#[ rotates roger and light and divinity and love | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stedes-black-bonnet · 5 years

Text

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 26

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: masterlist, dudes

Warnings: goodness none; Deacy just isn’t that kind of guy.

Abstract: No more questions just you and I...

----------------------------

John Deacon walked through the garden path back to his green Mercedes-Benz. He gripped the handle, key in hand, lost in thought. It was always bittersweet, this car. It always made him think of her. Technically, her’s had been the blue one, though. Very much like her eyes, exactly like her eyes; they had joked, at the time, that their cars matched their eye colors, and perhaps they should switch models, so they could always see each other. It had been one of those romantic, foolish things people say when they’re in love and happy. Coming from anyone else, it would have made you cringe, but when it came from John and Veronica, well, people couldn’t help but see how sharply authentic their love was, and how unfairly happy they were.

God, they had been happy together. It was the kind of happiness that made other people unduly jealous and grossly resentful, and this only made them more devoted to each other. They fed off the attention from others and the passion from each other and used that to create the perfect marital balance. So much so that when John had suggested they switch cars, Veronica had loved the purity of the notion as much as she had the opportunity to make people sigh at their too real love. Freddie frequently said if he and Jim had tried half of the casually romantic things she and John had done, it would have come off as trying too hard or disingenuous; Jim had called them the real McCoy. Deacy knew better, though, and often reminded Freddie and Jim their own romance was a glorious sight to behold. Freddie called them a pair of old married couples, which Deacy had loved.

She had loved the idea. Simply loved it.

So, they had planned to switch cars, but Deacy had been held back during a recording session for Jazz, and had missed their scheduled rendezvous, so before they could switch cars, she had died.

Just like that. Happened everyday.

Is that what they call the ultimate sacrifice? Or a twist of fate?

If they had switched cars a handful of hours earlier, a measly three or four hours, Deacy could easily be the one who was dead now; the break-line had failed, and she couldn’t stop. In a weird way, he’d always blame himself for her death; he should have met her. He should have kept his promise. She should have been his priority. He’d have gladly died for her. If he could go back, he’d choose to switch cars in time instead of plucking his bass for some record he’d never be able to listen to again, let alone perform, without thinking of her. He’d choose her every damn time. Ultimate sacrifice is such a hollow way of putting it, he thought.

The fact was, Veronica was dead, and he was alive, and he could just as easily have died instead. This fact was the hardest one with which to live, even three years after the fact. It gnawed at him upon waking, and pulled his hair as he fell to sleep every night. It visited him on tour, and picked out his costume for each performance. It whispered to him from the audience, and played around his mind like a melody as catchy as anything Freddie had ever written.

She’s dead, she’s dead; and you’re alive, quite alive.

That is, until last night.

Last night, the immutable fact, which taunted Deacy relentlessly, softened. It hadn’t vanished, might never slip into a splendid quietude, but it had miraculously assuaged itself into a barely perceptible background noise. It had been unexpected, fantastic, and guilt-rendering. It wasn’t only having feelings for someone else that created this crippling guilt, but it was how good it felt to feel something other than a cleverly concealed nothingness. What caused him the most guilt wasn’t you; no, you were a gift. What caused him the most guilt was how good it felt to forget her.

How good it felt to forget her. What a terrible thing to think.

The guilt he could and would learn to deal with, to even escape, and to conquer. Forgetting her, though. He wasn’t so sure he could do that. He didn’t think he wanted to forget her. He wasn’t sure he had a choice; what if he didn’t have a choice? He hadn’t even considered the possibility that he’d just merely forget things about her given enough time. He had photographs, so he’d never forget what she looked like, or the color her eyes. What about things that couldn’t be captured? What about how she kissed? How it felt when she said his name? Or the way she put on her lipstick? The tunes she’d hum to herself--what if he forgot those? What if it just happened and he couldn’t stop it?

What if memories of you replaced his memories of her? This seemed like a preposterous notion. That wasn’t how memories worked. Veronica couldn’t be replaced like batteries in a remote. She couldn’t be thrown away. She would never be unnecessary or expendable. Though, neither were you. You had crashed into his line of sight, by chance, and had changed his entire life. With one glance, he felt it. Roots took hold of him, then, in that moment when he saw you, and they clawed, fighting for a foundation in the desert that his heart had become. You had whipped something up in him, as if suspired by divine breath, you had effortlessly coaxed something in him to awaken, something he thought had been long dead: Desire. Not even a desire for another person, though that had surely happened; rather, it had been a simpler desire altogether. A desire to live. And now that he was awake, he wasn’t sure he could go back to before.

But the guilt.

Well, he had put his heart away once. Leading up to the funeral, Deacy had stayed with Roger. Roger had catered to Deacy’s every demand--at least every demand he could realistically fulfill; his repeated request for him to bring Veronica back, to switch their cars, hadn’t been possible; though if anyone could have found a way, it would have been Roger. His realistic demands had been few, though. Deacy wanted to not move from a sofa, and watch films. Roger had gone to Deacy’s home and brought with him every VHS his friend had asked for with great speed and relief at being given a task to do. Deacy and Veronica had collected a vast film collection. They both loved everything about film. Would debate it for hours, would see everything in the theaters, even the bad ones, just for the sheer joy of experiencing it together. So, when Deacy’s one request had been to watch movies, well that had been easy to manage. Off to the Deacon residence Roger had gone to collect every film on Deacy’s list.

Though, what he had anticipated hadn’t been the bizarre film torture Deacy had insisted he put himself through. He had morbidly called it their “Greatest Hits.” It had started innocently enough with their top 10 favorite films, then gradually turned into their favorite twenty, thirty, fifty films. Deacy was determined to not move from Roger’s ultra modern lime green sofa and big screen TV until he had finished them all. He was dead-set on watching film after film with a rotating cast of his band mates and Jim, while crying silently, mouthing along with the lines in the films they had so cherished. This torture persisted for three days straight before Deacy succumbed to an uneasy sleep, his first sleep since her death, mostly due to pure exhaustion and outright fear.

They’d all take shifts sitting with him, watching films from every genre; it hadn’t mattered what was on, high period romance, crime noir, or precise comedy: he sobbed, more or less, inconsolably. He’d tell stories of her, of them, what they had liked about Taxi Driver; how overrated and inaccurate to real love that Love Story had been; how The Way We Were would always make them cry; how Katharine Hepburn could do no wrong, and how Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall would always be the sexist husband and wife on screen--they’d debate if you could literally watch them falling in love on screen, and how romantic that was to have it captured on film forever; how The Godfather: Part II was superior to The Godfather; she had loved Robert De Niro, and he had loved Al Pacino; or how Sleuth was one of the funniest movies ever made that no one ever talked about.

And as each film had progressed, as each celluloid memory flickered in front of his eyes, he had packed away a portion of his heart. Sealing it away forever behind a wall of layered film strips and light projectors, behind a wall of celebrity and fame. Well, he had certainly successfully put his heart to the side for a hefty chunk of time, so why not also put aside the guilt? Why not the guilt, indeed? Why couldn’t he push aside the guilt for you? Like he had his heart for her? Maybe it could even be like a trade? He could take his heart back, embrace feeling once more, as he had embraced you, in exchange for the self-flagellating guilt. Trading guilt for a heart seemed like a much better deal, especially since it was a guilt so perverse Veronica would never have wanted him to feel it.

Well, the other fact of the matter was he knew you were worth it. You hadn’t known each other for a long time, but he had known love before; he knew what it felt like, sounded like, looked like; you could be that. Sure, it wouldn't be the same as with Veronica, but it shouldn’t be; you were both very different people; he was different now, too. He could never love like he had before, without fear and realism. Love for him now would be pragmatic; not to say it wouldn’t be romantic, because he was a ride or die romantic. However, he would never again believe that love was forever, undying, and could survive anything. Because, the fact of the matter was, it couldn’t.

Deacy pulled the handle, and entered his green Mercedes-Benz. His grey-green eyes flashed in the light before he hid them behind a pair of black aviators. He drove in the direction of his home, tapping out tunes only he could hear on his steering wheel. He had this series of notes stuck in his head; it was a little funky, a little spicy; it was going to be a hard sell. He had the distinct feeling the entire record was going to be a hard sell. Tonight would settle the path for the record once and for all. At least he’d have you there to strengthen his resolve. It helped Freddie was on his side, too.

Although, it wasn’t good there were sides at all. He hated Roger wasn’t on his side. Absolutely detested his hot hotheadedness and his viper sting when he thought you were wrong; it would be nothing short of a battle. He needed armor, then. He need to prepare his own stinger and cutting lines.

Shying away from an actual townhouse (pretentious) and an apartment (too many people and zero privacy) Deacy owned a detached Victorian house in St. John’s Wood. It had a fading yellow brick exterior Deacy greatly treasured; it was happily gated and had a large lawn obscured from view. Six bedrooms, as he and Veronica had wanted children, but hadn’t gotten around to it. He thought about selling the house, but as his grief abated, he knew he couldn’t just get rid of it. It would be like getting rid of his left arm; moving on didn’t need to be literal, usually it was a shifting state of mind more than anything else.

Besides, like the others, they had named their home. As he pulled up, the plaque reading Manderley greeted him. Manderley was the name of house in the film Rebecca, which they had loved. He parked his car, and made his way up the entrance and into his home. He sighed. Sometimes, he had to stop himself from calling her name when he returned home. Today wasn’t one of those days, however; it was a day where he remembered her fondly and without harm.

He started unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way past the first living room (completely shelved in with films) and kitchen (slender and accented in coppers and vibrant teals) and up to the third floor bedroom, his bedroom. He threw his clothes in the hamper, mostly undressed by the time he reached his room. The walls were the darkest blue, like the sky at night, and the ceiling glinted like the pacific ocean. He passed quickly into the master bathroom, bypassing the tub of honey-colored marble, and danced into the glass door shower. Upon finishing, he wrapped a couple large blood red towels around himself and proceed to the kitchen for his first meal of the day. He started some water boiling, threw in some salt.

He went into the first living room, picked out Saturday Night Fever and started that playing. He went back to the kitchen, threw some pasta into the boiling water, and chopped some carrots, sat some peas aside, and began to lightly sear some prosciutto. He sat that to the side, and added some butter to another pan and water and began to cook the vegetables. He readied some heavy whipping cream, garlic butter, and Parmesan. Eventually, given time and enough heat, all was ready; he tossed it together, and made his way to the first living room.

Sitting on the massively proportioned C-shaped sofa, Deacy sank into his meal and Saturday Night Fever. He’d have to pick you up eventually, and he’d have to tell you about Veronica eventually, too, but for now he enjoyed the dancing, the music, and the fever.

------------------

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love@partydulce@richiethotzierz@sophierobisonartfoundationblr@psychostarkid@teathymewithben@smittyjaws@just-ladyme@botinstqueen @mydogisthebest@little-welsh-wonder@maxjesty@deakysdiscos@yourealegendroger@marvellouspengwing@molethemollie@deakysgirl@arrowswithwifi@tardisgrump

#john deacon x reader #John Deacon #Joe Mazzello #bohemian rhapsody #queen #queen x reader

31 notes · View notes

seamarmot · 5 years

Text

Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts is the hardest yet. He's thrown in the Triwizard Tournament and has feelings for the three other champions.

- First comes the meet-cute crush on Cedric at the Quidditch game. Quickly followed by the celebrity crush on Viktor.

- He tries to forget, but Durmstang arrives at Hogwarts and Viktor is there all strong and masculine!

- Oh wow, Fleur from Beauxbatons is stunning and impressive!

- Cedric put his name in the cup he is so brave and dreamy!

- Harry's favorites get picked by the cup! No surprise there!

- Harry gets picked by the cup! Oh no, that's a bad surprise!

- Harry feels overwhelmed surrounded by the three gorgeous chapions. They don't seem impressed by him.

- As it should. After all, Harry is just an awkward kid to them. A cheating one too! At least he can soak up a bit of time with them to feed his fantasies!

- Like imagining Viktor and him having a broomstick date. Or Fleur and him going at Madame Puddifoot's. Or a study date with Cedric.

- The fantasies help him get through the rough times of being mocked and despised by the other students.

- Harry tells Cedric about the first task's dragons! He thinks he notices Cedric smiling softly at him from afar more often after that, but it must be because of his overactive imagination.

- Harry notices Victor in the library more often after the first task. He knows he's not there for him, but he can't help fantasize that he is.

- When McGonagall tells Harry champions can't go to the Yule Ball together as a couple, he wonders why she even needs to tell him, as if Fleur (or Cedrix, or Viktor) would accept to go with him!

- When he tells her as much (minus mentions of Cedric and Victor), she deadpans for a good minute, sighs and tells him to go find himself a dance partner.

- Rude.

- Cho's pretty and he definitely could fall for her were he not dealing with all of his confusing emotions for the other champions so he asks her for the dance. He's disappointed to find out Cedric asked her.

- At least now he knows he has absolutely no chance with Cedric because Cho and him are so different!

- He's a little bit heartbroken. He ends up asking Parvati at the last minute.

- The Yule Ball rips his heart out and he hates it. Cho and Cedric look so good together! And Viktor is with Hermione, so that explains why he was at the library so much! Fleur looks divine next to Roger. Harry feels small and insignificant.

- Cedric tells Harry to go take a bath with his egg. Harry manages to stop himself from fantasizing about a taken man and him together naked in a bath... But it was hard!

- Harry saves Gabrielle in the second task. He can't help it! She's Fleur's sister, her most important person, and he can't leave her there alone in a dangerous scary place!

- The heartfelt thanks and hug he gets from Fleur after that make it all worth it. More feed for his fantasies.

- McGonagall mutters about how the third task can't be about affection again or else it will be a tea party. He has no clue what she's talking about. Also, rude!

- Things get better and worse for Harry between the second and third task:

- Better because the three other chapions come over to talk to him often. They spend a lot more time together doing things that look strangely a lot like his fantasies. Flying with Cedric, tea with Viktor, studying with Fleur all happen regularly!

- Worse because the three of them are so out of his league and he can't let himself believe he has a chance! Even if each smile they give him makes his stomach flop, every small touches makes him full-body shiver, every compliment makes him swoon.

- The third task is a nightmare.

- When he hears Fleur scream, Harry can't help himself, he goes to help her. He knows she is stronger and smarter than him, but he really likes her and can't imagine her being hurt!

- He finds Fleur who is unconscious when he hears Cedric scream! It takes him a second to shoot red sparks over Fleur and dash towards where Cedric's screams are coming from.

- Cedric is being hurt by Viktor. It makes no sense because Viktor is quite gentle under his tough exterior. A quick removal of his wand and a binding later, Harry shoots the red sparks again.

- Cedric wants to continue to look for the Triwizard cup. Harry pleads with him to wait for Dumbledore. Viktor was clearly imperioused so there is something nefarious going on!

- That doesn't convince Cedric, so Harry tells him he likes him and wants him to stay safe.

- Noticing even in the dark just how much Cedric is blushing of what has to be anger from that, he adds that he cares for all of them.

- Cedric's blush seems to disappear. Crisis averted!

- When Moody arrives and doesn't give a second glance to Viktor, Harry starts to feel worried.

- He gets very worried when Moody tells him he will bring back Viktor and Cedric safely to the start and Harry has to go find the cup.

- Harry was so busy with his bi awakening that whole school year he didn't notice all the very big red flags Moody was raising. Oops!

- Harry manages to compromise with Moody that he will get back to looking for the cup as soon as he returns Cedric and Viktor to the start and lets them both get looked up.

- After Moody leaves, Harry half-asses his seach of the cup.

- When he unfortunately finds it, he just sits in the bush in wait.

- Moody arrives many hours later, fuming. He notices Harry immediately thanks to his eye. Stupid eye.

- "wHaT dO yOu MeAn I hAvE tO pIcK tHe CuP?"

- Yep, Moody wasn't to be trusted. Crucio hurts like a bitch.

- He doesn't so much as pick the cup as gets thrown on it. He's disoriented from the teleportation. Not surprised by it, though.

- Demon Baby Voldemort keeps telling Wormtail to hurry with his ceremony.

- Voldemort comes back. It sucks.

- But Harry wasted so much time the ceremony ended seconds after daybreak which means he's not back at full strength like expected. Still sucks, but could have been worse.

- The Death Eaters aren't as scary when the sun is shining brightly and the sky is shades of pinks, blues and gold. Still creepy, but also ridiculous.

- Harry's mom and dad look lovely shining in the rays of light. He thinks this is a good last memory of them.

- He returns to Hogwarts bloodied but alive and is quickly stuck under a dogpile.

- Fleur kisses his cheeks and talks quickly about how stupidly brave he is, Cedric holds his hurt arm and admonishes him about how if he truly was worried for them then he should take better care of himself, while Viktor holds on tight to his waist and rotates between saying how sorry he is for hurting them and thanking Harry for believing in his innocence.

- Moody tries to get Harry's attention but fails to do so before he transforms back into Crouch Jr.

- Fudge sucks and is a coward. Voldemort is back and war is approaching. The dark times are starting again. But the ministry chooses to refuse to accept the facts.

- But Harry feels hopeful. Because sure, his worst nightmare came true that morning, but his wildest dreams did too. The hugs and kisses were very nice and he will never forget them in all of his life.

- McGonagall sends Harry and "his girlfriend and boyfriends" to the infirmary. Harry corrects her that they're not dating. The other three champions look crestfallen after he says that. McGonagall just deadpans for a minute and then sighs, which is so rud...

- Oh! Oooooh. Harry gets it now. Okay, he deserved that. He turns to the three others who try, and fail, to look unbothered and asks them if they would accept to go out with him.

- They say yes.

- The dark lord is back, but Harry feels safe knowing he has the strongest, smartest and most gorgeous partners at his side.

#harry potter #hp #goblet of fire #hpgof #cedric diggory #viktor krum #fleur delacour #ot4 #triwizard tournament #triwizard champions #triwizard ship?#i have no idea what those ship names would be #cedric lives

33 notes · View notes

tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years

Text

Sledgehammer

Steve Rogers x Reader Fic

A/N: Once again I have been trolling Spotify instead of focusing on what I should be, and this is what comes of it.

Summary: A dance party of Tony’s takes a turn when a joke is played which you don’t find funny, causing you to reveal a long kept secret.

Word Count: 3482 | Warnings: Foul language, small angst, mostly fluff

Songs: Can’t Feel My Face by The Weekend, Sledgehammer by Fifth Harmony, There’s Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes

Your heart pounded in your chest, racing in time to the music. The bass thudding, beat heavy, sultry lyrics floating through the air. Sweat glistened on your skin as you danced with Wanda and Natasha.

Tony always threw the best parties.

Food, drinks, and music abounded. You got to dress to the nines, fabulous clothes and shoes which made your legs look divine. There was nothing like it, in your estimation.

The only thing which would make your night better would be if the tall blond soldier standing by the bar would come dance with you, but Steve was the stoic, brooding Captain you knew and loved.

Not that he knew you loved him. Everyone else did, but not Steve. The man was oblivious.

You refused to think about it. Not tonight. Not while you were feeling gloriously loose after a couple of rounds of blueberry vodka. Okay, more than a couple.

Slinging your arm around Wanda’s neck, you laughed when you felt Natasha’s wrap around your waist. The three of you moved in sync, undulating together when Can’t Feel My Face by The Weekend came on. It was, quite honestly, dirty as sin on a Sunday, but you didn’t care.

They were gorgeous, sexy, and you felt the same sandwiched between sparkling red sequins and sleek black silk. You knew each other so well, had worked with both Nat and Wanda on so many missions, reading their moves and turning up the smoulder was cake.

You could feel eyes on you, but the flashing lights made it nearly impossible to see who or where. It didn’t matter anyway. You only had eyes for one person, and the eyes on you certainly weren’t his.

When the song ended you cheered for the DJ, clapping and whistling along with the rest of the revellers. Feeling overheated, and a little turned on if you were honest with yourself, you waved the girls off, heading for the exterior doors.

Cool air washed over your heated skin, wicking the sweat away. Breathing a sigh of relief, you walked toward the balcony railing to take in the view of New York.

The city was beautiful from this vantage point.

When the jacket came down on your shoulders, you smiled at Tony. “I was cooling down, but thanks.”

“Don’t need you catching a chill, (Y/N),” he smirked, turning to lean against the rail and stare back at his party. “You should just ask star-spangled capcicle to dance. You know you want to.”

“And yet I never do. You should give up, old man. I have,” you murmured. “That’s a hopeless endeavour. A foolish one, too.”

“You’re giving up, kid? There’s something I never thought I’d see.”

You turned and rested your hip against the glass. “Some of us know when it’s time to call it. What’s the point in continuing to break my heart?”

He patted your hand. “I don’t know, kid. He’s dense. Maybe all that time in the ice froze a few brain cells.”

“He’s not dense, Tony. He’s smarter than I am. The man’s a different kind of genius than you, but he’s still a genius,” you said defensively.

“Says the girl who’s “giving up.'” He even used air quotes.

Frowning, you muttered, “F you, Stark.”

“Ah ah ah, that’s no way to speak to your host,” he teased, stealing his jacket back as he walked away. “You coming?”

“Not yet. Let the vodka clear a little more first.” You waved him off, turning back to the view.

The door opened, blasting music, only to close as one of your favourite songs came on. Muted, it was still loud enough to hear the words.

If you could take my pulse right now It would feel just like a sledgehammer If you could feel my heartbeat now It would hit you like a sledgehammer I don’t admit it I play it cool But every minute That I’m with you

Swinging your hips, you sing along, feeling the words resonate in your soul. It was just how you felt about Steve.

I feel the fever and I won’t lie I break a sweat My body’s telling All the secrets I ain’t told you yet I struggle to contain The love that’s in my veins And how it circulates

Every time you had to face him in a spar, your skin grew hot, a flush filled your face, sweat glistened on your flesh. It was such a dead give away you’d taken to warming up hard on a treadmill or elliptical so that you had an excuse for your appearance.

If you could take my pulse right now It would feel just like a sledgehammer If you could feel my heartbeat now It would hit you like a sledgehammer

You’re taken over the beat of my body You just don’t let up, don’t let up You’re taken over the beat of my body But you lift me up, lift me up If you take my pulse right now It would feel just like a sledgehammer So close together So far apart You’re turning me on And my fire’s waitin’ for your spark

He was a sweetheart when he wasn't a teasing shit. Between Steve, Bucky, and Sam, someone was always laughing, pranking, joking. It was always in fun. Steve had been on the receiving end of the not so nice kind so much when he was still the little guy, he was well aware of everyone’s touchy spots, making sure no one ever crossed a line they shouldn’t.

I struggle to contain The love that’s in my veins And how it circulates If you could take my pulse right now It would feel just like a sledgehammer If you could feel my heartbeat now It would hit you like a sledgehammer

Closing your hands around the guardrail, you swing your hips, drop it low. Throwing your head back, you rise, arching up, thrusting your ass back. Lifting your hands, you drag them over your thighs, across your stomach, over the tight bodice of your deep blue dress. Raising them high in the air, you twist them above you, beckoning, commanding, enticing. Had there been anyone to join you, you were certain they would have.

The truth is out No stopping now I’m getting closer I’ve had enough Undress my love I’m coming over If you take my pulse right now It would feel just like a sledgehammer, And if you take my pulse right now It would feel just like a sledgehammer, hammer, If you take my pulse

When the hands came down on your waist, you froze, but they tugged you back, plastered you back first to a wide, warm chest and gently aroused body. The hips attached to the hands urged you back into the dance, urged you to follow his.

Throwing caution to the wind, you did so, getting back into the swift swing and rotation.

He was good; you’d give him that, keeping time with you and moving as if you’d been partnered for years.

You weren’t sure how he’d managed to sneak outside without you noticing the door, but with your alcohol-hazed mind, and determination to forget all about Captain America and his beefy bod, you sank back into whoever was behind you and let go.

If you could take my pulse right now It would feel just like a sledgehammer

If you could feel my heartbeat now It would hit you like a sledgehammer

When the music ended, you sighed. It had been nice to dance with someone who knew how to move. The next song started, and silent but sassy moved you into a second dance, the song, There’s Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes pounded through the glass, requiring much more active footwork.

This time as you bumped and ground your way through the quick changes and flying feet, your body still held back first against his, you noticed something peculiar. He smelled familiar. Like… really familiar. Suddenly, he spun you around, and you stared up into Steve’s blue eyes in shock.

“Steve!” you squeaked in surprise.

There was a dark light, a sensual gleam to his eyes you’d never seen before. He dragged you back to his chest, dipping you back over his arm. When he swung you back up, you reached instinctively for his shoulder, ending up with your hand at the back of his neck. “You okay, (Y/N)? Bucky sent me to check on you, but… then that dance…” A flush darkened his cheeks.

“Oh.” Hope flared and died within seconds of each other. Of course, Bucky had sent him. “I’m fine, Steve just hot and a little tipsy. Needed some air.”

“You shouldn’t overdo it.”

Pulling away, you straightened the hem of your dress. “I’m perfectly aware of what I can and can’t handle, Cap.” Turning on your heel, heart hammering in your chest which had nothing to do with the dancing, you made three steps before finding yourself plastered to Steve’s chest a second time.

His lips were near your ear, but it was difficult to understand him over the surging of your blood. “Did you wear that colour for me?”

Freezing in place, you gaped at the glass wall which reflected your image. “Steve?”

“The blue. It’s the same colour as my Stealth Suit.” His arms tightened, refusing to release you.

“How much of Thor’s liquor have you had?” you asked. It was the only possible explanation for why he was acting this way.

“Not much,” he murmured, nipping your earlobe.

Slamming your elbow back, you took it to his ribs, causing the man behind you to let go when he grabbed for his middle. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re not Steve,” you snarled, hands coming up defensively.

He laughed a chuckle which broke into a wide grin. “Pretty good, (Y/N).”

The glamour fell away, and you glared at Garry, one of the Inhuman’s who’d been recruited by SHIELD. “You ever pull a stunt like this again, I will kick your ass so hard you won’t be able to wear pants let alone sit down!”

“Awe, come one. It was all in good fun! Jeez, lighten up,” he grumbled, sauntering toward the door.

Glaring after him momentarily, you turned back to the view, needing to clear the anger from your head before returning inside — what a jerk.

When the door opened and closed, only to open again moments later, you continued to ignore whoever had joined you. When Steve leaned against the rail, you glared at him. “That’s not funny!”

“What’s not funny? I haven’t said anything,” he frowned.

“You’re an asshole, Garry!” You threw a hard right hook, determined to follow through on your threat when a hand flashed out and caught your fist.

“Damn, doll. If you didn’t want company, you could’ve just said something.”

“Steve!” you gasped in shock.

“Uh, yeah?” Clearly perplexed, he looked at you like you’d lost your mind.

“Oh, man! I’m so sorry! Garry was just out here pulling his parlour trick, pretending to be you and I told him I’d kick his ass if he did it again. I didn’t mean to try and hit you, Steve.”

“Me?” he muttered. “Why would he mimic me?”

Flushing red, you moved away. “I, uh, I don’t know.” Wow, that was convincing.

“(Y/N),” his hand wrapped around your wrist, drawing your eyes back to his when he gave a sharp tug. “How’d you know?”

“Know?” you asked stupidly.

“That he wasn’t me,” Steve asked, tucking a curl back behind your ear.

Staring at him, lost in the colour of his eyes, you managed to whisper, “He smelt wrong.”

A smirk flirted with his lips. “Really?”

“Yeah. I recognized his cologne, but when I turned around and saw you, then there was the stuff he said,” you rapidly shook your head when his eyes hardened, “never mind. It’s not important.”

“What did the little shit say?” he demanded, moving closer, backing you into the rail.

“N-nothing!”

“Clearly it was something. Remind me to kick the punk’s ass next time we’re partnered together.”

“No!” you blurted, knowing Garry was just vindictive enough to spill your secrets. “No, no… it’s… it’s fine. Just a joke.”

He frowned. “Dollface?” Hesitantly, Steve gently cupped your cheek causing a red flush to fill your face. “It wasn’t a very nice joke, was it?”

Looking down and away, you felt your heart wrench painfully. Right here, this was why you couldn’t let go. He was so damn sweet, so fucking nice! “Damn it!” you hissed softly, jerking your face from his hand, turning away from him, unable in your slightly inebriated state to look at him without having your heartbreak. “I can’t do this anymore…” you breathed out, shaking with the force it was taking to hold yourself together.

“Do what, sweetheart?” he leaned closer, his chest coming down against your back.

The scent wafted across your nose. “You fucking shit!” Your elbow cracked into Garry’s face. Spinning around as the little dick stumbled back, losing his glamour a second time, you flew at him, the blows landing fast and furious until you roundhouse kicked his ass into the window.

He hit hard, but the glass was reinforced, seeing him rounding off and straight into your fist again.

The door slammed open as Bucky and Sam charged through it. Bucky dragged you off Garry, fists and feet still flying as you struggled against him. “Easy, slugger! What the hell did he do?”

“He’s a punk piece of ass! I’ll kill him!” you shrieked, wanting nothing more than to tear his eyes out.

“What he do, (Y/N)?” Sam asked, dragging Garry up by the arm and twisting it behind his back to keep him there when the man struggled.

“He played Steve! Twice!” you snarled, still fighting the hold Bucky had around your waist. The angry tears streaming down your face didn’t register until you had to sniffle.

Both men froze, knowing exactly why this was so painful, why you’d flown right of the handle, why you’d practically beaten Garry bloody.

“Why would that upset you so much, (Y/N)?”

That voice, cold and clipped, coming in his Captain’s tone sank like a stone in your chest. It had you clinging to Bucky. Where once you’d been fighting for freedom, now you were desperate for protection.

“Tell him,” Bucky murmured against your ear.

“I can’t,” you hissed back.

“Tell him, or I will,” he threatened.

You nodded slowly, deflating, unable to look at Steve as Bucky’s arms released you. But you couldn't do it, couldn't confess everything and have him look at you in shock and pity. You step away from Bucky and rabbit, bolting through the still open door back into the party. It’s easy to run now as your three-inch stilettos came off when you’d gone after Garry.

Using every ounce of training you possessed, every special skill you knew, you snaked your way through the party, around the dancers, and beelined for the elevators as your name rang out loudly behind you.

The doors had just closed, people having gotten on as you approached. Cursing the bad timing, you hit the entrance to the stairwell instead, launching yourself through it, only to slam straight into Thor, careening off the beefy Asgardian and into the wall hard enough to make you yelp.

“(Y/N)!” he gasped, taking you by the arms. “Are you alright? What is wrong?”

“I can’t… I have to…” you struggled, breathing hard.

“Who has so upset you? Point me his direction! I will see he pays for distressing a lady!” the blond God snarled, his grip unbreakable.

Steve slammed through the door at his back. “(Y/N)!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs only to slide to a stop when he saw Thor holding you against the wall.

“Steve? You are the one who has so distressed Lady (Y/N)?” Thor asked in disbelief.

“Apparently, yes,” he said, looking at you questioningly. “Why don’t you give us a minute so I can fix it.”

Perplexed at this turn of events, Thor nodded. “See that you do, Captain.”

You slid down the wall when he released you, sinking to the floor where you pressed your face to your knees. This is so not your night.

A large body joined you, legs stretched out, so you were cornered. There’s no way you could get past him, not that he’d let you at this point.

Tears of horrified embarrassment wet the hem of your dress. The dress you’d chosen because, yes, it was the colour of his stealth suit.

“What’s going on, doll?” he asked gently, the question coming in a soothing, soft voice.

You sighed and turned your head, resting your cheek on your knees. “I’m a fool, that’s what’s going on. I’m a fool.”

His fingers carding through your hair made you shiver. “Why?”

“Because… everyone knows. Everyone but you can see it. Garry just took it too far. I’m a fool, and he played the perfect trick because he knew he could…”

“What can’t I see?” he asked.

You flinched, unable to help yourself. You pull away as far as you can and curl up tighter. “That I’m,” your breath hitched hard and shuddered free, “in love with you.”

His hand went still. “What?” The shock in his voice said it all.

Wiping your face on your dress, it’s ruined now anyway, you brushed past his legs, and hurried toward the stairs. “Don’t worry, Cap. I’ll request a transfer first thing.” You left him sitting on the stairs as you dashed down them, needing out of this hell of your own making.

You only made it four floors when the body landed behind you in the stairwell. Arms of steel swung you up, pressed you back into the wall, and kept you dangling there as his large frame pinned your shocked one to the wall.

“No.” The word was as final and solid as a brick. “You can’t leave.”

“I can’t stay!” you cried, voice hoarse with emotion.

“You have to!” he commanded.

“Why!?

“Because I love you too, you stubborn woman!” he barked, panting gently.

You stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I think the only one who didn’t know was you!” he shouted, shaking you a little.

“Well, I know you’re the only one who didn’t know how I felt!” you shouted back.

“Well, ain’t we just a pair,” he muttered before taking your mouth in a bruising kiss.

You threw your arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth. Seconds, minutes, hours seem to go by as teeth and tongues and lips meshed in a sensual dance months in the making. Finally, when air became imperative, the need for it overriding the need to know what the last corner of his mouth tasted like, you broke the kiss only to have his mouth chase yours.

Diving back in, you whimpered when his hips rocked up, press into yours. You wrapped your legs at his waist, having no qualms about grinding down on the swiftly growing bulge in his pants. “Steve,” sighed from your lips.

The hammering of his heart is like a sledgehammer against yours. “Baby,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass.

“About fucking time,” Bucky quipped.

“I know right?” Natasha snickered.

“Just, find a room for christ sake,” Tony sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Shit!” you squeaked, finding them all standing a landing above the one you were wrapped around Steve on.

“Finally, she will stop with the moping,” Wanda giggled.

“And he will stop with the dramatic sighs,” Thor laughed.

“Good thing, too. I was getting ready to lock them in a closet,” Sam snorted.

“I hate you all,” you sneered. “Go the fuck away!”

“Language!” came from the entire group, causing Steve to drop his head to your shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here.” He swung you from the wall, took you in his arms, and headed for the closest door.

“We’re you going, punk?” Bucky called gleefully.

“My best girl and I are going to go find a room. So fuck off, jerk!” Steve smirked, slamming through the door.

“Language!” they all shouted again.

Bursting out laughing, you clung to Steve whose heart still pounded in time with yours.

Next Chapter

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #avengers #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #fanfiction

701 notes · View notes