you first wore this—a political arrangement between virtual strangers, both of you nervous and uncertain. Now, the thought of wearing it to marry the man you love fills you with a different kind of butterflies entirely.

There's another knock, and this time it's Sophia and your mom, coming to help you with your wedding dress.

"Thank God you're here," you say, relief flooding through you as you open the door. "I need to get ready in less than ten minutes."

Your mother brushes past you, already reaching for the dress. "Well, we can't have you late to your own wedding. Again." Her eyes twinkle with amusement.

Sophia follows her inside, the back up cosmetics bag she’s carried around ‘just in case’ for you during the campaign in hand, a determined expression on her face. "I still can't believe I had to feign clumsiness as part of a presidential conspiracy," she laughs, setting the bag down on the dresser. "Though I have to admit, spilling that drink on cue was harder than any campaign strategy I've had to execute."

"You were very convincing," you assure her, stepping out of your stained blouse as your mother holds up the wedding dress.

"I can't believe he planned this," your mother says, shaking her head in wonder. "And I’m so glad we get to really be here for you this time,” she adds.

You squeeze her hand, not wanting to relive the past. “It’s different for all of us this time.”

The three of you work quickly, and you do make it downstairs in ten minutes. Peterson takes his home state of Michigan and both Dakotahs for twenty-one more points in the red column.

But that doesn’t matter as your father meets you at the entrance of the Terrace Room, which has been transformed into an ethereal wedding-scape.

[11:18PM - THE TERRACE ROOM]

You assume there must be a couple getting ready to use the room for their own nuptials the next day because there are far too many chairs set up, and the hotel staff certainly couldn’t have pulled off decorations this elaborate in only a few hours. The crystal chandeliers are striking enough, but with creamy silks and lush cascades of white and blush of flowers hanging from the ceiling, it’s surreal and stunning—just one more unforgettable thing you catalogue in your memory for this incredible night.

Steve stands at the front of the room, his eyes finding yours immediately as you begin your walk. The small gathering of your closest friends and family—Sam, Bucky, Sophia, Jake, your mother, Pepper, Maria Hill, Peter Parker—all rise, but you barely notice them. Your entire world narrows to Steve's face, to the look of pure adoration that transforms his features as he watches you approach.

The music is soft, some classical piece you don't recognize but that feels perfect for this moment. Your father's arm is steady under your trembling hand, excitement and an eagerness surging through your veins.

"I'm so happy for you," he whispers, his voice rough with feeling. "Not because you might be First Lady, but because you found someone who will look at you like that for the rest of your life."

You squeeze his arm in silent thanks, unable to form words past the lump in your throat.

When you reach Steve, your father places your hand in his before stepping back. Steve's fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, grounding you amid the surreal beauty of this moment. The chaplain begins speaking, but his words fade into the background as you and Steve stand face to face, hands clasped, hearts open.

“You ready?” you whisper so only he can hear, the reassuring question you’ve asked each other a hundred times at key moments during this campaign - this marriage.

“Let’s do this,” he replies, no question.

And there’s no question in your heart either.

Everything this time is different. You can’t take your eyes off each other, you hold onto his hands desperately - earnestly - because you need to like you need to breathe. Steve slides your wedding band back onto your finger, and this time when he does it, your heart feels like it might burst from happiness.

The vows you speak aren't scripted or rehearsed. They flow naturally, honest declarations of the love that grew between you - from reluctant allies to acquaintances to partners to friends to lovers. Steve's voice catches when he promises to choose you every day for the rest of his life, and you don't bother hiding the tears that spill down your cheeks as you pledge yourself to him in return.

When the chaplain pronounces you husband and wife - again - Steve's kiss is nothing like the polite, chaste brush of lips at your first ceremony. This kiss is deep and passionate, a promise and a claiming all at once. The small group erupts in cheers and applause as you melt against him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, his arms wrapping securely around your waist.

When you finally break apart, Steve keeps you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath.

"Mrs. Rogers," he murmurs, his voice intimate despite the audience.

"Mr. Rogers," you reply with a smile, your heart so full it aches.

Jake clears his throat loudly. "Sorry to break up this moment, but we've got Montana and Colorado coming in green. That's fourteen more electoral votes."

Steve laughs, keeping his arm around your waist as you both turn to face your friends. "Two hundred and thirty-three," he says, shaking his head in wonder. He turns to look at Pepper. “You might not have been crazy about any of this after all.”

She beams. “I’ve been known to have an eye for people and possibilities - and I couldn’t be happier to be right about this.”

Your small wedding reception consists of champagne and a hastily assembled dessert bar courtesy of the Plaza's pastry chef who, upon learning Captain America was renewing his vows on election night, insisted on creating something special. The elegant room buzzes with conversation and laughter, an island of personal joy amid the political storm raging outside these walls.

Steve pulls you closer against his side, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. "How are you feeling, Mrs. Rogers?" he asks quietly, his breath warm against your ear.

"Like I'm living in a dream," you admit, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "What about you? Still nervous about the results?"

"I'm exactly where I need to be," he answers, his eyes never leaving yours. The certainty in his voice makes your heart swell. "Everything else is just..." He trails off, searching for the right word.

Your moment is interrupted by Sam, who pops another bottle of champagne, the cork flying across the room as everyone laughs.

"To the newlyweds," he announces, refilling glasses for the small gathering. "Again!"

Everyone raises their glasses, but before you can take a sip, Jake’s phone rings. His expression shifts as he listens, eyes widening. He looks up at Steve and steps forward to hand him the phone.

Steve takes the phone with a questioning look at Jake, who mouths, "Monroe."

The room falls silent, all eyes on Steve as he puts the phone to his ear. You move closer, your hand finding his as he speaks.

"Senator Monroe," Steve says, his voice steady despite the surprise evident in his eyes. "Yes, sir."

You can't hear the other side of the conversation, but you watch the play of emotions across your husband's face—surprise, respect, and finally a humbled gratitude. His hand tightens around yours.

"Washington and Oregon both?" Steve asks, looking at Jake for confirmation. Jake nods vigorously.

"That's very generous of you, Senator," Steve continues. "But the math isn't certain yet. We're still shy of two-seventy, and you’ll surely take your home state of California. There's no need to—"

He pauses, listening intently. His eyebrows rise in surprise, and you can see a new emotion settle across his features—respect.

"I appreciate that, Senator, truly," Steve says, his voice softer now. "But with California's fifty-four votes and maybe Nevada still in play, you could potentially—"

He falls silent again, listening.

"That's... very gracious of you," Steve responds after a moment. "I've always respected your commitment to this country as well, sir."

The room has gone completely still, everyone holding their breath as they piece together what's happening. Jake's eyes are wide, his fingers frantically tapping on his tablet as he runs calculations.

"Yes, sir. I understand," Steve continues. "Thank you, Senator Monroe.” He pauses again. “Expect to hear from me soon. I mean it.”

When Steve ends the call, he stands motionless for a moment, his expression one of stunned disbelief. The room around you is utterly silent, everyone waiting with bated breath.

"Monroe just conceded," Steve says finally, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. "He just called to tell me he's about to make the announcement publicly."

The room erupts in gasps and exclamations. Jake is crunching numbers on his phone frantically. "With Washington and Oregon bring you twenty more, getting you to two hundred and fifty-three," he announces, voice cracking with excitement. "That's seventeen short of the magic number, but—"

"But even if he takes his home state, Monroe sees he can’t win anymore," Bucky interrupts, still looking stunned.

Sam steps forward, champagne forgotten in his hand. "What about Peterson?"

"Monroe thinks Peterson won't concede until all the votes are counted," Steve explains, running a hand over his beard. "But he won’t take California, and there aren’t enough big counts left to get him to two-seventy.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. "So what does that mean exactly?"

Jake's face breaks into a wide grin, his eyes shining with emotion. "It means," he says slowly, savoring each word, holding up his phone with an electoral map, "even with California going blue, Monroe only gets to one hundred twenty-one electoral votes. Peterson can't possibly break two hundred at this point. Steve, we're looking at two-seventy plus."

"God," Steve whispers, turning to you with a look of wonder that makes your heart stutter. "This is actually happening."

You grasp his hands, speechless, as the enormity of the moment washes over you. Your husband—your real, chosen husband as of ten minutes ago—is about to become the President of the United States.

The room erupts again, this time in a cacophony of cheers and sobs. Sam wraps Steve in a bear hug, lifting him slightly off the ground. Bucky stands back, shaking his head in wonder before moving in for his own embrace. Your mother is crying openly now, your father's arm tight around her shoulders as they beam with pride.

But all you can see is Steve's face—the mixture of disbelief, humility, and determination that washes over his features as the reality sinks in. The man who woke up from the ice to find his country changed, who fought to protect it even when it turned against him, who stood up for what he believed in no matter the cost—that man is now going to lead the nation he has always served.

"We need to get you changed back from groom to presidential and then back downstairs," Jake says, already shifting into logistics mode. "They'll be expecting a victory speech soon in Central Park."

Steve nods, but his eyes never leave yours. In this whirlwind of history being made, he reaches for you. "Come with me?" he asks, and though it's phrased as a question, you both know there's only one answer.

"Always," you reply, taking his hand.

epilogue coming soon

Well, well, well. Looks like someone named Aspen finally brought this story to an end.

There will be an epilogue, yes, and I have some deleted scenes as well as a moment or two for future President and First Lady Rogers that I want to share with you still and maybe a spin-off series, but HERE WE ARE!

AND

I HAVE FINAL RESULTS FOR YOU VISUALLY!

I used the 270towin interactive map, and it doesn't have a green option, but here's how the votes officially shook out in the end.

A candidate only needed 34% in ANY given state in order to claim the majority and get the electoral votes for that state, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt like Steve could win. When I started the story, I thought it was more likely that there'd be no clear winner the night of elections, but with the unrest after the Blip and the Return, with Steve's ability to speak and connect with people, and with the photo scandal being exposed and exploited as a pretty cheap gimmick, I felt like any voters who were slightly on the fringes of still voting red or blue would be willing to say enough is enough and go for an inspiring figure like Steve. Tired of the system, but not voting for an option that wanted to burn the system and smash it to pieces, you know? Steve genuinely wants to do good.

And we get to have a happy ending in fiction. I felt like it was self-indulgent, but then @stargazingfangirl18 helped me NOT to feel guilty giving us a happy political future since we don't get to have one in real life.

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