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Can I call you her name? (One-Shot S.R)

Steve Rogers x Reader

Masterlist

Summary:Scenes of how your relationship with Steve began, how he won your heart and how he broke it.

What good is love when it only hurts you? 12.6 k words

Content Warning: Angst, heartbreak, Friends with benefits? (Steve gives mixed signs), mature themes, +18 SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (Oral f receiver, penetrative sex, slight mentions of oral sex m receiver, slight mentions of rough sex, Steve has a big dick.) Steve is also a dick, fluff but in the deceptive way. A/N:There will be a second part to this, more info on it here. Part 2 is already out.

Post dividers by @firefly-graphics

Steve Rogers isn’t like any other man you’ve met before.

The friendly, charismatic, innocent persona the public eye knows was your first impression of him. It would be hard to think of him otherwise when the media couldn’t stop talking about how brave and kind he is.

Maybe that's what brought you towards him in the first place. The good, nice, and kind Steve Rogers that wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Steve Rogers is good.

Just not in the way everyone thinks.

He is good at making you scream his name. He is good at wrecking you, destroying every sense of reality you have when you’re below him. He is good at making you crave him, ruining you, making sure no one else can ever compare to him. He is good at fucking you.

Not just good. Great, excellent, magnificent, or any other exaggerated positive adjective you could think of. He is all that and more.

Unfortunately, he is also good at breaking your heart.

Great, excellent, magnificent.

You still remember the first time you saw him. It was really embarrassing.

You were a new intern for an advertising company. It was your first week on the job, and you were already helping with big accounts, even if it just meant bringing coffee and delivering documents. You were more than grateful for it. Well, if anything, you had to be grateful to your coworker Jenna and her severe case of flu that had infected almost every publicist available on your floor. With everyone else out, you were thrown off of the bench. You were excited. This was your moment, and no one could take it away from you.

How naïve had you been.

One of the big accounts you ended up working on turned out to be none other than Tony Stark himself, and therefore, The Avengers were part of the deal as well. You can still remember how nervous you were when you first read the names on the paperwork you were supposed to deliver in an hour. Heart racing, sweaty palms and even a slight trembling of the hands were invading you.

Who could blame you? You were about to meet Earth's mightiest heroes.

Well, you weren’t exactly expecting to meet them. With you being the "errand girl" you thought you would be lucky if you even caught a glance of any of them, let alone actually get to talk to them. You might not get to meet them, but being in the same building as them was enough to make your stomach tight with nervousness.

With your foot tapping on the floor, papers on one hand and an iced-coffee tray on the other, you were waiting patiently for the elevator to reach the twenty-first floor. You had memorized the instructions your seniors had given you. Reach the office in the back, leave the documents and coffee, and get out of there. They didn’t need the newbie to freak out around celebrities, they didn’t trust you were able to control yourself even if you had assured them a thousand times you could handle it.

As the elevator doors opened, your heart rate significantly increased. You could’ve sworn you were about to have a heart attack. You silently cursed at the fact that you had to cross the whole floor to get to your destination while trying to remind yourself that you had to be professional, not only for the sake of your career but for the sake of your dignity.

Ironic. Maybe if you hadn't been so nervous, you would’ve noticed how quickly everyone was moving in the office. Perhaps you would’ve also noticed how someone was walking out of the same room you were trying to get into, the door swinging open so quickly you didn't have time to stop the inevitable clash.

The coffee that landed on the ground made the floor slippery. In an almost cartoonish way, you fought to maintain balance, failing miserably as you landed on your ass. You opened your eyes, not realizing you'd even closed them, and saw the folder you were holding mere seconds ago was now resting on top of the brown liquid. The stain was growing around the edges so rapidly that it felt almost taunting. Your hands launched forward, trying to save what's left of the important documentation you were supposed to deliver. Your effort, while admirable, was futile.

"God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?" A deep voice said. Your head snapped so quickly it wouldn’t have surprised you if you pulled out a muscle. You recognized that voice.

Captain America, in all his glory, was standing in front of you. For some reason, you thought the first time you would meet Steve Rogers, he would look like the pictures you’ve seen in the press. A tactical suit, a shield in one hand, and a serious expression were the mental images you had of him. But, sitting on the floor in a puddle of coffee and ice, the man you saw was completely different. His white T-shirt and black sweatpants made a huge contrast with what you expected, also making you realize how ridiculous it was for you to be surprised by his outfit. He was a hero, but he was still just a guy.

A guy that looked incredibly hot just wearing a white T-shirt and black sweatpants.

You’ve seen this scenario played out a thousand times in movies and shows. The first meeting of a couple of strangers occurs when they are carrying something and, by pure chance, they crash together. Food, papers, and belongings fly across the room. Eyes connect, hearts beat, and a new romance is born.

What they failed to mention is how fucking embarrassing it was in real life.

"Yeah. I-I’m okay." Of course, you would stutter the first time talking to Captain America. God, everyone was right. You definitely couldn’t keep your cool.

"You sure? I didn’t even see you. I’m so sorry," he apologized again.

With his help, you managed to get up from the floor, trying to ignore how his touch made your heart flutter. You were glad he was holding you when your heels slipped on the floor again, but a strong hand grabbed you before you embarrassed yourself any further. That same hand traveled down to your waist, his grip guided you to a surface that was not a danger to your stability.

Once you were sure you wouldn't fall on your ass again at the slightest movement, you took out your heels. His hand still helped you, lingering there until you were done with your task. The warmth that came with his touch disappeared, a slight disappointment settled in you, and your cheeks heated up at your own reaction. Could someone cringe at themselves so hard it could make you combust?

You looked at him, trying to make a funny comeback, a sarcastic comment about the situation. Anything that would make you look less pathetic than you were, but you couldn’t. The bluest eyes you’ve ever seen were looking at you. No, they were burning you. You couldn’t move. You couldn't talk. Hell, you weren’t even sure you were breathing.

"What the hell happened here?"

Your boss's voice cut through the environment, grounding you back to reality. This was when you took a chance by looking around you. Everyone's eyes were on you. Your eyes began to sting, tears fighting to stream down your face. But you endured. You breathed in, you counted, and you apologized.

"I’m so sorry. I was trying to get into the room, but I didn’t see him, and I crashed into him." If your boss was upset before, now she was furious at you. A plethora of passive-aggressive insults were thrown in your direction, maybe even the words incompetent and useless too. You could also hear his deep voice trying to explain the situation, but you didn’t really care now. You thanked your ability to tune out situations like this, a skill you had learned to love once you entered the work field.

"She should’ve been paying more attention. And look at your clothes. I’ll make sure someone takes care of that." You were able to hear. Your cheeks warmed at the sight of his now coffee-stained clothes.

You were definitely getting fired.

"She’ll pay for the dry cleaning."

Great, fired and in debt already.

"Look, you don’t have to do that," he said, tired of arguing with the stubborn woman. "It was an accident. An accident I caused. It wasn’t her fault, so stop trying to pin it down on her." You didn’t miss the authoritative tone in his voice, making you wonder if this is what he sounded like in missions.

Or in bed.

"Let me show you somewhere you can get changed." he offered. The sweet tone of his voice had a direct impact on your heart. You gave him a shy nod, letting him guide you towards the elevator.

Unfortunately, the ride was long. So long that you thought time had somehow screwed you over and decided to slow down. You needed a moment alone, a moment to cry and scream into your fist, curse at your boss, at life, even at the gorgeous man that was standing next to you. And maybe get drunk. That usually helps.

The blue-eyed soldier cleared his throat, making you look at him. "Sorry about that whole thing with your boss."

You gave him a simple shrug. "She’s a dick."

The bluntness of your words makes him laugh. As if your crush on him couldn’t get any more evident, a big smile plastered on your face, butterflies invaded your stomach. The first time you made him laugh, and it had only taken some public embarrassment and ruining your professional career.

"I’m Steve Rogers, by the way." He extended a greeting hand to you.

Without any hesitation, you grabbed it. The urgency was slightly mortifying, but with all things considered, you didn’t really have much to lose. You told him your name, making sure this time you didn’t stutter.

"Nice meeting you," he said, a charming smile in his lips. "You think you’ll be in trouble?"

The innocence in his question was amusing. He clearly has never seen the end of a corporate job.

"She’ll probably fire me."

A week in and you would already have to go job hunting again. And now you had the biggest stain on your resume, you had basically ruined some of your clients’ belongings. Your coworkers were never going to let you live this one down.

While you wallowed in your own self-pity, Steve’s hand brought you back to reality. A comforting touch on your shoulder and a friendly expression met your eyes.

"Not if I have anything to do with it." He winked.

Steve Rogers is a good man. You thought to yourself.

You had severely underestimated how helpful Steve would be. You thought he was just going to help you keep your job and give you enough time to look for another one, as your boss seemed to be bothered by every little thing you did.

What you didn’t expect was for him to request to work directly with you.

When you asked for an explanation, your coworker only gave you an uninterested shrug.

"He told Madelyn he wouldn’t work with anyone else other than you."

Of course, your boss wouldn’t let you enjoy this bit of sunshine you had. She had planned to give you the hardest tasks to complete, adding more and more pressure to see you bend until you snapped. And you had to tend to every request she had, not because you wanted to, but because you had to show her you weren’t going to quit. The only silver lining to this unspoken war between you two was how often you got to see Steve.

Steve Rogers.

The man who had made himself a place in your heart in just a few months.

You could’ve gotten over it if he was just attractive, a pretty face to look at while you were working. Something superficial you lusted after. Yes, it was wrong to want to fuck one of your clients, but again, who could blame you? Worse things have happened in the world. Once the initial star-struck phase passed by, moving on would be as easy as breathing.

The problem was, he wasn’t just a pretty face.

Meeting after meeting, a handshake, a smile, a laugh that burst through his chest, crinkles in the corners of his eyes, small things that built a foundation in you one by one.

Work meetings turned into texting, that turned into phone calls, that turned into visiting each other in your free time.

You could talk to Steve for hours. There was no space for silence when you two were in the same room. You knew his favorite ice cream, how he ordered coffee, his favorite place around the corner that served the best pancakes he had ever tasted, and how he liked to run in the mornings just before the sun starts rising, so when he’s finishing his first lap, he could see it. A beautiful motivation to keep going, he said. At this point, you were sure you could fact check his Wikipedia page without having to ask him a single question.

However, one particular secret lingered in your mind.

When Steve revealed to you that he had an ex-girlfriend, you couldn’t help but be surprised. You were sure no one knew about it, or else you would’ve heard about it. It was a mystery to you how he had kept it hidden from the public for so long.

"So, you’re telling me you had a relationship for years and no one noticed?" You asked incredulously. You were leaned back on the couch of your apartment, your legs spaced across his lap, his hands ever so slightly brushing your skin.

"I’m good at keeping secrets," he says with a smirk.

He took a sip of the beer you had so kindly offered him. You had bought them specially for him. You didn’t even like beer.

"It appears so," you said, with a chuckle. "So, why you guys break up?"

He froze for a moment, and you saw it. A range of emotions ran through his eyes. Sadness, heartbreak, longing, love.

He was still in love with her.

It should’ve been the first sign to stay away from him.

"She didn’t love me anymore."

To your surprise, you weren’t the one that made the first move.

It was a Saturday evening. The sunset was getting closer by the minute. A ding diverted your attention from the rom-com you were watching. It was him. Your heart almost beat out of your chest when you saw the notification light up your screen.

Hey, I’m finally back.

A wide grin plastered on your face, your teeth grabbing your lower lip. You were glad you live alone, or else they could’ve seen how this man, with just four words, had made you giggle like a schoolgirl.

You waited a couple of minutes before you texted back.

Hey there stranger. I’ve missed you so much. How was the trip?

His lack of response didn’t surprise you, he was probably tired from his trip to who knows where. A little over a month had passed since you last talked, with him telling you he wouldn’t be available for a while as he had to go on a mission. To say you were unhappy with the news would be an understatement. But you understand his line of work. His world won’t stop spinning just because a silly publicist has an unrequited crush on him.

Days turned to weeks, and without notice, it had been a month since he was gone. He left a void in your life that you were filling with work, friends, and copious amounts of food and alcohol. Not the best way to distract yourself, but effective, nonetheless.

Standing up to get another can of soda you heard your phone ringing. His ringtone.

You weren’t expecting a phone call so soon after his return, not after him texting you just twenty minutes ago. With a quick pace you crossed your kitchen, answering your phone at the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi." His voice was shaky, hesitant. "I, um. Are you free right now?"

Your breath hitches in your throat. You weren’t even dressed. What is this?

"Yeah. Why?"

"You wanna go out?"

What the fuck?

“Right now?” you managed to spit the words.

“Yeah”

"Didn’t you just got back today?" you asked, walking towards your closet to look for something decent to wear. Again, a big relief that you lived by yourself. Dealing with someone else looking at you making a fool of yourself would be exhausting.

"Yeah, I don’t know. I just want to hang out with you."

The first place he took you was an old dingy dinner in Brooklyn, close to where he had grown up in the 40’s. The food was mediocre, the service could be better, but the company was the best. After both of you had eaten your soggy fries and your melted milkshakes, he took you on a walk. The longest one in your life. He gave you a whole tour, comparing what used to be and what there is now, the alleys he had gotten beaten up, where he had gotten his first kiss. He shared his past with you, and you absorbed every little word he said, every piece of himself he gave you.

Following that, you walked aimlessly through the streets of New York until you reached a familiar nightclub you were working for. With a mischievous grin, you grabbed Steve's hand, pulling him towards the entrance. When he asked for an explanation, you told him your intentions, to which he started to fight back on your pull.

"Come on, Steve, when was the last time you danced?" You said with a pout, as if that could help your case.

His eyes fell for a second, a painful memory invaded him.

"A long time ago," he whispered.

He was thinking about her.

After a few more minutes of begging and pouting, he finally gave in. Your little jump of happiness made him chuckle, and your grip on his hand got tighter. When you got through to the bouncer, you told him you worked for your PR firm, and after a few minutes on the phone, he let you in with a friendly smile.

The place was packed, the music was deafening, people dancing surrounded you. It smelled like alcohol, sweat, and trouble.

Steves' hands wrapped you, the shots you had ordered a few moments ago were invading your system. Your hips swayed side to side as his hands traveled down your body, gripping you tightly. His chest was pressed against your back, his breath hit the back of your neck. No one else around you mattered. In this crowded, tight place, it was just you and him.

It was a perfect first date.

Except it wasn’t a date at all.

And that made you so angry.

You had noticed how his gaze lingered on you longer than it should, the way his hugs were tighter and he seemed to not want to let you go, how his hand had brushed yours when walking through the dark streets of Brooklyn, the way his hands would travel down your body.

At the same time, you had also noticed how he would step away from you when any sort of romantic ambiance would fall over you, the way his eyes would drift away from yours when you looked him in the eyes, the way he changed subjects when you asked him if he had any interest in going on dates.

Yet, no matter how many mixed signals he gave you, you would never make the first move. Not only would it be awkward at work (which should have been enough to discourage you), but the thought of losing him because you misinterpreted him was too painful to bear.

Six months was enough for him to become a vital part of your life, and if it were ripped from you in such an unexpected way, you wouldn’t know how you could move on. How could you forget what it felt like to have Steve Rogers in your kitchen, cooking whatever recipe he had found online, so you could have something to eat while watching a movie? How could you forget the way his eyes would shut, his head would roll back, and a hand would make its way to his chest when he found something hilarious?

You could do just being "friends" with the guy. "Friends" was good. "Friends" was bearable.

Except friends didn’t spin you around, their hands lowering down your lower back. Or raise your face, their thumb brushing over your lips. Or gave you a look that could make you combust right there on the spot, making you forget how to breathe.

Friends definitely didn’t come close to your face, their lips brushing yours and your hands grabbing on to their shirt.

Friends didn’t kiss.

You were in the club one minute, and the next you were in your house. On your bed. With a shirtless Steve on top of you.

Your clothes disappeared. Your lace panties and your flimsy bralette were the only things covering your body. His hands were touching you, all of you. Exploring every inch of your skin while his lips were devouring yours. He knew what he was doing. He was making you crave him. Beg him to fuck you.

His hand finally reached your underwear, a finger trailing up and down your covered slit. A very large wet spot, visible even through the lace, made Steve smirk smugly.

"So wet for me," he whispered in your ear. You tried to reply, but his fingers started trailing circles around your little bundle of nerves. All you could muster was a loud moan. "You like that, baby?"

Your lack of an answer made him accelerate his pace. Your head jerked back at the overwhelming sensation. He’s not even really touching you; the sensation of the dripping lace added to your pleasure, but you could tell he could make you cum just like this.

"Answer me. Use your words, sweetheart." His voice was deep, raspy, and commanding. You were right, he did use the same tone.

"Y-yes" you mustered. His lips clashed against yours, his tongue finding its way to yours. Even in your pleasure haziness, you could see how much he liked how difficult it was for you to answer. He enjoyed how good he was making you feel.

Lowering his kisses again, he trailed down to your breasts, taking his time to lightly bite one of your nipples. The sensation should have hurt, but instead it brought added pleasure, making you arch your back.

He brought himself fully down, his head between your legs. You felt his hands helping you get rid of your underwear, the piece of fabric completely soaked. Looking down, you felt like you could faint. The sight of him between your legs could only be described as beautiful.

Steve’s face got close to your soaked pussy, inhaling your scent. He looked at you. The burning gaze he had always given you was different, more intense, darker, lustful. Your most inappropriate fantasies were turning into reality. All those nights you had spent with your fingers between your legs, imagining it was him was no longer a sensuous fiction you created in your mind. He was here, right now, about to eat you out.

"God, you’re perfect," he whispered.

His tongue drew a line coursing between your folds. He was such a tease. Lick after lick, your impatience was growing; you needed him to stop playing games. Your hands traveled to his hair, giving him a slight pull so he would look at you.

"Please," you begged him.

His eyes darkened.

"Please what, beautiful?" His voice was low and seductive. The lust behind it was making your core clench on nothing. "You want me to taste you?" You desperately nodded. You needed him to give you more. "Say it."

His fingers spread your lips apart. The tips of his fingers teased your entrance as he kept pushing you for an answer. His thumb found your clit again, slowly drawing light circles against it. Your hips bucked against his hand, begging for him to add more pressure, but his other hand steadied you in your place.

"Say it, baby," he whispered.

"Please Steve, taste me," you moaned.

You knew Steve Rogers was a great fighter, great at strategizing, and a sharpshooter. He was also a great artist, according to the documentary you once watched on his time in WW2. He was smart, brave, and strong, both mentally and physically.

Now, you also know how great he was between your legs.

The sensation of him sucking on your bundle of nerves was sending you over the edge. Your slick trailed down your lips all the way down to your puckered hole. His fingers teased your entrance, slowly covering themselves in your juices until he finally slid one of them inside.

His fingers were big, bigger than yours, and they reached places yours had never been able to. The way he moved them inside you, with such ease, they found that spongy part that tightened your stomach. It was breathtaking. He added a second finger, and you could’ve sworn you were about to come undone. The pace he set was relentless. His fingers pumped in and out of you while his tongue toyed with your nub, making you feel better than you’ve ever felt with anyone else.

But you needed him, all of him.

"Fuck me," you begged. Your voice was hoarse as, apparently, the only thing you could do was whimper and moan every time his lips would close around your clit.

He lifted his face away from you, but his fingers kept moving inside. Half his face shone under the dim lighting of your bedroom. A mixture of his own saliva and your arousal was prominent on his pink, puffy lips. That and the cocky grin on his face made your walls clench.

"You wanna cum on my cock, don’t you?"

Fuck.

You never thought you would have America's favorite hero saying those things to you. Whiplash was caused by someone whose persona was built around this moralistic, innocent, almost puritan idea.

His digits added pressure to your core. The knot in your stomach tightened.

"Please" was the only word you were able to say.

His fingers stopped filling you; the emptiness made you whine. The cloudiness your brain was in didn’t let you register when he had taken his pants off. He placed himself on top of you. Both his hands rested on top of the bed on the sides of your face. The feeling of his cock resting on top of your stomach made you look down.

He was big.

No, big wasn’t enough to describe him.

He was huge. Not only in length but in thickness.

How the fuck was that supposed to fit inside you?

The red bulbous tip almost reached your bellybutton; a droplet of pre-cum rested on top of it. Without a second thought, you reached down to touch it. Steves' breath hitched as your palm closed on his member, and his hands clenched into fists. Your thumb smeared the white pearl, smudging it in circles on his tip and making his cock twitch in your hand.

"Fuck," he groaned.

Your hand dragged up and down, pumping him as you grew wetter. Your fingers found a thick, prominent vein that trailed down over his length. It was the softest of touches, yet it was driving him crazy.

After a few more pumps, he couldn’t take it anymore. He spread your legs as wide as he was able to, his hand leading his cock between your slits. You jumped a little when it first touched you, but his hands held your hips still. With swift movements, his head rubbed on your knob. The sensation of it made your eyes roll. Electricity ran through your body, each one of your nerve endings aware of what his cock was doing.

Without any warnings, you felt a slap, jolts of pleasure emerging from that nub he had been toying with since the start. You looked down to see him holding himself, ready to slap you with his tip again. This time, both of your eyes were locked together, and neither of you dared break eye contact.

His face came close to you. His hand grabbed the back of your head as he kissed you. Hungrily, desperately, seductive.

You felt his head nudging at your entrance, your eyes closing with anticipation and a little worry about his length. You weren’t a virgin, of course, but you also never had anyone as big as he. as thick as him. You had only seen dicks as big on porn sites, and even then they looked intimidating. What if it didn’t fit? Would it hurt? What if he ruined—

A soft hand brought you back from spiraling, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"Open your eyes, sweetheart."

His voice was soft and tender. A warmth spread through your chest the more you felt his touch on your face. You opened your eyes to find him staring back at you, an adoring expression filling his. Your heart jumped to your throat, no longer in lust but in affection. This encounter was lustful, seductive, and raw, but the moment you looked into his eyes, it changed everything. It was vulnerable, caring, even loving.

Blue eyes looked at you, asking for permission to keep going. You gave him the smallest of nods as you leaned into his touch. He waited a few seconds before you finally felt him moving inside.

Oh, you definitely felt him.

The stretch burned. You could feel how you were struggling to fit him in. He was thoughtful, though, taking it slow and calm so you could get used to him. Yes, the intrusion hurt a bit, but you desired it with all your soul. His eyes kept you grounded, guiding you through everything you were feeling.

"It’s okay, sweetheart. Breath," he whispered.

After a few seconds, the pain was slowly replaced with pleasure, your legs instinctively spread wider for him. You felt him everywhere. The deeper he went, the heavier your breathing got. Your hands traveled to his hair, pulling it slightly in your fists when it became too much.

Finally, he bottomed out. You’ve never felt fuller in your life.

That night, he fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

And maybe, just maybe, that night he also opened his heart to you for the first time.

Things were great for a while.

Steve came to your apartment almost every day, most of which ended up with you under him, begging him to not stop. You had memorized every freckle, every scar, every imperfection on his skin.

You have also memorized the things he loves during sex. The way he groans when you’re on your knees in front at him, jerking him off while your mouth plays with his balls. Or the way his eyebrows furrow when you’re on top of him, grinding your hips on top of him, his hands leaving bruises on your hips caused by his strong, almost unmovable, grip. You had even noticed the way his breath hitched when you spread your ass cheeks for him, the view almost enough to make him cum.

So yeah, things were great.

Well, maybe not great, but just good.

After that first night, you woke up to find he was already long gone. The side of your bed he had occupied had lost its warmth a long time ago. The only traces of him being around were the smell of sex and his cologne filling the room.

And the soreness in between your legs.

Maybe he had something important to do.

He would explain later, feeling sorry for leaving without letting you know. He was your friend, after all.

Except he didn’t.

He came by the next day, knocking on your door desperately. You opened the door, not before making sure you looked decent enough, pulling down your sweatshirt and fixing your hair. You saw his eyes, burning again with the same desire.

He kissed you, hungry for more.

You should’ve stopped him, told him you wanted to talk about what happened yesterday, asked for an explanation as to why he left so quickly, and made him tell you what you guys are now. Friends? More than friends? Were you together now?

But you didn’t.

You let him fuck you until you couldn’t say your own name. Kiss you until you can't breath. Let him go when he thinks you’re deep asleep.

You let him have everything he wanted and more.

You weren't stupid. You know what this unspoken arrangement was. You weren’t together.

You were just fucking.

There were implied rules in your relationship with Steve. Rule number one: you didn’t show any affection in public; rule number two: you didn’t go out in any sort of romantic date; rule number three: Steve never stayed the night.

He broke the first rule three months after that night.

Winter was closing in on New York, the air was getting colder and the streets began to be covered in a white veil of snow. Steve and you were walking side by side on the sidewalk after your shift was over. On days like these, when you got out of the office at ten in the night, Steve would pick you up and walk home with you. He said it would be safer for you.

Your hand brushed against his by accident, making yours recoil. Foolishly, you tried to grab his hand in a similar situation days after your date/not date. You still remember the bitter taste in your mouth when he gently dropped your hand a couple of seconds later.

That was the first hit your heart took.

Bringing your hands together, you cursed at the fact you that you forgot to bring your gloves with you, like you hadn’t lived in this city for half your life and didn’t know how close to freezing your fingers could get. You tried to blow some hot air into them, with the result just being a temporary fix.

Steve looked at you from the corner of his eye, a hesitant expression showing in his gaze before reaching out to your hand. You controlled your surprised expression the best you could, but you were sure he noticed. His fingers were warm, welcoming, and comforting. Not only were your fingers heating up, but your heart was pounding strongly in your chest, ready to burst through it at any given second.

He brought your hand to his lips, a small kiss touching the skin on your fingers. You felt the heat in your cheeks flush you completely, causing an amused look in his eyes.

"Your hands are cold."

To your surprise, he didn't let go of it. He interlaced your fingers.

A couple of weeks after that, Steve broke the second rule.

Celebrating a new campaign you finished wrapping up, he took you out to eat. From the luxurious decor of the place and the discreet atmosphere, you assume it was suggested by Tony. Your suspicions were confirmed when the menu that was placed in front of you didn’t show any prices.

You had jokingly told Steve you would probably have to sell both your kidneys to pay for a single plate here, and his only response was a soft hand caressing your cheek and his lips close to your ear.

"Don’t worry about it, order anything you want."

You had to keep reminding yourself that this wasn’t a date. But the romantic environment, the way his fingers would caress your thighs, his hand pushing you closer to him in the small, private booth you had been placed in, and the little kisses he would deposit on your neck, made it really hard to keep focus.

You were waiting for dessert, but his hands were busy exploring your body. To any other onlooker, you would look like an affectionate couple. The way his eyes would ever so slightly sparkle when he looked at you, his protective demeanor once you had walked inside and the fondness of his touch.

But you weren't a couple. This wasn’t even a date.

Except his hands made you look at him, with soft, pillowy lips meeting yours. They parted slightly, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. Your hand traveled to his face, your thumb brushing against his growing beard. This kiss was different from the others. It was still passionate as always, but it had care, tenderness, and an intimacy there wasn’t before.

He broke the kiss apart.

There was a shine in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

"This is the best date I’ve had in a while."

The last rule was broken three weeks after your first "official" date.

Steve had been away for almost a week. He couldn’t tell you much, but all you know is that he had gone to a foreign country and something about a terrorist organization. Worry had been your companion these past few days, as it had always been whenever Steve left.

Looking at the paperwork splattered on your coffee table you groaned, deciding to stop for the night. There was no point in melting your brain with numbers and statements when you had to use it tomorrow morning too.

You stood up, your arms and back stretching after sitting in the same position for a few hours now, with a few cracks sounding through your body. Ready to finally go to bed, a knock interrupted you. It was shy, almost hesitant. You looked at the clock and it said 11:30 PM, making your brow furrow with confusion. He wasn’t supposed to come today, at least not when he just arrived from a mission.

When you opened your door, you didn’t expect his arms to surround you. You also didn’t expect him to be still wearing his tactical gear. His face was buried in your neck. His arms grabbed you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. He’s not okay.

"What’s wrong, Stevie?" you asked softly.

You tried to look at his face, but his arms locked you in place. His breathing is heavy, almost a panting like sound coming from him. Your hands tremble once you’re able to touch his face. You’ve never seen him like this before.

His face was covered in ash, tiny scratches sitting on top of his left eyebrow. He smelled like himself but with an added layer of sweat and smoke. There were signs he might’ve had a purple eye, but the color was fading away.

You were finally able to tear apart from him and found that instead of those blue, vibrant eyes that would greet you every night, they were replaced by something broken inside him.

It clicked in your head. He needed you. He needed your comfort.

So, you gave it to him without a second thought.

His arms encircled you once more, but this time he locked you in your own bed. After a more than needed shower, you guided him to your mattress, the covers pulled over your heads, shielding you from the outside world.

"There were children," he said, breaking the silence with a trembling deep tone you'd never heard before. You felt how hard his heart was beating, the tiredness that clouded his eyes. "I couldn't—there wasn't any—I tried."

You pulled him to you again.

"It’s not your fault, Steve," you whispered in his ear. Tears were stinging your eyes, but you breathed in. This wasn’t about you. "It's not your fault."

He held you tighter.

And you both fell asleep.

The first time Steve Rogers chipped your heart, you didn’t see it coming.

One of the perks of knowing Steve and being close to him was being invited to those wild and amazing parties Tony Stark was known for. Loud music, expensive alcohol and a big crowd greeted your sight once the penthouse elevator doors opened.

Tony really did live up to his reputation.

Bucky’s laugh next to you filled your ears. His head was thrown back, his hand grabbed his stomach, and there was a noticeable red tinge on his cheeks. This was the first time he had tried that Asgardian alcohol that was strong enough to get him drunk. To say Bucky had been excited would’ve been an understatement.

He and Sam were under your contract too, both of them being a logical addition as to how they wanted to market them. The golden trio The people could trust. So, when Steve went to see some of his coworkers, you stayed behind with them.

They were nice company, and working with them for almost six months had also made you develop a friendship with them. Breakfasts and hangouts were part of your dynamic now. The constant bickering but complicity between the men was an amusing dynamic. You felt comfortable enough around them to joke and get drunk.

"Okay, I’m taking this away from you," you laughed.

Taking a drink away from a super soldier was harder than you thought. The obvious height difference was an advantage to him as he lifted his hand.

He smirked. "You've got to reach it to take it away from me, shortcake."

You tried jumping but it was useless, the results of which only made you look ridiculous. With a huff, you looked around you, examining your surroundings. When you couldn't find anything, you devised a plan to bring Bucky down to your level. A devilish smile formed on your lips. The alcohol in your system made you more carefree than usual.

Your fingers poked Bucky’s sides, his metal arm instantly bending to protect the area. A playful fight ensued between both of you. Bucky's arm stretched to its limit while you tickled his sides. You poked both sides of his ribs mercilessly until you saw his glass close to your reach. Your little jumps finally lifted you enough to graze it.

Your victory was short-lived, as Steve's hand slid to the small of your back while removing the contentious cup. Bucky and you whined in disagreement, your lips forming a pout.

"What are you guys doing?" he questioned with a laugh, his hand now settled on your waist. A waiter walked by, and he asked him to take the cup back to the kitchen, and also to make sure to put away the rest of the Asgardian mead.

"She was being a party pooper," Bucky grumbled. You gasped in indignation and your hand dramatically went to your chest.

"I was not."

"Yeah, you were," Sam joins in the conversation.

Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance. "I’m not a party pooper. I was just making sure he doesn’t get too fucked up because if he does something stupid, who do you think has to fix it? Besides, you weren’t even here before."

Sam and Bucky looked at each other for a second before turning their eyes at you.

"Party pooper"

"Fuck you, guys!" you cursed at them, your response making them laugh. You rolled your eyes, lifting your middle finger. You opened your mouth to say something else, but Steve’s hand pushed you towards his chest.

"Don’t listen to them. I think you’re really fun to be around, "he whispered close to your ear. Your face heated up, making you turn around to bury it in Steve's chest.

This man was going to kill you.

He embraced you and a kiss was deposited on top of your head. You turned around after a few seconds to see Bucky and Sam looking at you with a knowing smirk on their faces.

"So," Bucky started, clearing his throat. "Are you guys finally together?"

You turned to Steve, not knowing how to answer. Things hadn't been properly discussed, but the change between how things started and how they were going was abysmal. This past eleven months were not for nothing, you had grown attached to him. Every kiss, every hug, every promise he had made, every sleepless night of comforting, every late-night shift he had picked you up from. The lines he had previously drawn were no longer there, and instead, they were replaced with a bond formed on tenderness, care, and, if you dared to say, love.

You loved him.

Deeply. Passionately. Wholeheartedly.

If there was ever anyone you could love, it would definitely be Steve Rogers.

You would do anything for him.

"No, were just friends."

Unrequited love was painful.

Sometimes it felt like a pressing knife slowly cutting through your chest.

Other days, it would feel like you were drowning in a sea, the struggle to stay afloat consuming every ounce of energy you had.

But most days, it felt like a weight on your chest. The words that wouldn’t leave your mouth were stuck in your heart. Everything about him made you love him, and you couldn’t stop it.

Maybe that’s why you decided to talk to him about your relationship; to get rid of the pain. Or maybe a part of you still held hope. I hope for a future with him.

Once you had told him you wanted more, Steve’s face had been in shock, like a deer caught in the headlights. His silence had lasted long enough for you to doubt if he would ever answer you or if, somehow, he had passed out with open eyes.

But you still kept hoping, right until the end.

"I can’t give you more than this right now."

"If you want to, we can stop this. But if you want to keep going, this is all we can be for the moment. "

"I’m not ready for a relationship, not after her. I need time. "

His words ran through your mind over and over again. A cycle of heartbreak and lost hope draws you in. This was it. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to do it. He said he needed time, but all he was doing was telling you what you wanted to hear. He was keeping you at arm's length. He was giving you an out, a safeguard for your heart, or what was left of it.

All those nights you had spent embraced in each other's arms, with the moonlight kissing your skin, had been a construct of your imagination. The significance behind them was your own heart playing you.He didn’t love you, not in the way you had hoped he did.

The same type of love he was aware of, even if you hadn’t explicitly told him the full extent of your feelings. You could see it, even if he was so adamant that this type of bond couldn’t be possible between you two for a while, because no matter how much he would deny it, he still wanted it.

He didn’t want to love you, but he still wanted to be loved.

And as you stared into his eyes, you realized that after almost two and a half years since she left, he might still love her.

So you breathe in, close your eyes and endure. You let him keep taking it.

A jump scare on the screen caught you by surprise, your arms tightening around the pillow you were holding. You turned to your side, wanting to watch Bucky's reaction, but all you saw is his pensive expression. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. The frown on his face and the anxious up and down of his right leg made you think he was stressed about something. Probably something work related.

You turned back to the movie, the scary plot no longer able to hold your attention. Bucky had been acting weird ever since he got to your apartment, this night being only the two of you as Sam and Steve were away on a mission.

"She’s coming back." Bucky's voice broke the silence.

You turned back to him, "What?"

"Steve’s ex"

Your heart stopped.

"He told us a couple of days before him and Sam left. She texted him to let him know she was returning to S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s not going to happen for a while, but I don’t know when she’s coming back."

He visited you the day before he left, and he didn’t tell you. He didn’t want to tell you.

Bucky sighed. "I know that you are..." he hesitated for a second, flashbacks of the ‘just friends’ night coming back to you. "-whatever the hell you guys are. I also know that you have feelings for him. I just thought you should know. "

You didn’t answer. Your eyes glued themselves to the TV, but you couldn't hear anything. Your eyes prickled with tears, and a pain in your chest bloomed so deeply in you that it felt like it would break you apart.

He misses her. He didn’t tell you about it. He doesn’t love you. He still loves her.

You close your eyes, mentally repeating the mantra that has helped you for so long to not crumble down.

Close your eyes, breath in and endure.

Breath in and endure.

Endure

Bucky’s movements brought you back. His shoulder was touching yours, a simple act you can read through. You laid your head on his shoulder. As soon as your skin made contact with his shoulder, you broke. The tears you so strongly fought to chase away were hitting you all at once.

As he wrapped his arm around you and squeezed you tightly, you thought it was okay to cry, just this once.

The beginning of the end followed that day closely behind.

You weren’t sure when things started to change. After he came back, he didn’t mention anything to you about his ex coming back or how this might change what was going on between you two. Bucky wasn’t sure when she would get back to the city, so you decided that worrying about something you didn’t know when was going to happen would be counterproductive. You left the thought of her return on the back burner, just for a little while.

Steves' affection was the same. He laughed the same. He held you the same. He kissed you the same.

Until he didn’t. And you didn’t notice it until it was too late.

One day, he forgot to pick you up. You called, you texted but there was no answer. You waited almost an hour until you decided to walk back on your own. For the first time, you noticed how scary it was to walk so late at night. The next day, he apologized with a bouquet of flowers from your favorite shop.

Another day he forgot you had made plans to watch a movie. A few hours later, the beer you had opened for him slid down the drain. He called you the next day, saying work had kept him busy, but he would make it up to you.

On a different day, he forgot you were going out to eat. The waitress had given you a sympathy look while you ordered the check. The next day, he texted you, saying he was sorry. You didn’t see him for the rest of the week.

Things were different, even when you had sex.

Before, he used to love looking deeply into your eyes. Kissing your lips as he kept thrusting into you. To see your expression as he slid inside for the first time that night. He loved seeing your eyes rolling back when he hit that special spot that made you tremble. He made you look at him when you were about to come undone. He loved looking at you.

Now he turned you around, your ass up in the air and your head pinned down to the mattress. His pace was relentless, animalistic almost. There wasn’t any care or affection anymore. He used you, physically this time. It still felt good. No one could ever say Steve Rogers was a selfish lover. One time you turned around your head, in hopes to catch those blue eyes you missed so much.

His eyes were closed.

You walked through the office, making your way to the conference room. A little smile grew on your face as you compared how different things were two years ago. The first time you had walked this route, you were just a naïve intern, with so many hopes and dreams in your head that had ended up with you covered in coffee all over you.

You reached the door and made sure no one was coming out as you walked in. You saw Steve sitting alone, which surprised you. This meeting was supposed to be between you and the three of them. You were especially hoping to talk to Bucky about his upcoming solo tour as a way to mend his public image, which started a week from now. And as his representative in all public matters, you had to agree with him who would go on the trip as his companion. This conversation would probably take a long time with Bucky not really liking any of your other coworkers, and it would take even longer now with this delay.

You sat in front of him, leaving your purse and your folder on the large table between you two.

"Where are Sam and Bucky?" you inquired.

For some unknown reason, you felt nervous, your heartbeat increasing the longer you were alone with him.

"I told them to give us a couple of minutes alone."

Oh.

He was finally going to do it. He was about to break your heart right before a work meeting with him and your friends. He was leaving you to be with her.

"Okay. What’s up?" You managed to answer. Your trembling hands laid on your lap in an effort to hide them.

"I, um—" he paused for a moment. His lack of words confirmed your worst nightmares. He really was going to do it. You tried to swallow down the knot in your throat, only making it more painful. "Would you like to go to Stark’s charity gala with me?" he blurted out.

What?

"Uh." It takes you a second to compose yourself. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t kicking you out of his life. He was asking you to go with him to the gala this weekend. You shook your head, clearing out any intrusive thoughts that were left behind. "Yeah, of course. I would love to." you replied with the biggest smile you’ve had in weeks.

He smiled at you. "Ok, good. I’ll pick you up at 7:30"

"Ok."

Hope.

Maybe this was the little ray of hope you were looking for.

You should’ve never said yes.

If Starks parties had made an impression on you, the gala was certainly something to behold. Elegant, radiant, stylish, and graceful were the adjectives that came to your mind. The event was held at the Manhattan Center. The space was open, wide and decorated to perfection. Every single detail of it was planned and executed with precision, surely something made by his wife.

You were grateful for Steve’s insistence on helping you pay for your outfit. Your beautiful, floor-length, golden embroidered dress, with which you had fallen in love as soon as you laid eyes on it, would probably have cost you a kidney. You felt beautiful in it. Your hair and makeup were done by professionals, and the heels that squeezed your toes made the perfect combination of grace and beauty. It could almost be compared to a fairytale.

"You look beautiful." was the first thing Steve managed to say. The way he smiled and his eyes went wide as soon as they landed on you is an image you will keep in your brain forever. A few seconds after he composed himself, he pulled you into a kiss, a long, passionate kiss.

You don’t think you’ve ever smiled brighter in your life.

Steves' hand held the back of your waist, guiding you through the sea of dresses and tuxedos. The dance floor was open; people were already dancing to the melodic tune. As you reached the front of the room, you noticed all eyes were on you. You suppose it wasn’t a surprise that the girl that Captain America had brought to such a serious event was a spectacle on its own. Finally reaching your table, you noticed Bucky and Sam were already at your table next to some of their friends/coworkers. A shower of compliments rained on Steve and you, making heat reach both your faces.

"Wow. You look great, shortcake. "

"You look amazing, baby."

"You guys look really good together."

The rest of the night went by in a blur. Smiles, laughter, and alcohol fill your memories. You’ll never forget how happy you were at that time. Hanging out with people you’ve only seen on the news and magazine covers who were surprisingly welcoming was an odd situation. They laughed, they made mistakes, and they were funny. They were just people, after all.

You turned around to see Steve’s face, but, for a quick moment, all that greeted you was a frown. His hand was holding yours, but his mind was elsewhere. An internal turmoil was happening inside his head that he wouldn’t let you see as his eyes were stuck looking at the crowd across the room.

And as quickly as it came, that frown disappeared. His eyes connected with yours, and he placed a kiss on your temple.

He dragged you away to the dance floor, his hand still linked to yours as you found a spot in the middle. The way he had stood up so quickly had scared you, his eyes no longer covered by the complex storm of thoughts he was having. One of his hands found its way to your waist, his hold pressing you against his chest. The other one grabbed your hand as he led you through the music. A soft romantic melody was playing, the couples around you melted into each other, and, to your surprise, you did the same.

Blue eyes stared at you, and for the first time in a while, they didn’t feel cold. They were warm, the type of warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. The type of warmth that raises butterflies in your stomach and heats your face. It's the type of warmth that makes you want to stay there forever, because no matter where you are or what you do, nothing will ever compare to that.

And just like that, it was like the past few months didn’t exist. The unsavory taste that distance and rejection had left in your mouth was washed away with a simple look. A true testimony of how love can make us so naïve and a horrible reminder of how weak this man could make you.

Once again, he kisses you, but this time it feels different. It’s intense and deep, his hands gripping you as they travel all over your body. The kiss had so much behind it, your brain was going haywire trying to read it all while your heart was about to burst out of your chest. It wasn’t lustful or aggressive as the other ones had been the past week. It meant something different to him.

It meant love.

You had been waiting for this so long that now that it was happening, you couldn’t believe it. If it wasn’t for his touch, you could’ve sworn you were floating. The endless music and murmuring from the crowd disappeared under the spell of him.

The kiss was perfect until it wasn’t.

His lips broke apart from yours too soon. His hands fell from your body. He put as much distance as he could with a step back.

You opened your eyes, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. His chest was heaving up and down while he looked past you. The same love you had felt was still reflected in his eyes, but this time they were also hurt. There was so much pain in them that he looked on the verge of breaking. Heartbreak

With a trembling heart, you turned around to find a woman standing in the middle of the crowd with a lonely tear streaming down her face. A beautiful woman with long blonde silky hair wrapped around a perfect black satin dress stood there with the same look in her eyes as Steve’s. You’d recognize that look anywhere; the same broken eyes of someone that was still in love with the past.

She truly was breathtaking. This was the first time you had ever seen her, and you could understand why Steve was smitten by her. She was perfect in every way. Attractive, beautiful, confident, and, based on what he had told you, smart. How could he not still love her?

This wasn’t your love story. It was theirs.

Steve didn’t notice when you left the dance floor. Neither when you went straight to the bar and started drinking your sorrows away. What was the point of loving a man who would never look at you like he looks at her?

You should’ve taken this as a sign to go home. The crushing reality of how you love someone that will never love you was already a good enough reason to leave. But as the stubborn, heartbroken woman that you were, you stayed. Not to save your dignity, but to use Stark's vast collection of whiskeys, vodkas, and tequilas.

Maybe if you would’ve left, your heart could’ve still been saved.

The bitter taste of the whiskey wasn’t a problem for you anymore. The way you were drinking it, anyone could’ve thought it was water. After your sixth shot, you were still, in some ways, self-aware enough to know you were about to cause a spectacle of yourself if you kept drinking in public. You grabbed the bottle you were pouring yourself from, stumbling away from the bartender as he yelled at you for leaving without paying.

"Put it on Captain America’s tab."

Bucky had yelled your name as you kept walking away. Your eyes connected for a few seconds, and his worried stare intensified. He knew. Of course he had seen the whole ordeal going down, it didn’t really surprise you. After all, Bucky was the one that warned you about her after returning. The one that still wanted to spare your feelings from all this pain.

Somehow you ended up going through a door. Behind it was a room filled with chairs, tables, and other furniture. Props that they probably used for other types of events. Before you got the chance to turn around, moans and whines reach your ears. The nature of the noises was obvious, and by the sounds of it, they were both having a good time. But something about them sent chills down your spine. Something was wrong.

"Fuck, baby."

You froze in your place.

That voice. The moans. The panting.

You’ve heard them before.

No, no, no, no, no.

"God, I missed you so much"

You wanted to leave, go as far away from them as you could. But as you stood there, holding the pieces of your heart together, you realized you couldn’t move. It felt as if the only thing holding you together was your steadiness. Even the sightless movement felt as if it could open the door of hurt you were fighting so hard to stop.

"You didn’t seem to miss me that much twenty minutes ago," she said between pants

"She’s not you. She’ll never be you."

Every word that left his mouth was meant to hurt you, whether it was intentionally or not. Your efforts to keep yourself whole were useless; bits and pieces of your heart slipped away from you. How could he say all those things? How could he have so little regard for you? You knew you could never fill the void she left, but you had hoped that maybe he would see you for who you were and love you for who you were.

A hand grabbed your shoulder, making you jump. It was Bucky, and by the way he was looking at you, he had heard what his best friend had said. Your dignity was added to the list of things Steve Rogers took from you. His arm was wrapped around you to guide you out of the room. You didn’t move, and you didn’t want to leave yet. Something inside you needed to see him. Bucky's eyes pleaded with you to walk out with him, let him take you away and leave them behind. But you had to face the truth at its fullest, no matter how ugly and hurtful it was.

You got close enough to see them. It hurt more than you thought it would. She was spread open on top of a sort of desk they'd found. Her dress was now bunched up around her waist; his hands held the side of her legs as he pounded again and again inside her.

That wasn’t what made your heart slip away from your chest, though. It was the words he said next.

"You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined it was you under me. How many times I almost call her your name? I almost asked her if I could."

"I’ve never wanted her, not really."

"Even when I kissed her tonight, I could only look at you."

Steve Rogers was cruel.

Steve Rogers never cared about you.

He had played with your heart for his own benefit. He had given you false hope in his efforts to not be alone. He didn’t see you as a friend, a lover, or a human being either. He just saw you as a temporary replacement.

The piercing pain in your chest was all that was left, your heart no longer in its place. The other times where you felt your heart cracking were nothing compared to this. The more his words sat on your mind, the stronger the pain got. Waves of pain and grief hit you as you tried to process what was going on.

You backed down, your trembling legs failing you as you tried to move. You thought you were about to crash on the floor, but Bucky's hands had been there to catch you. He held you tightly against him, your hand covering your mouth so you would not make a sound. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. But all you could do was stay there and feel.

This time, Bucky's hands held you tightly, more persistent than before, and they guided you outside. In your haziness, you didn’t realize you accidentally stumbled with a bunch of brooms on the side of the path. The loud crash echoed through the room. You heard Steve’s surprised gasp, and unfortunately for you, you weren’t out of sight just yet. With all the remaining strength you had, you turned back to see him.

"Shit," you somehow heard him whisper.

Both your eyes connected, he knew you'd heard what he said. His expression mirrored the one you had when you had seen them. Surprise, shock, and sadness. He saw the pain all over your face, the way Bucky held you so you wouldn’t crumble apart as your heart did. A flash of regret ran through his eyes when he saw the way you were holding your chest.

Regret.

He felt bad for being a fucking asshole.

That made you fucking livid.

How dare he feel regret for stomping all over your heart? How dare he feel sad for using you, over and over and over again, until there was nothing left for you to give him? How fucking dare he feel bad about all this mess when he was the one that created it?

He had no right to feel bad. He never cared about you or anyone else other than her.

You heard him yell your name, pleading with you to wait as he fumbled with his clothes. Bucky's grip on you grew tighter. Perhaps he thought you would be stupid enough to wait for him to explain whatever he wanted to explain. Fortunately for you, you weren’t as masochistic as everyone thought.

"Wait! Please, let me explain." You heard him beg before you went through the door.

You didn’t cry when you saw them together or when you heard him say those vile words. Neither did you cry when Bucky took you to your apartment or when he helped you settle into your bed. Or when he slipped under the covers after you grabbed his hand because you didn’t want to be alone, not anymore. You didn’t cry, not even when he held you closer all night, hoping this could help your broken heart.

You didn’t cry for Steve Rogers anymore.

He could go fuck himself for all you cared.

Toothbrush, skin care routine, passport, makeup bag, laptop, tablet. Everything was in place in your last bag. With a satisfied huff, you closed your suitcase and left it at the front door. A quick glance at the clock you had on your coffee table let you know you still had 5 minutes to spare.

You dropped on the couch, your back thanking you for the necessary rest it needed after a hectic morning of re-organizing your suitcases. Your month-long trip was turning out to be a two-month-long one. With Bucky's press tour taking two weeks longer than planned and you cashing out your two weeks of vacation savings, the clothes you packed weren't enough.

The vacation destination of your trip was still undecided. Maybe somewhere sunny and tropical, ideal to get the perfect tan you couldn’t get in New York. Or maybe you'd go to a secluded cabin in the mountains, knowing how much you needed some alone time. Your fantasies were interrupted by your phone's ringtone. You didn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it was.

Steve had called you every day since the gala. The first call you got from him was the hardest to ignore. The picture you had taken of both of you covered your screen as it kept ringing. In all honesty, you would’ve probably picked up the call if it weren’t for Bucky's intense glare. The way Bucky's eyes could speak to you always amazed you and, in this case, you knew what they were saying Don't be stupid, don’t give in.

After that first call, you got another three that day, much to your annoyance. Then the next day there were six calls, then eight. It seemed the more you ignored him, the more persistent he became. Fortunately for you, for the past few days you didn’t see him, your schedule clearing up since you took the position as Bucky's companion, instead leaving your coworkers all the heavy work of dealing with superheroes.

But after the first ignored calls came the texts. Then the messages passed through coworkers. Then there were the flowers. If only he had done this before he broke your heart.

The incessant ringing came back. You thought after the last six days went by without an answer, the message would be pretty clear, but apparently another strong characteristic of Steve Rogers was his persistence. A persistence that wouldn’t stop, not even if it would spare you from all the pain he caused you. Nothing mattered as long as he could take whatever he wanted.

Steve Rogers was selfish. You were done with selfish.

So you answered the phone.

"Stop calling me!" you screamed into the device.

"Please, just let me—"

"Whatever you want to say to me, I don’t want to hear it. Stop calling me, stop texting me, stop asking about me, stop sending flowers or whatever the fuck you buy for me. Stop. Trying. To. Contact. Me."

Your own words surprised you. The strength that came from within them freed the tightness in your chest that you’ve had for so long. Your harsh words were met with silence, neither of you daring to hang up. You didn’t notice when your eyes started to well up, when your hands were shaking or when your muscles were so tense, they begged you to relax.

What seemed like minutes went by with the same quietness, both your heavy breathings were the only things letting you know you were still in the call. After a few more moments, Steve finally gave in and broke the silence.

"I’m sorry." he whispers.

You huffed. "That doesn’t change anything"

"I know."

Maybe the best option would've been to hang up and cut things now before you were exposed again. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, love and grief are rarely driven by reason.

"You knew, didn’t you?" Your voice trembled.

"Knew what?"

"That I..."

That I love you, is what you wanted to say. However, your chest constricted within itself every time you were reminded of your own feelings. You couldn't do it, not saying it out loud was the only spec of dignity you had left and your death grip on it was lifesaving.

You cleared your throat, your hand clutched at the edge of the couch as a way to embrace yourself. "That I have feelings for you"

"Yes," he answered reluctantly.

"Yet you still used me."

A few seconds passed before he was able to muster a weak response. "Yes"

Silence really was deafening. Never in a million years did you think the most menacing sound of a relationship crumbling apart would be silence. There are so many meanings that can only be expressed through the lack of words. Silence meant pain and heartbreak, but it also meant acceptance.

And bitterness came with acceptance.

"I’ll see you in a couple of months." you scoffed.

"No, please!" he pleaded before you could hang up. "Please don’t leave. Your coworkers told me you’re going with Bucky to his press tour today, but I want to see you. I need to see you." His voice was shaky, an undecipherable tone spilling from his rushed words that almost made you change your mind. Almost.

"Stay, please."

Love was a strange force. It was supposed to be selfless, giving, and forgiving. But once you didn’t have anything else to give, it was easy to not feel it. Even if it was there, lingering in the back of your head.

A couple of weeks ago, you would’ve given everything to stay if he asked you, without a single doubt. But now, the connection and devotion you had to the super soldier are buried. You had built walls so high up that not even the warmest of words could make them crumble.

You had to save your heart, whatever was left of it.

"No"

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A/N:There will be a second part to this, more info on it here.

Part 2 is already out.

Requests are OPEN

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