Avengers Preferences and Imagines

Too Late (Steve Rogers)

**Edited and Revised on 01/26/21**

Thanks to Lauren2502 for the request. Enjoy! 

Prompt: Steve and the reader have an argument about something, causing Steve to walk out. The next day he confides in Bucky and realizes he was wrong. He goes to apologize but finds that he's too late.

A/N: Its a long one, but I had an idea and ran with it, so I hope it turned out well. 

I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. This wasn't how I had planned on my day going. It was such a beautiful day out. The sun was beating down gently on the city, the breeze was blowing ever slightly and I had woken up to the birds singing softly. What I hadn't expected on such a beautiful day, was the dark turn of events that ensued. I couldn't even remember how our argument had started. All I know is it had escalated quickly and gotten vicious. I paced our empty, shared apartment racking my brain for the cause of our argument. And then out of nowhere, the memory hit me with such painful force it almost knocked the breath out of my chest.

I had just gotten out of bed only to find that it was empty. That was unusual and should have been my first clue that something was amiss. Steve always slept later than me or waited for me to wake up. I wandered into the kitchen where I thought he may have been but found the kitchen empty as well. When I finally him staring out the living room window, I knew something was up and he was in a mood, something very unusual for my kind-hearted boyfriend.
"Mmmm good morning," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist from my place behind him. I was shocked when he shrugged me off and walked away instead of turning around to hug me and placing a loving kiss on my temple as per every other morning. "Steve, what's wrong?" I asked him gently as I grabbed him by the wrist and used most of my strength to turn him back towards me.  I searched his eyes and found that his soft blue eyes had gone dark with whatever was bothering him.

He stayed silent for a while. "Steve. Talk to me." I demanded. It wasn't like him to be like this. He was usually very open about the things that were bothering him. But now I couldn't help but feel he was keeping secrets.
He sighed and ran his fingers through his short-cropped blond hair. "Steve," I demanded, speaking louder to try and draw him out of his trance. "It's not the same..." He spoke so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. "The same as what?" I questioned him, arching my eyebrow defensively. "The same as Peggy." He spits, his voice dripping venom and taking on a nasty edge.

I shook my head baffled at what I had just heard. The edge in his voice woke up an equally raging anger inside of me. "I beg your pardon?" I spat back at him. I hated fighting with him but I couldn't help the anger that had quickly consumed me. It was uncontrollable. "You know exactly what I mean." He snarled as he walked around me, back towards the window. "You know damn well that I don't!" I shouted, my voice rising steadily. He whirled back around to face me, pointing an angry finger in my direction. "I mean, compared to her, you don't love me. Not the real me. She loved me when I was just a scrawny, 90-pound kid from Brooklyn. And you, well you fell in love with a well-muscled, tall guy who saved the world a few damn times!' he screamed his voice reaching maximum volume.

I hadn't even noticed the singular tear that had slipped out of the corner of my eye, betraying my anger. "How... dare you!" What had started off as a whispered sentence had quickly escalated to me channeling all my anger into my accusation? "Admit it. I'm not wrong, am I? You never loved me. Not really." Steve snarled. At this point, I couldn't hold the tears back. "You're wrong. You're so, so wrong Steve. I love you. So very, very much. I love you for more than your looks-" I broke my sentence to choke down the sob caught in my throat. I looked up into my boyfriend's usually gentle and loving blue eyes. But they did not hold the same love and admiration that they usually did. Instead, they were cold, and hard looking, filled with hatred. He stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me to continue, to prove him wrong, or convince him.