Too Long (Part 2/2)
Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader
Summary: Steve admits his true feelings for you. Is it too late?
Word Count: 3.8k+
Warnings: angst, floof.
A/N: I had to write a part 2. I was gonna queue it for tomorrow, but you know...anxiety. Thanks for backing me up @lesqui. Thanks @marvelatmytrash for hosting the challenge and giving me the opportunity to write for my Stevie!
Please, let me know what you think.
Part 1 Part 2/ Epilogue
Masterlist
The touch is faint. He can barely feel the tickle from the brush of your digit tracing the lines of his face, but he knows it’s there, warming up his heart and calming down his mind. He doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet; he knows it will make you feel self-conscious and consequently, it will make you stop. He doesn’t want you to stop.
But damn his betraying lips, reflexively curling up in a small smile at the delightful touch.
“Sorry,” you hiss and retract your finger, to his very dismay.
Steve groans, opening his eyes slowly to see you resting face to face with him. The sunlight peeking through the curtains is illuminating your shape, spotlighting every corner of your beautiful features.
“Good morning, doll,” he says with a husky sleepy voice.
“Argh, Steve,” you grumble, covering your eyes with your hand, “no pet names, this is rule number four.” You gesture to the air while he holds back a laugh by worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
“Well, I think I’ve earned the right to break one, since apparently you’ve just broken rule number one.” He waves his hand between you two to prove his point.
“I know, no sleepovers.” You admit, casting your eyes down, “But you’re the one to blame.” You poke him on the chest and he grabs your finger, shaking it playfully while you ignore his quirked brow. “Yeah, yeah…Try having mind blowing sex with a Super Soldier to see if you’ll have the energy to change beds afterwards.”
He gasps in mocked outrage and you squeak in surprise when he pushes your hand, rolling you on your back and positioning himself on top of you. Straddling your waist, he mercilessly starts tickling you.
You squirm, scream and laugh beneath him, messing up his sheets while you try to fight back his attack to no avail. “Stop, stop, please,” you breathlessly beg between giggles and he finally submits to your pleas.
He has you pinned down on his mattress, securing your wrists above your head. While the air seems scarce with both of you panting, he finds himself diving into your gazing eyes and the atmosphere changes completely.
“Mind blowing, huh,” Steve coos, rolling his hips against yours, making you moan. He leans down to kiss you, but stops when you speak, never tearing your eyes from his.
“Steve, I’m scared.” Your voice is small and it makes his heart weak.
“Why?” He frowns, letting go of your wrists to cup your cheeks.
You imitate him, caressing his clean shaved jaw, “You know why.”
An icy wave of fear washes over his stomach. He does know why. “No, please…” He recognizes the desperation in his voice. He’s been there before.
“This isn’t real.” You slide your thumb over his cheek as he takes in a shuddering breath. “You’ve waited too long, haven’t you? This is just a memory.”
He shakes his head and wipes away a tear from the corner of your eyes, not avoiding his own to fall down.
“You and I are just a dream, a distant memory. It’ll fade away. I’m fading away, Steve.”
“No, please don’t go, I’m sorr-” He chokes on his own words as a light fog starts to cover your saddened features, the blissful happiness from moments ago gone while you slowly evaporate from his sight.
“NO.” Steve sits bolt upright while the desperate scream resonates around wherever he is. Gripping on the sheets, he scans his surroundings, recognizing his room. As he closes his eyes again, he tries to regulate his breathing to a steady pace.
Another one. He doesn’t even know if he can call them nightmares, these dreams he’s been having night after night. After all, it’s only then he has the chance to see you again, feel you, and have you on his arms. The mind is a tricky thing. He swears he can taste you while he runs his tongue over his drying lips. And his face still feels ticklish from your touch. His heart feels full, complete; like it used to be at the time he has been dreaming of. When he could have you, hold you, kiss you, see you…
He hasn’t seen you since the day you officially promised forever to another man. He watched you from afar at the ceremony. There was an overwhelming sadness clouding his feelings, but he smiled, seeing how beautiful and happy you looked. Your smile only faltered for a split second when you scanned the standing guests right after you said “I do”. He likes to think you were searching for him. But he had promised himself he would let you live your own choice and he didn’t want to taint another important moment for you, so he kept himself in the shadows.
It’s been eight months and not a day he didn’t spend thinking of you or a night dreaming of you. He can only hope you’re happy. Scratch that. He knows you’re happy. Bucky has a subtle and caring way to keep him updated. Only his brother in life could be aware he would rather know about you, even if the news would punch him in the guts than not knowing at all; he can’t handle losing his track on you; he needs this to breathe.
He knew when you changed jobs to one you really loved. You always wanted to drop your life as an agent to deal with flowers. Human beings weren’t as pretty, you used to say. He knew when you opened your flower shop and he knew when you and your husband moved to a house at the suburb. He can only imagine you living in a big house; you always loved your tiny apartment, because it was easier to clean…
He knew you never mentioned his name again… and the last news he’s got was one of those to put a knife to his chest. You were trying for a baby.
Steve harshly runs his hand over his face to shake these memories and thoughts off before reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand. 6.05am. At this time he would be up for his customary morning run, but the loud thunder outside signaling the storm sets his mind on getting up to steel himself for yet another mission, instead. They’ve become his only focus, his Captain America persona taking over Steve Rogers easily with you away.
Taking in a bracing sigh, he jumps out of his bed and starts another day without you.
A little less than an hour later he’s already buckling up his suit when the doorbell to his apartment rings. Since FRIDAY didn’t warn him of any visitors, he assumes it’s Bucky who, for the first time ever, would be ready earlier than him for a mission.
“Wait up,” he shouts, searching for his boots and helmet, but the doorbell keeps ringing insistently. “Impatient prick,” he huffs, strutting to the door. “Hey, jerk-” He stops on his toes and his eyes widen at your sight.
He barely registers the surprise and the mix of overwhelming feelings to be finally seeing you again before they’re hijacked by concern and fear when he takes in your state. You’re soaked from head to toe, covered in a coat just as drenched, your red rimmed eyes can’t suppress the tears slipping down and your lips tremble along with your whole body, while you wrap your arms around yourself.
Pure instinct controls his actions as he gently pulls you inside by an arm around your shoulders, closing the door behind you. Once inside, he can’t help but envelope you between his arms, hoping his body heat would dissipate the cold for that moment. To his surprise, you don’t fight his hold, burying your face on his chest, having your arms stiffed down, sobbing against his uniform.
“Are you hurt?” He leans back to watch your face and examine your body, a mix of apprehension, softness, and anger for whatever left you in this state pinching his voice.
Swallowing a sob, you shake your head quickly, looking up at him, “I-I…” you stutter with shuddering lips, your eyes dancing unfocusedly.
“Shhh, it’s ok sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned and warm first, we can talk later,” Steve soothes you, running his hands up and down your back before leading them to the tie of the belt keeping your coat closed, “Can I?” he hesitantly asks.
You respond with a slight nod, your eyes finding focus on his blue ones. They remain absorbed in him while he hooks his fingers beneath the collar of your coat and pulls it off of you, letting the heavy drenched fabric form a pool on the floor behind you.
He frowns when he sees you only in a shorts and tank pajama set. He looks down to your feet, noticing it covered only by flip flops. Your gaze never ceases to follow him when he gently guides you to his room, then to his bathroom. He grabs a clean towel from one of the cabinets to envelope you in it, rubbing your sides to help him on his urgent mission to warm you up.
He walks to the bathtub and quickly turns on the taps. He has no idea why you are there, but if it was comfort and love you were in need of, there’s no other place for you to be. As the water fills the bathtub up he walks back to you, who hasn’t moved an inch from the spot he left you. Your stare, however, kept chasing his every move. He longs to read what’s on your mind through your unyielding eyes, but it can wait.
You’re still shaking, looking up at his standing figure in front of you. Surprisingly enough, his nerves don’t get to him when he speaks again. “A hot bath will do you good.” You nod silently at him, “I’ll wait outside.”
He tightens his lips and moves to leave, but you grab on his arm, stopping him to step any farther from you. “Please,” You finally say, “Stay with me?” The lack of confidence of the request permeates your words.
He gulps, trying to control his own overwhelming emotions at your plea and your small, almost inaudible voice. There’s nothing he wants more than not to leave your side, ever again, “Of course,” he answers.
Your chest heaves, like you are filling it up with much needed air, but you seem lost to what to do next, arms falling limply to your sides, a silent beg lingers in your gaze. A beg for him to assume the control and take care of you.
He doesn’t even flinch before complying, taking your hand and guiding you to the side of the bathtub. After turning off the water, satisfied with the amount, he positions himself behind your back and, carefully, yet confidently, he tugs at the hem of your pajama tank. When you raise your arms, he slowly pulls the dripping fabric up. Tossing it to the side, he can’t help to take in a long sigh when he sees your bare back. You still sleep without a bra, and it would be goddamn distracting if he wasn’t so worried and in a hurry to warm you up and make you feel at least a bit better.
Tiny rising hairs tickle his fingers when they smoothly glide down your body before he hooks said fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down for you to step out of them, along of your flip flops. Your whole body shakes in a light tremble and he’s not sure it’s just due the cold anymore, but he takes your hand urging you to get into the warm water, seeing no reason why you shouldn’t keep the last piece of your underwear.
~~~
In a silent, perfectly synchronized dance, you let him guide your numb self as you step into the bathtub, relishing at the relaxing feeling you get from the warm water coating your body. He positions himself kneeling behind the large bathtub and you can’t help but close your eyes and dive into the comfort of his gentle, yet firm hands applying his shampoo over your hair. The act is familiar as it has been done a thousand times in the past, but in much different situations, the sensual connotation from before far distant from what it means now, an act of pure affection and devotion.
The smell is intoxicating, full of memories which take over your mind and gradually banishes the anguish in your aching heart from just a few moments ago as he unhurriedly massages your scalp. As his hands are still gentle when they bring the comfortably hot water to rinse out the shampoo, careful to not spill anything in your eyes, the reason why your feet have unconsciously dragged you to him after the eventful morning becomes clear. There is no other place you should be. The sense of belonging would be overwhelming if it didn’t feel so right and weren’t so damn craved.
You’re not sure how much time has passed or how it exactly happens, but next thing you know he’s tucking you under his blankets, and you wearing your favorite t-shirt of his. You almost let a smile bloom against your face at the assumption he has kept it after so long for this very reason.
The stupid little thought is interrupted when he finally breaks the silence, “I’ll let you rest a little.”
No.
For the second time that morning, you stop him from leaving you by your hand on his arm, “Will you lie down with me?” You don’t give a damn of how pathetic it might sound.
He stares at you for a silent moment before he blinks and nods, “Of course, anything you want, sweetheart.”
Your heart jumps at the pet name you had rejected that night months ago, while he does what you say and climbs on the bed, resting his back on the headboard, keeping himself above the blankets. You understand the respectful distance he’s been trying to keep, after all, you’re the one who has demanded such behavior from him. But this isn’t what you want that morning. All you want is to place your head over his lap instead of using the fluffy pillow he’s given you, and no restrains hold you back from doing so, wrapping your arm around his waist, resting your cheek on his thigh. The tenseness in his body is short-lived, before his hand dips into your damp hair, stroking your locks in a lulling rhythm. The caring touch and the comfort of his presence, added to the relaxing bath you’ve just had are enough to make you doze off in seconds.
You’re the first one to wake up, finding both of you in a completely changed position. Instead of the headboard like before, his head is resting on his pillow, facing you, as his arm lies around your waist, holding you close to him as he sleeps beside you.
The urge is overpowering and your finger has a mind of its own as it reaches out and lightly traces the beautiful lines of his face, like you’ve secretly done a million times before. Or at least you thought it was secretly, for like those other million times before, the slight curl on his lips gives away his awakened state.
“Sorry,” you blurt out, feeling the heat rushing up your cheeks as you retract your fingers.
“Am I dreaming?” The light smile still decorates Steve’s lips as he opens his eyes.
“What?” Your brows furrow as you chuckle at his question.
“Are you ok?” He answers with a question of his own, his expression becoming serious.
When you just shrug as a response, he leads the arm which has been resting around your waist to your face, using his fingers to brush a strand of hair partly covering your eyes behind your ear, the small gesture evoking a swirl of feelings from the depths of you. Feelings you thought forgotten. Too soon his touch leaves your face and he lays his hand right next to your own on the bit of mattress separating you from each other. “Where’s Tom?” He clears his throat and your gaze instantly falls away from his.
At your lack of response, he insists, his tone restrained, even if the sheets bunches up under his grip. “Did he hurt you?”
You’re quick in shaking your head no and you’re about to respond when something catches your attention as your eyes lay on him again.
“Do you have a mission to go to?” You raise your frowned stare from his uniform to his eyes, already moving to get up from his bed.
“Hey,” he holds your hand, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve texted Bucky, he’s got it covered. I’m staying here with you.”
Your eyes widen at the information. You don’t remember one single mission Steve had skipped in the time you worked with him. Speaking of that, you can’t ignore the thudding heart in your chest also skipping a beat and forcing you to take a deep breath in. Letting your hand being enveloped by his between you two, you gather the strength to speak and give him an explanation. “Tom and I, we’ve been trying for a baby,” you look up at him and he nods with a small smile, letting you know this aren’t any news for him.
“Um, and I took a test this morning,” you mutter, focusing your attention on your linked hands instead of his eyes, or else you wouldn’t be able to continue, “It was negative… again.”
He squeezes your hand and slides himself closer to you, giving a kiss to the back of your fingers. “It’s ok, sweetheart. I’m sure it will happen-”
“Tom wasn’t happy about the result,” you interrupt him “He got angry and said it was my fault it wasn’t happening, because I didn’t really want the baby and my body only responded to it.” You look up at Steve to see his face reddening.
“What? Son of a...” He closes his eyes and takes one or two calming breaths before looking at you again. You feel yourself melting by the kindness in his eyes, “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart, I’ll-”
“He’s not wrong, Steve.” You cut him, once again, and he frowns questioningly at you, “I mean, I know it isn’t my fault, of course it isn’t,” you scoff, shaking your head. You bite your lip, like the action would be able to contain your nervousness to continue and clarify why you ended up in his apartment, “But I… I felt relieved.” You finally say it, “Just like all the other times I took the test and it was negative, I was thankful. And when he asked for a divorce this morning, I felt relieved, too.”
Your breathing is unsteady and you’re speaking fast. You’re sure your stomach will combust at any moment, but you have to let it out. And as Steve looks dumbfounded, apparently noticing for the first time the lack of a ring on your left hand entangled in his, you resume the ramble slipping out your lips, “I felt relieved, because I do want a baby…at least I think I do… and I do wanna spend my life with someone, but not with him…not with him.” You shake your head, not helping the tears sliding over your face.
“Y/N…” he whispers as his watering eyes snaps to yours.
“Did you mean all of that?” your voice is shaky and low.
You don’t have to specify what you are talking about for him to respond, “Every word, my love. I love you. There’s no one else more important than you in my life.” He tries to keep his voice steady and stares deeply into your eyes for your reassurance, as he drags your hand to his chest where you can feel his hammering heart.
A small smile threatens to twist up your lips, before they form a frown and you sound unsure, “But, before…”
“I was the stupidest man alive before.” He’s fast to respond, “I’ll never forgive myself and I don’t expect any differently from you. But I’m sure of what I’m feeling now. I love you. You’re my number one priority. Please, let me prove myself to you,” he begs and the sincerity in his words is enough to melt you inside.
“I love you, too.” His whole face light up and it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen, “You’re the love of my life, I don’t want to fight it any longer. I’m so tired of fighting against what I’m feeling…” You fill up your lungs before you lose your breath completely and his hold on your hand grows tighter. “But I’m scared, Steve,” you admit, “Aren’t you scared, too?”
“Not anymore,” he says resolutely, wearing the devastatingly gorgeous wide grin you love so much.
“Why?” you whisper.
“Because you’re here and you’re real. I’m real, too, baby. I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere.” He repeats his words from that night when he first confessed his love for you, a night that feels so distant and so close at the same time. A night you were never able to kick out of your mind, nor your heart, despite all the effort you’ve put on trying.
You contemplate the expression of pure love and devotion highlighting his face, letting it fill up your chest with hope, before your eyes drop to his uniform. Your gaze lingers there for a second and all the doubts tormenting your heart come to an end, at last. “You’re really here with me, aren’t you?” You clutch the blue fabric covering his chest.
“I am, my love. Always. And I don’t think this old man can wait another minute longer without kissing you.”
You smile a watery smile to each other before you lock your lips with his. He pours on the kiss all the love he’s been waiting too long to give you and you receive it welcomingly, feeling it running down your veins, your very being.
His hand is on your back pulling tight against him when breaks the kiss, but doesn't go far, resting his forehead against yours, “I thought you were happy,” he mutters, “I should've fought for you.” Deep regret laces his words.
“Shhh,” you run a hand through the locks on the back of his head, “I thought I was happy, too. Until I wasn't.” You tighten your lips against each other, “But it doesn’t matter anymore. We're here, now.” You love that his smile is back on his face. Not willing to waste any more kisses, you bring your lips to his one more time.
You’re finally complete. You’re finally in peace. Despite all you’ve been through, despite all the time which at a first glance seemed wasted and lost, you feel like your whole life has been made of pieces of a puzzle which has led you to this very moment, to this very kiss.
It doesn’t feel like it’s been too long, anymore. And you wouldn’t change a damn thing.
~~~~~~~~
The End
Epilogue
A/N 2: I hope you guys liked it and I may or may not be plotting a smutty epilogue. Edit: It was written. Link above.
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