The Avengers' conference room was unusually tense, a quiet hum of frustration lingering in the air after the meeting had ended. Steve Rogers sat at the head of the table, his jaw tight as he glanced toward Tony Stark, who was already halfway out the door.
“Tony, wait—” Steve began, his voice edged with regret.
But Tony didn’t even turn around. “Save it, Cap,” he said sharply, the words echoing like a slap in the silence. “I’ve got places to be.”
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Steve staring at the empty space where Tony had just been. The team dispersed awkwardly, each member avoiding Steve's gaze as they filed out. Natasha shot him a pointed look, one eyebrow raised as if to say “fix this”, before following the others.
Steve sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. What had started as a simple disagreement over protocol had spiraled into something far more personal. He hadn’t meant to call Tony reckless—at least not in front of everyone. The flicker of hurt that crossed Tony’s face before he covered it with biting sarcasm hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The rest of the day passed painfully slowly. Every time Steve tried to approach Tony, the man either left the room or buried himself in a project in his lab.
At one point, Steve stood outside the lab door, hesitating before raising his hand to knock. But FRIDAY’s voice stopped him.
“Mr. Stark is unavailable at the moment, Captain Rogers,” the AI said, her tone polite but firm.
Steve stared at the door for a long moment before lowering his hand and walking away.
By the time evening rolled around, Steve found himself in the common area, staring out at the city lights. He clenched and unclenched his fists, the words he wanted to say to Tony tumbling through his mind like a storm.
“Why do you always have to push him so hard?” Natasha’s voice broke through his thoughts. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
Steve turned to her, his expression pained. “I didn’t mean to, Nat. I just... I don’t know how to talk to him sometimes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then learn. Because he’s not going to wait around forever for you to figure it out.”
Her words lingered long after she left, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts—and the faint, unshakable feeling that he needed to make this right.
Steve spent the next hour pacing in the living room, formulating a plan. He knew Tony’s moods could be as volatile as the man himself—sharp, sassy, and impossible to navigate without patience and a whole lot of finesse. But Steve also knew how to handle Tony's sassy moods. Even though it took every ounce of effort—and all the love languages he could muster—to earn Tony’s forgiveness.
The first attempt was quality time.
Steve prepared dinner—Tony’s favorite, steak and garlic mashed potatoes—plating it carefully before heading down to the lab. He knocked lightly, and when the door slid open, Tony didn’t even glance up from his holographic schematics.
“Tony,” Steve called gently. “Dinner’s ready. I thought we could eat together, maybe talk.”
Tony’s reply was short and clipped. “Not hungry.”
Steve sighed, leaving the plate on the workbench before retreating. Strike one.
Next came acts of service.
The following morning, Steve made sure Tony’s coffee was waiting for him before he even woke up, a perfect caramel macchiato from his favorite café. He left it on Tony’s desk with a sticky note that read: Still sorry. Let me fix this.
Tony barely glanced at the coffee when he walked in. “Appreciate the caffeine, Rogers, but I’m busy,” he muttered before diving into his work.
By mid-afternoon, Steve tried gifts.
He presented Tony with a custom-engraved screwdriver, the kind he’d been meaning to add to his collection but never got around to ordering.
Tony raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Nice try, but I’m not that easy to bribe.”
By evening, Steve decided to go all in. He’d been expressive with words of affirmation before, but this time, he left no room for doubt.
“Tony,” he said, stepping into the lab once more. His voice was steady but earnest. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was wrong, and I hurt you. You mean the world to me, and I hate that I let my temper get the better of me.”
Tony’s fingers stilled on the keyboard, but he didn’t look up.
“And,” Steve continued, stepping closer, “I know I’m not always great at expressing it, but I love you. I love everything about you—even the stubbornness that’s driving me crazy right now.” He tried a small smile. “Please, tell me what I need to do to make this right.”
For a moment, Steve thought he’d finally broken through. But Tony simply turned back to his keyboard, his expression unreadable.
“You’re thorough, I’ll give you that,” Tony said lightly. “But it’s going to take more than the Avengers-approved playbook of love languages to make me forget today.”
Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried everything. He’d shown and expressed all the love languages together, and Tony still didn’t budge even the slightest.
Steve sighed in defeat as he left Tony’s lab for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Every plan had failed. Words, gifts, acts—nothing had pierced Tony’s armor of stubbornness. But thankfully, Steve had backups. He knew Tony better than anyone, and if there was one thing Tony always needed when he was stressed and burned out, it was a chance to relax and chill.
Steve leaned against the kitchen counter, mulling over his final card to play. He glanced at the clock. Evening was setting in, the warm hues of sunset fading into a cool, quiet twilight. A small smile tugged at his lips.
There was no other explanation for it—Steve just thought the night was a romantic setting. Something about the stars, the cool breeze, and the hum of his motorcycle on open roads felt like the perfect way to reset things between them.
Without overthinking, he grabbed his helmet and headed back to the lab.
This time, he didn’t bother knocking. He walked in, holding the spare helmet in one hand and his jacket slung over his shoulder.
Tony glanced up from his workstation, visibly irritated. “Rogers, I told you—”
“Get up,” Steve interrupted, his tone firm but gentle.
Tony blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”
Steve crossed the room, setting the helmet on the bench in front of Tony. “You’ve been cooped up here all day, and I’m not leaving until you come with me. We’re going for a ride.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening to argue, but Steve cut him off again. “Don’t overthink it. Just trust me.”
Tony stared at him for a long moment, and for the first time all day, Steve saw a flicker of something other than annoyance in his expression. Curiosity, maybe. Or perhaps he was just too tired to fight anymore. With a resigned sigh, Tony grabbed the helmet.
“This better be good,” Tony muttered as he followed Steve out.
The crisp evening air greeted them as they stepped outside. Steve straddled his motorcycle, patting the seat behind him. Tony hesitated, giving the bike a skeptical once-over.
“You do know I can build a better version of this in my sleep, right?” Tony quipped.
Steve smirked. “Maybe. But can you enjoy it the same way?”
Tony rolled his eyes but climbed on, his arms wrapping loosely around Steve’s waist. “Fine. Just don’t crash, Captain Perfect.”
With a soft chuckle, Steve started the engine, the low rumble filling the quiet night. They sped off into the open roads, the city lights fading behind them as they rode further into the outskirts.
The wind whipped around them, and for the first time all day, Tony’s tense posture seemed to ease. Steve glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Tony’s face under the helmet. He wasn’t smiling—not yet—but the hard lines of his expression had softened.
They rode in comfortable silence for miles, the stars above them brighter with every passing minute. When they finally stopped, it was on a hill overlooking the city, the lights twinkling like a sea of fireflies below.
Steve killed the engine, the sudden quiet leaving them surrounded by nothing but the sound of crickets and the distant hum of the city. He took off his helmet, running a hand through his hair before turning to Tony.
“Well?” Steve asked softly. “Worth it?”
Tony removed his helmet slowly, his eyes scanning the view. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and Steve held his breath. Then, finally, Tony let out a long sigh, his lips curving into a faint, almost reluctant smile.
“Okay,” Tony admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “You get points for this one.”
Steve grinned, his heart lifting for the first time that day. “Told you.”
Tony shook his head, leaning back slightly on the bike. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Maybe,” Steve said, his voice softening as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from Tony’s forehead. “But so are you. That’s why we work.”
Steve sat in the quiet night, the hum of the city below fading into the background as his internal debate raged on. On his right shoulder, an imaginary angel version of himself stood tall and confident.
“He’ll forgive you, Steve,” the angel said in a calm, reassuring tone. “You’ve done everything right. Love languages, the joy ride, the romantic setting—it’s foolproof.”
On his left shoulder, a mini demon Steve crossed his arms and huffed. “Oh, come on. Do you know Tony? He’s petty. He’ll hold this grudge forever. You’re doomed, pal.”
The angel shot the demon a glare. “Tony’s just hurt. Deep down, he knows Steve cares.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the demon sneered. “But does he care enough to forgive? That’s the real question.”
Steve’s lips twitched as he tried to keep a straight face, the ridiculous mental image playing out like a cartoon. He glanced at Tony, who was still staring out at the city. His arms were crossed, his face unreadable.
“Alright, Rogers,” Tony said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. “You’re forgiven.”
Steve blinked, not registering the words at first. His imaginary angel and demon froze, both staring at him in shock.
“Did he just—” the angel started.
“No way,” the demon interrupted. “Say it again. I dare him.”
“Wait, what?” Steve blurted, his brain catching up. “Did you just—”
Tony turned to him with a smirk, leaning casually against the bike. “You’re forgiven,” he repeated, his tone slow and deliberate, as if he were addressing a particularly clueless student.
Steve blinked, still caught up in the whirlwind of his internal monologue. His imaginary angel was busy arranging a celestial choir for a triumphant serenade, while the demon was rolling his eyes and muttering something about “love-drunk super soldiers.”
“Sorry, what?” Steve asked, snapping back to reality.
Tony groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I said, you’re forgiven,” he repeated, exasperation dripping from his words. But when Steve still looked confused, Tony’s patience snapped.
“God, you’re impossible,” Tony muttered. And just as Steve opened his mouth to protest, Tony grabbed him by the front of his jacket and kissed him.
For a split second, Steve froze, his brain short-circuiting. The angel dropped his heavenly harp in shock, while the demon crossed his arms with a smug, “Took him long enough.”
And then Steve melted into the kiss, the world around them fading away. In his mind, some ridiculous romantic music—complete with violins and maybe a guitar solo—kicked in as if directed by some unseen force.
When Tony finally pulled back, his cheeks slightly flushed, he fixed Steve with a pointed look. “Did you hear me that time, or should I write it down for you?”
Steve blinked, dazed, before a goofy grin spread across his face. “Crystal clear.”
Tony smirked, leaning back against the bike as if nothing had happened. “Good. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook, Captain. You owe me—big time.”
Still grinning like an idiot, Steve nodded. “Noted.”
As the stars twinkled above them and the imaginary music in Steve’s head swelled to its crescendo, he couldn’t help but think that every effort, every failed plan, and every awkward moment had been completely worth it.