Steve Rogers x Reader One Shots - Closed

Love Me or Leave Me

Love Me or Leave Me
Request for the seas daughter
A/N: So there's some light yelling at you involved.
So thanks to TheSilverScorpion making a point to find all of my title references, I made it a point to use references in my titles. So I changed this one to "Leave Me Alone, I'm Lonely" but it didn't fit as well as the title I went with.
So this isn't set during Avengers 2, but I used the party in the beginning to get ideas for this party.

Anyone who knew you knew that you didn't like being tied down. You were akin to Tony in that regard, though you respected your personal partners and didn't sleep around quite as much as the billionaire. You weren't one for one-night-stands; you simply didn't have very long-lasting relationships. The guys either got bored and left you or worried that you'd leave them and left you, and you either got bored and left them or got offended by something they did and left.
You weren't really good with relationships. But you were great with parties.

Tony Stark was throwing another party in the Tower, inviting all of the Avengers, SHIELD agents, and all of everyone's friends. He wanted a full house tonight.
Music blared through every inch of Stark Tower as bodies mingled together, twisting and grinding against one another. A few attendees sat along the bar, some nursing barely-touched drinks, others downing shot after shot. Bruce was one nursing his first drink, looking out across the room full of people. Steve sat beside him, chatting about something or another. Tony was talking to Clint while Thor was dancing with Jane. You weaved through the crowd, dancing with whoever would take you, until they all left, unable to satisfy you.
You made your way to the bar with a sigh, ordering a Rum and Coke. You smiled at the boys sitting beside you, raising your glass in a salute. Bruce smiled softly while Steve barely looked at you. You figured you deserved it, though.
You and Steve had been on-and-off for a year now, and while you enjoyed the freedom of having the super soldier at your beckoned call and disposal whenever you pleased, you knew it killed him whenever you left. He was completely in love with you, and he hated seeing you give yourself over to other guys, especially the sketchy bar patrons that only wanted your lady parts, not your personality.
"Hey, Steve," you greeted cheerfully, sipping your drink. He glanced at you and offered you a respectful nod before gluing his eyes to the bar. You sighed softly, looking at Maria who stood on the other side of the bar, mixing drinks. She raised a brow, eyes darting between you and the blond. You nodded in reply, and she nodded in understanding. She knew about your habits and your history with Steve, and while she didn't understand or agree with your ways, she never judged and she watched out for you like a sister.
Steve stood, pushing himself away from the bar. He left with a wave to Bruce and Maria, but not so much as a glance to you. He headed over to join Tony and Clint, more listening to their conversation and laughing at their insults than joining in and engaging. He was too emotionally wounded, distracted with thoughts of you, to care how deep the conversation beside him was going.
"You can't keep doing this to him," Maria stated simply, sipping her own drink.
"I know," you replied.
"I don't want to judge," she clarified, "but I can see how hurt he is. He really cares about you, (y/n), but he thinks that you don't care about him."
"I do care about him," you insisted.
"I know," she nodded. "I've always known that. But he doesn't. He thinks he's just... release, in a way. Maybe not sexually, but emotionally; mentally. He thinks he's just a convenient distraction for you."
"I don't want him to think that..." you whispered, staring down at the bar.
"Talk to him, then, not me," she suggested.
You looked across the room and spotted the blond chatting with the other two. Taking a breath and downing your drink, you stood and made your way to the trio.
"Hey," you greeted. Tony and Clint offered sounds of acknowledgement while Steve stared at the coffee table before him. The other two paused and shared a knowing glance before taking their leave, leaving you and Steve alone on the couch.
"Can we talk?" you requested.
"I suppose," he answered softly. He wanted nothing more than to ignore you; to walk away and forget his pain. But that was rude, and he was raised to never be rude to a lady, even one as complicated as you.
"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I know it seems like I use you, and maybe in a way I am, but I-"
"But what, (y/n)?" he cut you off, finally facing you. "But you truly care about me? Is that it? Well forgive me if I don't believe that. When you care about someone, you don't pick them up and throw them away day after day like an old toy. When you care about someone, you stay with that someone – you don't go running into the arms of some jerk who just wants to get in your pants." He stood, angrily glaring at you, as you looked up at him. "I love you, (y/n). I've always loved you, and I always will, but I can't be your play thing any longer. You either decide that you care about me, and be my girl, or you forget we ever had anything together." (1)
Tears streamed down your face as you looked up at the soldier. Your lower lip quivered, which usually did him in, but he stood strong. He stomped away, headed to his room, as you hung your head. The tears flowed freely, you not even bothering to stop them. Several party-goers had overheard the conversation and were now staring at you.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, though you weren't sure who you were apologizing to. You ran, flying down the stairs like Quicksilver, running to your room.
You collapsed onto your bed, arms cushioning your face as you lay on your stomach. Your tears flowed into your arms as your body shook. You felt so bad for Steve, especially because you did love him, and you were just afraid of commitment.

You all but drag yourself out of bed the next morning, shuffling up the stairs and down the hall to the main kitchen. Tony and Bruce are already there, nursing their umpteenth cups of coffee and chatting over breakfast. They offer you respectful nods as you doctor up your own coffee, but no one says a word.
Steve soon shuffles into the room, limbs stiff and eyelids heavy with leftover sleep. He doesn't appear to want to be awake, but he makes it through his daily routine nonetheless. You look up at him as he drops some bread into the toaster, and he knows he has your gaze, but he doesn't turn around. You turn back to your coffee with a sigh. It's gonna take a lot to make it up to him.
"Hey, Steve?" you whisper, barely audible.
He grunts in reply, desperately wanting to ignore you but being too much of a nice guy to do so.
"Can we talk? After breakfast?" you inquire softly.
He pauses as the bread pops up. He catches the pieces and sets them on a plate before replying, "I suppose."
Tony and Bruce share a look before getting up and leaving, just like the night before. You sit at the table across from Steve, sipping your coffee and staring down at your lap, trying not to rush him. He eats slowly, looking you up and down, taking in your tired form. Your eyes are still slightly red from crying and a severe lack of sleep, and he notices the defeated expression that crosses your face.
He finishes his toast and sets his plate in the sink before returning to the table and facing you fully. "What do you want to talk about?"
"I'm sorry," you whisper brokenly before you can stop yourself. "You're absolutely right. I'm a horrible person. I used you like a yo-yo, calling you back and letting you go whenever I wanted because I was afraid of committing to you, and I thought it'd be easier than it was."
He opens his mouth to argue that you're not a horrible person, but you speak again before he can.
"I care about you, Steve," you continue, still staring at your lap. Tears are threatening to spill over your eyes. "I love you, actually. And I know that I've hurt you and that tears me apart. I hate hurting you, but I can't seem to stop."
The tears are flowing freely and your breath catches in your throat. You hiccup a few times during your speech, and he watches you with pure sadness in his eyes, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and kiss you.
"I understand if you never want to be with me again," you manage. "I just wanted you to know that I love you, and that I'm sorry."
You move to stand, running the back of your hand across your teary eyes. You turn to leave, sauntering out of the room, when a hand catches your wrist. You turn in surprise, finding that the hand belongs to Steve. "What?"
"I still want to be with you," he whispers, standing up. His other hand finds yours, holding you gently. "You're not a horrible person. You're just a little mixed up. I love you, too, (y/n), and if you're ready to commit to me, then I want to be with you too."
You look up at him through teary eyes, your lower lip quivering as you try not to cry any more. "Really?"
"Really," he nods, leaning down to peck your lips. You respond eagerly, removing your hands from his to wrap your arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around your waist, deepening the kiss. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
"I love you, (y/n)," he whispers.
"I love you too, Steve," you whisper back, a small smile claiming your lips. He pulls you into a hug, tightly wrapping his arms around your waist and upper back. Your face buries in his neck as you tighten your arms around his neck.
"You're mine, now," he whispers in your ear, earning a soft giggle.
"All yours."


(1) I made Steve mean. I'm sorry.