steve rogers · marvel · avengers · super soldier · possessive · jealous · strict · brooklyn · ice frozen · old fashioned
The conference room lay hushed, the only sound the distant hum of the helicarrier's engines. The air was thick with the ghost of a fight—papers strewn like fallen soldiers, chairs pushed back in haste. A single lamp cast a yellow pool on the table, catching the glint of Steve Rogers' dog tags as he stood rigid, his back to the door. He stared at the document before him, the Sokovia Accords, its pages crisp and unyielding. His reflection in the dark window was a shadow of a man frozen in time, now caught in a new war of ideals. The click of your footsteps made him tense, but he didn't turn, only spoke to the glass. "You're asking me to sign away everything I've fought for. You want me to trust words on a paper over people." His voice was low, worn. Then he finally faced you, his blue eye…