ciarawritesmarvel · 6 years ago
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unwanted letters - steve rogers x reader
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Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Word Count: 2.7k (I said it’d be longer!)
Warnings: Now, this is kind of angsty but more in a hurt/comfort way if that makes sense, it’s all set around Infinity War, NO ENDGAME REFERENCES
A/N: Day Three of Hello Spring by @ibwhellospring! This one is a little different, containing some letters, some sort of angst, some IW realness and some bittersweetness. I hope you enjoy, I think I might quite like this one for once! Please do let me know what you think, my loves :)
Prompt: Goodbye Letters
masterlist is in my bio, tags will be in a reblog. please drop me an ask to be tagged in bucky, steve or all hello spring pieces! enjoy! <3
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You sat on your bed. You were cold, you noticed vaguely, but it was hardly something to worry about. Your feet were planted firmly on the floor and every now and then a thought would come and go and your hands would fist themselves in the blankets on the bed before relaxing again like it had never happened. Your eyes were trained on the wall, your focus hazy, your senses dimmed.
This was it. This was it.
“Y/N?”
You didn’t jump at the intrusion. You slowly brought your focus back as best you could and turned your head to face Steve. He looked...beaten down. But not beaten. Not yet. As long as he wasn’t beaten, you weren’t either, and you cradled that thought to your chest as if it were something precious.
“Hi Steve.”
“Hi.”
A silence, and though you and Steve had many of those in your time together this one was uncomfortable. Any time with one’s thoughts now was a bad time. You needed to save him from his thoughts, and you from yours.
“Is everyone ready?”
“I wouldn’t say they’re ready,” he admitted, wandering up to the bed and sitting down on it next to you, “But they’re still here. That’s all I could ask, and even that’s too much.”
“Don’t put this on yourself. This one’s on all of us.”
He nodded. It was clear he knew you were right but whether that would help his brain out was a different question entirely. He brought his gaze up from the floor to you and you held it, not backing down.
“I had a thought,” he said suddenly and you worried about that. Thoughts were dangerous now, that you’d already established. Still, you kept your face calm for him. Always for him.
“Hm?”
“I just-“ he paused and took a moment and you reached over and grasped his hand in yours, an unspoken source of comfort. He instantly began tracing familiar patterns into the back of your hand, the lines he’d walked so many times, the lines carved into your skin. It was a comfort to you both and enough for him to continue, albeit with a lump in his throat, “I just don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. And I don’t wanna talk about it. So I thought maybe, we could write letters? To each other. In case-“
He trailed off and you were glad. The words he was about to say were some that you were ready to hear. But his idea was sweet and thoughtful and a perfect way to express everything that could not be said in words today without tears and broken promises.
You could see the worry in his eyes, the self conscious spark that told him what he’d just said was a stupid idea, that he’d made a terrible suggestion. You squeezed his hand tighter.
“I’d love that, Steve,” you said, soft and loving, “I can’t say it either.”
He let out a shaky breath that you took as one of relief, relief that you were both in the same place right now. That you couldn’t say it. However much you both wanted to say everything, tell each other everything, you couldn’t. And that was okay.
“We have paper,” he said, standing from the bed and reaching into the cupboard, your hands dropping from each other’s and your own dropping back onto the bed with a grounding thud, “We should do it now.”
We don’t have much time.
The unspoken sentence that hung in the air as if it had been said nonetheless. You nodded in agreement, taking paper from him and one of the pens too.
When you were last in Wakanda, it had been a visit to see Bucky and you and Steve had stayed in this very same room. The three of you had talked until the early hours of the morning, walked through the busy streets, sat and ate in the peaceful fields.
One morning, Steve had woken up first, but far earlier than usual. It was the day you were due to say goodbye to Bucky and head back to a life of constant running and so he was keen to take this morning slowly, to savour it. He took in your form slowly too. Hair splayed out across the pillow, mouth hanging slightly open, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He smiled. Fell a little more in love.
He searched the room for something to do and found a cupboard full of random items, some unfamiliar board games, some coffee mugs, some files. But more intriguing to Steve was the wad of paper on the top shelf and the pot of pens and pencils standing beside it. Without much thinking, he had stolen a pencil and a few pieces of paper, settled himself in the corner armchair and began to draw you with a painstaking attention to detail. His eyes flickered between you and his page and the corners of his lips drifted upwards in a subconscious smile.
You’d woken around two hours later, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sunlight that streamed through the translucent curtains. Finding Steve sketching you had been a delightful surprise and you agreed to say in the same position until he’d finished. It had been a small moment, but one that had stuck with the both of you ever since.
It was for this reason that Steve had known exactly where the paper and pens were.
He stood up from the bed and walked almost past you, but as he was in front of you he stopped and leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head that had you closing your eyes, his hand pressed against your cheek. When you opened your eyes, he had gone, clearly deciding to write elsewhere which a part of you couldn’t help but be glad about.
You shuffled over to the desk by the window and placed down the paper, slumping into the chair with a muffled sigh. Beginning to think of possibilities of how to write the words scarred onto your heart, you stopped yourself. This wasn’t a time for thinking.
My Steve,
For the majority of my life, I firmly believed that I would end up alone, that I would never find anyone to spend my life with, to have, hold, love and cherish. It was only as soon as I accepted that it was okay to be on my own that I found you. I’m sorry I didn’t accept that sooner. Maybe we would’ve had more time. You’d tell me not to think like that, I know, but I have to say it. You have to know how much time I wish we’d had.
If you’re reading this and I’m not sat beside you then...pretend I am. I’m always beside you anyway. You’ll cry, I know, but don’t cry for too long. Lean on the others. Let them lean on you. I always think you heal the best when you’re focused on helping other people. You’re so damn selfless. It’s one of the only things I don’t like about you. You’re not careful enough with yourself.
I’m still beside you, so now imagine me punching you on the arm. Hard. A reminder not to beat yourself up if I’m gone. It won’t be your fault. I know you’ll do everything in your incredible power to make sure I get out of this and I’ll be doing the same for you so nothing will be your fault. Nothing. Never think any differently.
Steven Grant Rogers. I love you. I love you more than any other in this or any universe. You mean everything to me. You always have. Ever since you showed up on that helicarrier in your brown leather jacket and your checkered blue shirt and your fresh baby face. When you shook my hand with that tiny smile that told me we were going to get along. You meant everything to me when we stayed up all night talking about our pasts. You meant everything to me when you started bringing me my cuppa every morning without a word. You meant everything to me when I kissed you. When you kissed me back. When we finally, actually got together. When you told me you loved me. When you asked me to marry you. When we actually got married.
You mean everything to me now and forever.
But if I’m not there, then don’t let me mean everything to you forever. You must push on. Fight on. It’s one of the main things I so love about you. One of so many things.
In conclusion: I love you, I love you, I love you.
Be selfish,
Your Y/N
By the time you had finished, some of the ink had been smudged by the tears that had dropped onto the page but the writing was legible enough and without rethinking or rewording what had come from your very core, you folded up the paper and wrote Steve’s name on the front in your best cursive. You blinked back your remaining tears, breathing deeply through your nose to slow the overwhelming emotion down.
It wasn’t long, a mere hour, before you and Steve were stood side by side on the peaceful fields that were now minutes away from becoming a bloody battlefield. You reached into a concealed pocket in your suit and handed Steve your letter to which he retrieved his own and handed it to you. You wanted to say something but it seemed like he did too and still he didn’t have the words. You pushed yourself up using a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek, his beard scratching ever so slightly. When you pulled away and saw his eyes closed you felt a wave of peace roll over you unexpectedly.
You could fight now.
And for Steve? You’d sure as hell win.
---
Dearest Y/N,
Sometimes I’m not the best with words, as you know, and I struggle to articulate how I feel. Not right now. The emotion, the feelings that I have repressed for so long, I can feel them again, bubbling ominously up to the surface. You bring it out in me. I’ve never known if it was a good or bad thing.
In the spirit of sharing feelings, here’s another: I’m scared. As I write this my hand is shaking with a vigour I’ve never known. I’m scared of dying, I’m scared of leaving you, I’m scared of never building the life we’ve talked about for so long and will never build anyway. More than any of these though, I am terrified of losing you. I can’t imagine moving on, recovering. But you have to now, if you’re reading this. Which sounds hypocritical. But you just do. I feel like you’ll be cry-laughing right now.
You have always grounded me. When I was completely lost in a new world, you grounded me. I know you still talk about my leather jacket from when we met, tell people how lost I looked in it, how old I looked. I still remember your pencil skirt and jacket, still remember completely underestimating you, another suit with no real experience. But then I became infatuated with you on the battlefield and fell in love with you in the quiet moments in between.
If I’m not there, then that’s okay. You’ll be fine. I’m an old man now, sweetheart, and it had to happen someday. As long as you are safe and warm and living and breathing then I have done my job. I will have done my duty. And I won’t have any regrets.
I came out of the ice a broken man who didn’t know he was broken. I met you and my world changed. Not instantly, but slowly, as your influence seeping into every aspect of my life and every part of me as a person. You have made me stronger, wiser, tougher, better. And because you’ve made me so strong and so wise, I am wise enough now to know that you will be just as strong without me as you are with me. I’ll be holding your hand and tracing my fingers along your veins for as long as you will let me, there or not.
I love you, baby. So much.
Be strong,
Steve
Your tears were unstoppable, trailing down your cheeks and leaving ugly streaks in their wake as you hiccuped and covered your mouth with your hand, wiping your nose and face and trying to stay as quiet as possible, your breathing stuttered and laboured. Steve never spoke like this. He was loving, yes, but never sentimental as such. He struggled to put it into words.
But this? This was beautiful. Hence the tears.
You were sat up in your double bed in Wakanda, alone. It was the middle of the night, maybe 3am, you weren’t sure anymore. The past two months of time had blended into minute after minute, second after second of pain, regret and an overwhelming sadness. They’d lost. What else was left?
With half the population of the universe gone, just like that, so easy and so simple, everyone was left in different states. Jaded. Devastated. Bitter. Angry. Lost.
You thought you were currently in the numb stage. Nothing seemed to matter, sleep evaded you and you could stay awake for hours and hours just staring at the ceiling and thinking about...nothing. Like there was nothing to think about anymore.
Apparently, reading this letter had broken whatever dam of emotion you had created, you thought, as you sniffled and blinked rapidly to unstick your sodden lashes.
You heard footsteps, soft but still there, outside your room coming towards it and your eyes widened in fear, desperately trying to rid yourself of any sign of your tears, of your sorrow. The door opened slowly after a few seconds and he tiptoed in, closing the door as quietly as he could. He stopped when he turned and saw you sat up, paper in hand, face puffy and eyes bloodshot.
“Y/N?” Steve said, and it was a question but one that he already knew the answer of. It was too much. Your sobs started anew, your face contorting in a new kind of pain and Steve was quick to run to your side, climbing into bed and tugging you into his arms as you wept. You’d held him more times than you could count over the past few months as he cried and cried and cried. He thought it was wrong that he was grateful to be able to return the favour.
He whispered soothing words into your ear and stroked your hair back from your face and held you fiercely, without question. It took minutes upon minutes for you to slowly calm down, for your breathing to even out as your head rested on his chest.
“You read the letter?” he said, and it came out hoarse to which you reared back from him to see that he had been crying too. You wiped his eyes with shaking hands.
“I was looking for your sleeping pills,” you said in a whisper, not trusting your voice to be any louder, “It was in your dressing table. I couldn’t...I just wanted to...”
Steve placed both his hands on either side of your face, holding you gently.
“It’s okay,” he said sincerely, eyes flicking between both your eyes, “It’s okay.”
“We got so lucky, Steve,” you say tentatively, hands coming up to cover his own that still held your face, “But I don’t feel lucky. We still lost.”
To anyone else, that may have been taken the wrong way, but Steve knew exactly what you were saying, as usual. Of course, you were beyond glad that the both of you had survived, were together, could go to bed at night and sleep in each others’ arms. But you couldn’t. Because neither of you could even sleep.
“I don’t either,” he admitted solemnly, “But I think...one day we might. Feel lucky.”
“Yeah,” you breathed, leaning forward until your forehead was resting against his chest, “One day.”
He rested his chin on top of your head, arms wrapping around your shoulders, as yours clung around his waist.
Now wasn’t the time to worry about one day. Just now, holding each other’s broken pieces together was enough to worry about. It was a job you both took very seriously. It was a job you were determined to do right.
“I love you,” Steve said suddenly, full of meaning and weight and promises. Those three words were all the two of you really had left now.
“I love you too, Steve.”
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