#steve binder x you

[elvisabutler]

it ain't stealin' if ya sharin'

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley | austin butler rating: m pairing: dacre! steve binder x gender neutral reader x austin! elvis presley. steve binder x gender neutral reader. a tiny bit of steve binder x elvis presley word count: 2940 warnings: infidelity on elvis's part. p in v sex ( unprotected ). voyeurism mentioned. switch elvis. switch everyone tbh. spitroasting. lube is mentioned. minor praise kink maybe. choking with ascots. mild cock drunkenness. use of the nickname stevie. use of the nicknames babe and darlin' in place of y/n. no use of y/n. author’s note: welcome to day 8 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, threesome with steve binder x reader x elvis presley. this is a continuation of ride it, my pony you don't have to read it for this to make sense but it helps. and if you want to think of it this way, the day one fic with the cuckolding and this are two branches of the same tree. this is done specifically for @blurredcolour because she asked and i am a good friend. i know it says austin elvis and all that jazz but it's because she asked for that specifically but y'all know my drill. imagine who you'd like.

"You want to do what?" You ask, your eyebrows practically attaching themselves to your hairline. "Because I don't think I heard you right."

For what it's worth, Steve has the decency to look chagrined, has the decency to look away and act as if he briefly has no idea what both him and Elvis have suggested to you before realizing that you of all the people see right through him. He opens his mouth to speak before Elvis intervenes.

"I think ya heard us just fine. Jus' think ya don't think we're bein' serious. Think I'm jus' pullin' ya leg, don't ya?"

Steve watches several emotions flutter over your face and find that's perhaps he should step in. There's an undercurrent of aggravation he recognizes too well and it worries him. You're his partner, the love of his life if he's being honest and the last thing he wants to do is to put you in a spot where you feel you're being mocked or played with in any sort of way.

"What EP is trying to say is that— it might be beneficial for all of us to just once have sex together." Steve's words are a little stilted and you can't help but smile with a bit of fondness. Normally he has no problem talking about sex, especially with you and yet in trying to broach this topic in a way that has far more tact than Elvis is choosing to employ he has managed to somewhat trip himself up with his own words. "We'd be focusing more on you, I think, but we've— EP's—"

"I've been wanting to see what's so special 'bout ya that you got Steve here wrapped around ya finger." Elvis explains with that smile of his that charms even the most callous of people and you are not a callous person. No, you— much like your boyfriend can respect and admire just how attractive Elvis is from his personality to those eyes that pin you in place and that body that can do the same exact thing. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you watch as his eyes follow your tongue.

"And if I told you there's nothing special but an enjoyment of playing with ascots?" The words are teasing but Steve smirks just a little knowing exactly where you're going with this. It's funny, you always have been good at reading people.

Elvis's pupils expand just a bit and you hear a hitch in his breathing that makes you almost want to laugh. Instead you share a look with Steve that looks downright sinister. Steve remembers a day or two ago where you were grinding on his thigh, practically choking him with his ascot and how he had joked about you needing to choke Elvis and perhaps it had been a bit of a prediction, not that he knew it at the time.

"Playing with, that's not quite what they do, E. They can hold it so tight when you're in them. Practically choke you if you want." Steve looks at you before eyeing Elvis up and down. "You heard the joke I made, didn't you? We've been hearing you and watching you perform for the past few days. Maybe you'd—"

"Steve." Both you and Elvis practically groan out his name partially in warning but partially to allow the image he's starting to paint to sit inside both of your minds. You can see it clear as day. Elvis panting and grunting as he chases pleasure you're bringing him with Steve. Elvis cooing sweet nothings or muttering pure filth in your ear as he has you reaching heights you never have before. Between your legs you feel your most intimate parts pulsating. Your arousal starts to form and curl in your lower abdomen and you can't help but stare at Elvis as it does.

"You really want this, don't you?" You try and tease even if it's undercut by how your own voice wavers just that little bit. "You want us to let you have the pleasure of being a part of what we do? Make it so you're not jerking off to me in the dark corner of a room?"

Elvis's face flushes and you finally let out a laugh before Steve comes to stand next to you. "I told you that they'd be fine with it, Elvis. Even if I didn't know how to explain it."

"Because you're a possessive man. You're worried they're gonna leave ya if I show 'em a good time. Ain't that right?" Elvis turns to look at you. "You said it yourself, ya like me more."

It's then that your hand moves out to grasp the ascot tied around Elvis's neck, fingering the red silk before yanking it forward, watching as Elvis sputters and coughs from the sudden shift in his oxygen intake. "Not what I said. But he is pretty possessive. He's not the only one. Maybe I won't want to give you up. Ask Priscilla for visiting rights with me and Steve."

Both you and Steve watch as Elvis's Adam's apple bobs as he swallowed thickly, words failing him until he manages something quiet. "Don't need her permission."

Steve and you share a look before holding out a hand for Elvis from each of you. Steve manages to speak first. "You've been doing good enough while filming. Let's enjoy the treat we want to give you. The one I want you to give them. Make up for how long I've been working day in and day out."

The thing is, you know better than to do something like this at Steve's work. It's tempting, to be sure, and there's a couch that could fit the three of you with a surprising amount of ease but for situations like this and for discretion a bed is what's truly needed. It's easy enough for Elvis to say something about late filming and it's easy enough for you and Steve to for once in this whole thing to be home together at a sensible time. All those things are easy enough and yet somehow seeing Elvis at the door to your house puts things into a strange surreal perspective. That perspective is only heightened the moment the door to your house shuts and Elvis pulls you into a kiss that threatens to take your very soul from your body. It's all consuming, plush lips that press against yours and a tongue that finds its way in between your lips, deepening the kiss with a ease you have to marvel at in the moment. Your teeth dig into his lower lip, a warning and a promise of more to come that has him pressing you against the wall and has his hand fiddling with the button on your jeans.

Your hands move on top of his, taking in how tense they are, how determined he is to get both of you naked to some degree and you smile against his lips even as you pull away. "Not in the hallway. Steve's already in bed. Come on."

Elvis doesn't waste a minute following you, his hands gravitating to your hips and pressing his arousal against your ass. You can't help but grind backwards even as you walk, earning a groan from Elvis. His lips move to nip and bite at your neck, murmuring against your skin. "Goddammit. Should've known you'd be doing that even if you weren't in my lap. You do this to Stevie? Tease him like this before you get into bed?"

A low hum is the only answer you give even as Elvis's hand moves to undo your buttons and finally manages to get his hand between your legs, cupping the part of you that wants him and your boyfriend so badly it threatens to overwhelm you. You hear him practically growling against your ear as you finally reach your bedroom. "That's all for me? Figured ya were needy from how ya were on his thigh but— darlin' this is somethin' else."

Steve manages to look over at the two of you, naked except for his underwear and his ascot— your specific request— at that exact time. His eyes take in the picture you and Elvis paint. The picture of Elvis coming undone just from touching between your legs, panting behind you and practically dry humping you. The picture of your jeans partially undone with Elvis cupping between your legs, touching what Steve had told him was only his. He's not worried about Elvis stealing you because can you steal something if you're sharing it? His pupils dilate, taking over the entirety of his iris as he moves over to you. Elvis looks over at Steve and waits for the other man to make a move before he shrugs and pulls him into a small kiss that you can watch. A whimper leaves your lips as you buck against Elvis's hand. When they pull apart, their eyes flit to you and how your hips move of their own violation. Steve speaks first, teasing in a way only he can.

"Thought we were supposed to make him beg, babe? You just want to have both of us focusing on you, don't you? You've been so patient with me. Been so patient with how hard he's been working for me and with me. You deserve this."

Your mouth opens to speak only to be cut off with another kiss from Elvis and his hand starting to pull away from between your legs. "This is just all of us sharin', ain't it? Now get on the bed, baby. We're gonna take care of ya so fuckin' well."

A noise that sounds like a whimper leaves your lips and you hear both Elvis and Steve chuckle as Elvis's hands move to your hips to pull down your pants and Steve's hands busy themselves with the buttons of your shirt. It's a marvel none of you trip over the other's feet and a marvel you don't have your eyes roll into the back of your head as you hear praise from both of them about how you're so patient and good and you can be needy right now. They've got you.

Your bed feels different in this moment, with the weight of three people instead of two on it and you inadvertently cant your hips up in the air because it. Elvis's hands on your hips tighten in an effort to get you to stay still only for you to arch more, whining as you do.

"Don't— Don't tease. Want— Don't want to wait." The words tumble out of your mouth as you feel Steve sucking and nipping at your pulse point, his hands moving across your chest and your whole torso. "Need—"

Steve shushes you with a finger to your lips, "we can see, babe. We can see how much you need us. We've got you. Elvis's got the lube, babe. Gonna make it easy to slide in."

You hear the words Steve speaks but don't quite realize until you feel your underwear finally being pulled off entirely with Elvis's hands running ever so slowly down your hips and thighs only to move right back up them. Your legs fall open, giving him the view of your most intimate parts that only Steve gets to see and you feel Elvis shift and rut against the bed for a moment before he takes his cock in hand, pulling his foreskin back. It's as if your eyes are glued to his cock, even as Steve gives attention to every other part of you, his lips covering your neck in kisses, biting your lips red. One of your hands moves to pull down Steve's underwear and moves up and down his cock, marveling in how much precum is already there. It lets your hand glide across the skin of his cock and you almost wish you could taste it right now. A bit of drool escapes your lips at the idea and Elvis notices.

"Steve. Stevie. Think— I think they wanna be in the middle all proper. Cock at the top and the bottom." As if to punctuate the point one of his hands moves to cup your cheek and his thumb brushes against your lips, a smirk forming on his face. "Ain't that right, yittle."

A choked off groan leaves your lips as your tongue chases after his thumb and the word yittle bounces around your head. You're not that much younger than Steve and yet Elvis calling you that sends a rush through your body and has you trying to move to do just that. Only both Steve and Elvis's hands stop you. You start to argue and beg and plead only to have Steve move to sit on the bed properly so that you can do what you want. So you can have his cock in your mouth, so you can have the taste of his cum roll down your throat as Elvis thrusts into you. Steve's hand moves to stroke your cheek as he looks down at you with the sort of love that makes your heart threaten to burst inside you. That look is why you're willing to do this, why you're willing to share yourself and him with Elvis. This man loves you and he'd do anything for you and he wouldn't do this if he didn't want to or if you didn't.

He doesn't speak but he does mouth love you as he pushes his cock in between your open lips and lets out a groan of pleasure at how your lips tighten around him. Elvis doesn't enter you immediately afterward, choosing to play with himself just a bit as he watches Steve's cock slide in between your lips, stretching them around it. Maybe if the three of you ever did anything like this again he could— he could have those lips around his, your tongue playing with his foreskin just a little. The image of you doing that playing in his head spurs him into action finally, making sure he's got enough lubrication for you to be able to enjoy this. Making sure you can take his cock inside you. He starts off slow, his cock entering you bit by bit, savoring the way your body shakes and savoring the noises he hears you making around Steve's cock. The other man can't hold back his own noises as he puts his hand on the back of your head, trying to push you down more, wanting more of your mouth. It takes a moment to find a rhythm once he's fully seated inside you but after a bit, it happens. Elvis thrusts into you, cursing at how tight you feel around his cock, telling you he understands now, understands the spell you've got Steve under.

"The hell ya spendin' so much time wit' me when ya got this at home, Binder? Fuckin' Christ, yittle. Gonna— I ain't gonna last. Fuckin'— Gonna make me cum like 'm a fuckin' teenager." Elvis slurs out the words, his accent thickening the more he thrusts into you, his fingers gripping your hips with a strength you knew he had but is invigorating to be on the receiving end of. As you push back against him he lets out a soft laugh and one of his hands move between your legs, touching where you need to be touched so that you can cum just the same as the two of them. "That's it, I gotcha. Steve's a little busy, but I got ya. Cum for us, make a mess that we gotta clean up."

That coil inside you, the one sitting low in your abdomen that's so wound up you could scream finally feels like it's starting to snap. You don't want to cum first though, you want Steve to cum down your throat before you do. Thankfully you know how to do that, know how to get him to do it and though it makes you a little unbalanced you move to grab at his ascot and yank it ever so softly but it's enough have Steve breathlessly cursing as you feel his cum fill your throat. A litany of praise and declarations of love leaves his mouth as you start to swallow only slightly choking. Your own orgasm hits you with a certain movement of Elvis's hand and despite your best efforts you can feel Steve's cum slide out of your mouth, dribbling ever so slightly. Elvis's thrusts are getting rougher and less controlled and you want to pull your mouth off of Steve to say something only to feel Steve yank Elvis forward by his ascot in for another kiss and a murmured request.

"Let yourself go, E."

As if it was an order you feel Elvis cum inside you and hear the muttered curse as he does. He hadn't meant to but as he pulls out and sees it dripping from you, he can't complain. The three of you are breathless and silent in the afterglow as you all flop onto the bed, arms and legs tangled just so in a way that feels oddly right. After a moment you finally speak.

"If that's what I get for letting Steve work with you till all hours. You— you can work all night and all day," you whisper, looking a little shell-shocked as you pull on Elvis's ascot to get a kiss. "Can— can we do that again? Reversed?"

Steve and Elvis share a look over your head before shrugging. "Better than filming all night. And I think we need to properly share."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @justrae9903, @thegettingbyp2, @stylespresleyhearted i know i am missing people but i am unsure whom at this point.

[floralcyanide]

𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲/ 𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝑠𝑦𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑙 𝑘𝑒𝑦: 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 ✺ 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓 ✿ 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡 ☁ 𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤 ☼

𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗋!𝖾𝗅𝗏𝗂𝗌

- 𝗃𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 ☼✺

- 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ☁

- 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒, 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 ☼✺

- 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾 ☼☁✺

𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗋

- “𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗌” 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗄𝖾 ☼✺

- 𝗂'𝗆 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 ✿

- 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖺 (𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼) ✺✿☁☼

- 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 ☼✺

- 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 ☼✺

- 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈!𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 ☼☁✺

- 𝟣𝟢,𝟢𝟢𝟢 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 ☼✺

- 𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 II ✿

- 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗆𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗈𝗆 ☁

- 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇 ☼✺

- 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝖾𝗒𝗌 ✿

- 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇: part one | part two ✿☼✺

𝖾𝗅𝗏𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗅𝖾𝗒

- 𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗎𝗌𝗍 ☁

- 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗒 ☁

𝗃𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀

- the 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝖽𝗂𝖾𝖽 ☁

- 𝗃𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗈 𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖾 ☼✺

𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋

- “𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗌” 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒, 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 ☼✺

- 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗅𝗏𝗂𝗌’ 𝖾𝗑 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

[starboybutler]

Cotton Candy Land (Ch.1)

summary: on top of elvis’s already-packed performance schedule, he had been receiving all kinds of violent threats. it had started when they were out of town, in houston, but they seemed to follow him. the first threat had been harmless enough– a shoddy note with chicken-scratch writing that said “i am going to kill you”, but now they were becoming physical– and taking a toll on elvis.

word count: 3496

warnings: age regression, crying, death threats, panic attacks, tantrums

notes: hi! this is my third attempt at a multi-chapter fic, and i hope that it goes well! elvis's age regression has always been a fascinating topic to me, so i wanted to write a fanfiction based on it and how it affected him. i'm including jerry and steve because i like them. we may get smut in the future, as well as some fluff/crushes, but who knows! i'm just really excited to get this first chapter up. shoutout to bee (dontbeecruel) for beta reading!

enjoy!

dim moonlight shone through the thin, white curtains of the work suite, illuminating the room in a pale aura. a heavy, dense silence hung in the air as binder and schilling stood on opposite sides of their paperwork-littered desk, their expressions exasperated.

tonight had been stressful.

on top of elvis’s already-packed performance schedule, he had been receiving all kinds of violent threats. it had started when they were out of town, in houston, but they seemed to follow him. the first threat had been harmless enough– a shoddy note with chicken-scratch writing that said “i am going to kill you”, but now they were becoming physical– and taking a toll on elvis.

in the middle of his performance tonight, two men from the front row hopped up onstage and rushed towards elvis, and things went south. colonel rushed from his seat in the crowd, while jerry, red, and elvis attempted to draw their guns.

the men were quickly subdued, and elvis was dragged off the stage, yelling and screaming that he would kill whoever just charged him. he was furious. the colonel met up with him backstage, and it was suggested to him that the show be stopped due to safety concerns– but elvis insisted he continue. he refused to be pushed off of the stage.

binder pressed his fingers under his aviators, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and squeezed his eyes shut. he was developing quite the migraine trying to figure out how to deal with all of this. he thought he had security all under control– but knowing the colonel, he had probably done something dumb behind his back to compromise that.

schilling was just as stressed. serving as elvis’s bodyguard, close friend, and public relations– he had a whole myriad of issues to worry about– but the most daunting was the press. he knew those newspaper writers would be on him as soon as they could, asking for any behind the scenes details of the attacks. then there was the problem of elvis’s mental state. even though he insisted he was fine, both binder and schilling knew that the man was growing more and more paranoid with each passing hour. he had barely slept since the first threat. there’s no way he would just shake off this much more jarring one.

“we should…” jerry started, hesitantly. “we should find ep. talk to him. check up on him.”

binder let his sunglasses fall back into place on the bridge of his nose, sighing as he ran a hand through his brunette locks. “will he even let us in his room?” he asks, affixing his wary eyes on schilling. “he's been pretty shaken up lately. he’s not letting anyone in. not even vernon.”

“i know.” jerry sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “i mean, he might let me in, but…”

“over his own father?”

“hey man, vernon and e have a bit of a… rocky relationship.” jerry says, shrugging. “i’m just saying, i might have better chances to be let in.”

binder fell silent, pursing his lips in thought. “it's worth a shot,” he admits, before sighing. “christ– we should really get to all this paperwork though.”

“later.” schilling mutters. “i’m worried about elvis.”

binder gave a curt nod, and followed after the taller man as he stepped out from their workspace. truth be told, he was worried about elvis too– terribly worried– but he just didn't need another earful from the colonel about his ‘hippie work ethic’, and how he was always falling behind on important matters.

sometimes it was maddening how much the colonel was on him. he wanted to walk away at times, but he reminded himself that he took this job for elvis. the colonel was annoying to deal with, of course, but binder needed to stick around to make elvis's job a little more bearable. binder always fought that old toad tooth and nail for ep to have more creative freedoms, but the colonel just had this aura to him. it's like he knew how to twist your words and thoughts just perfectly enough to make you reword yourself until you agreed with him. most of the time, steve opted for pointedly ignoring the man, but sometimes he couldn't help but snap back at him.

jerry was much more skilled at dealing with the colonel. mainly because– for some odd reason– he got along with him. schilling was just that type of guy. he got along with everyone, no matter how unlikeable the other person seemed. maybe it was his good looks, or his southern charm– but whatever it was, the colonel took a liking to him. jerry didn't necessarily see parker as a friend, but he didn't see him as an enemy either. when binder asked about it, schilling said that him and the colonel were a “strictly business” arrangement, and that they just happened to agree in those terms.

hell, maybe jerry should take his job. they’d be a lot more productive without parker poking his nose into everything binder did, and then purposely doing something to render his plans useless.

the two men stepped into the elevator, pressing the button that would take them directly up to elvis’s private room. it wasn't that far of a ride, as the work suite was in pretty close quarters with elvis– in case he needed to speak to binder or schilling about anything. it felt like forever, though– thanks to the tense situation at hand. usually when they visited elvis, it was under a much more light-hearted guise– like for a game of cards, or to see if they could sneak out on the town without getting recognized.

but nothing like this had ever occurred before. who knows how elvis would be feeling? he was so hard to predict sometimes– you’d think he'd be feeling one way after a certain event, only to find him feeling the complete and exact opposite.

the elevator halted, the doors slowly opened and let them onto their desired floor. it was quiet– almost eerily so– as they approached the large, intricately decorated double doors, steeling themselves with a deep breath.

schilling knocked tentatively, holding his breath as he waited for a response.

nothing.

he didn't seem phased. he just knocked again, a bit firmer this time, and spoke loudly enough so whoever was inside could hear.

“ep? it's…it’s jerry ‘n steve,” he said softly, biting his lip. “we uh– wanted to check on ya.”

silence.

binder was starting to get worried at this point– and it's obvious that schilling was as well. the way his brows furrowed together tightly told steve everything he needed to know.

“try the doorknob.” binder said, nodding towards one of the shiny, golden knobs. schilling hummed and tentatively gripped one of them, attempting to turn it and stiffening when it obliged, allowing one of the large doors to open.

steve swallowed heavily. elvis’s doors were almost never unlocked.

he looked over to see jerry borderline panicking. his eyes were wide, and he seemed to be frozen on the spot as he stared into the darkness of the room before him. binder placed a hand on his shoulder lowering his voice a fraction.

“hey– don't panic,” he muttered, giving the younger man’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “we haven't gone in yet. don't assume the worst.”

“okay.” schilling gulped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to steel himself. “okay. yeah.”

they walked into the room slowly. it was cold and dark– almost pitch black, save for a small bit of moonlight peeking through a crack in the curtains. steve stumbled over his feet a few times, but jerry seemed to know the room like the back of his hand. he swiftly made his way over to the right-hand side of the room, calling out anxiously.

“elvis? it's us, man!”

there was still no response, but binder became aware of a soft, barely-present noise coming from the bed tucked away in the corner. he strained to listen out, trying to figure out what the source of the noise was, only to get thrown off by schilling yelling out again, panicked.

“elvis–!”

“shh!” binder hushed, making jerry's head whip around to face him, half-curious, half-pissed. before he could snap at steve for shushing him in a moment of panic, he seemingly heard the noise as well.

steve held a hand out, blindly feeling for the edge of the mattress. he sat himself down, leaning forward until the noise grew into a more distinctive sound.

someone was crying.

“elvis…?” steve murmured, blinking in attempt to adjust to the dark of the room. “is that you?”

only then, he spotted a lump under the blankets of the bed, quivering and jumping with each harsh noise that left it. instinctively, steve reached out and pulled the blankets away, revealing a red-faced, trembling, crying elvis.

he was curled up into a ball, sniffling gently into the synthetic fur of a small plush bear that was clutched to his chest. his tears glittered in the faint light, illuminating his flushed cheeks– the small bit of his face that they could actually somewhat see.

he looked so small, like a little boy.

“g’way,” elvis sniffled, trying to hide his face behind the now soaked stuffed animal. “leave me ‘lone.”

no one spoke for a brief moment– just out of pure shock. out of all the possible things they could have discovered, this wasn't even a possibility for them– but here they were.

in reality, maybe they should have seen a sort of breakdown coming. the death threats weren't the only thing bothering elvis. the cancellation of his overseas tour had kickstarted this whole series of events. after that, he started his american tour, which was a whole other stressor for him– then the colonel was still so adamant about him performing at the goddamn international twice a day. in other words, elvis was at his limit– and while he had the temper of a thousand suns… he was most likely just exhausted rather than angry.

still…to see him crying, cuddled up to a plush toy was far from expected. though, now that binder pondered on it, it did make a bit of sense. elvis didn't have the easiest of childhoods– growing up dirt poor with only his momma and his love of comic books to skirt him by. maybe what they were seeing was elvis’s way of trying to relive that childhood.

jerry spoke first. it felt appropriate, seeing as he had a closer relationship with elvis. with a curious expression, he knelt down by the bed until he was eye level with the sniffling, trembling elvis.

“hey, you okay, ep?” he asks lowly, his voice gentle and laced with concern. “It’s jerry. a-and steve. we came to check on you, ‘cuz we were worried ‘bout ya after what happened on stage–”

“no!” the raven haired man cried out, harshly jerking his body so that he was facing the wall opposed to schilling. “no no no! don’ talk about that!” he cried out, his voice broken and utterly distraught at the reminder of what went down on stage. he was being absolutely petulant, the tears streaming down his face becoming fatter. jerry cursed under his breath as elvis continued his tantrum. “d-d-don’ wanna think ‘bout it! j-jus wanna go home!”

“alright, alright,” jerry muttered lowly, his expression grew more concerned as elvis went on, his grip on the stuffed bear tightened significantly as he thrashed around. steve felt absolutely helpless as he watched the other man try to calm elvis down, only for the dark haired man to thrash around more wildly in frustration.

binder felt horrible for his boss. seeing him so clearly distraught made his heart clench in a painful way. he could have done a better job to prevent this pain. maybe if he had pushed back against the colonel more– elvis wouldn't be in such a pained mindset.

spurred on by his guilt, he slowly extended a hand towards his boss, laying it on his shin gently. elvis slowed in his thrashing for a moment, thrown off by the touch. he stared at steve, who was just giving him a patient, understanding look. schilling set his jaw, taking the momentary calm as an opportunity to speak once more.

“we’re here, elvis. we just want you to be okay.” he murmured.

the man stilled, his chest heaving as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks hotly, staining the satin of his top with little wet blotches. his wailing slowly turned into sporadic whimpers, his shaky hands reaching out for either of the two men beside him for comfort. they obliged him, scooting closer to elvis and allowing him to cling onto them as tightly as he needed to. he pressed his tear-stained face into the crook of binder’s neck, making the man jolt in surprise. elvis continued sniffling, his plush bear now dangling in his grasp as he weakly sobbed into steve’s warm skin.

the men shared a look, a mix of bewilderment, relief, and slight fear. how long would elvis be like…this?

“what's the matter, elvis?” schilling asked, rubbing a large hand up and down his back. when all he got in response was a series of harsh, hiccupy breaths, jerry hushed him and pat him on the back firmly. “hey, c’mon. it's alright. no more tears, you're alright.”

“take a deep breath.” binder said softly, his voice laced with an unsure, wavering tone that he inwardly cursed at himself for. “just breathe.”

the dark-haired man took a series of deep, shaky breaths, before he lifted his head from the damp crevice of binder’s skin. his eyes were red and glassy, his face shiny with his tears. his lip was trembling– giving him the look of a lost little boy. binder felt an overwhelming urge to protect him.

“...’m sorry,” elvis muttered, his voice soft and hoarse from his earlier crying. “d-didn't mean ‘t yell.” he sniffles, his face flushed with shame as he avoided eye contact with either man. “‘m a bad boy.”

“no, no,” jerry said softly, shaking his head. “you're not bad.”

“yeah.” binder agreed softly, moving a stray piece of hair from elvis’s eyes. “you’ve had a rough day. you're allowed to be upset.”

“b-but i yelled,” he murmured. “i-i yelled at you….’n…i-i-i was bein’ mean.”

“that’s okay. we don't care about that now. we just wanna be sure that you're alright.” steve explained, watching as elvis pawed at his eyes feverishly. “are you alright?”

“mhm.” elvis answered with a pitiful little sniffle, leaning into binder once more. “i’m jus’ tired…’n scared…lonely,” he admitted, pulling the tear stained bear close to his chest. “wan’ go home.”

“i know,” schilling piped up. “we just got a little while longer, and we’ll be back at graceland, playin’ football in the yard. how's that sound?”

“wanna go home to all ‘m stuffies,” he mumbled, rocking back and forth gently. “a-all them in my room, up in ‘m closet…” elvis said softly, smiling gently to himself.

“s…stuffies?” steve asked, curious.

elvis wipes at his nose with his sleeve. “l-like this guy..!” he said, holding up the brown bear in his arms. “e-e-except at home, i-i got lions, ‘n tigers, a-and even little b-b-bunnies….”

“is that right?” schilling asked, a small smile on his lips. “do they all have names?”

“mhm,” his boss muttered, shy as he idly played with his stuffed animal's arms. “all of ‘em.”

“maybe when we get back, you can give us a little tour.” jerry mused, giving elvis a patient little smile.

elvis stared at schilling owlishly, before looking away and flushing a light pink high on his cheekbones. he pressed his face into the fur of his bear once more. “okay,”

steve felt the clenching in his heart be replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling. seeing him calm, and somewhat demure made him flood with relief– elvis truly seemed happy when he was like this.

was it odd? maybe a little. steve had never seen anything like it where he was from, but in this line of work, he learned to be open-minded. he was just glad it was him and schilling, one of elvis’s closest friends, that happened to stumble upon him in this state of mind, and not someone that might have set him off more– like the colonel, or maybe even vernon.

with a little hum, steve stood. “well, we need to get going. we got a lot of work to get to.”

elvis’s face fell. he looked disappointed. “oh. okay.”

jerry cocked his head to the side at his reaction, leaning down so that he was eye-level with him. “...what's wrong?”

elvis averted his gaze from the two men shyly, swaying back and forth lazily as he muttered softly into the soft, synthetic fur of his teddy bear.

“wan’ you to stay,”

“me?” jerry asked. “or steve?”

“both,” elvis sniffled. “don' wanna be alone.”

jerry and steve shared a curious look, before looking back at the small, frail looking elvis.

“you want us to stay with you?” steve asked, to which elvis nodded in response meekly, wiping at his eyes. his movements were growing more and more sluggish, his eyes becoming droopy and lidded as he spoke again.

“mhm. need…what if someone tries ‘t attack me ‘gain? you’ll stop ‘em, right?” he mumbled, eyes beginning to flutter shut as he slurred out his words. “you’ll protect yittle elvie..?”

steve watched as the man dozed off, the ear of his stuffie between his lips as his breath began to even out. jerry pressed a hand to his lower back, guiding him to lay down fully in the soft, plush pillows.

“i’ll protect you, bud.” schilling muttered, his expression fond as he watched the man nuzzle his nose into his stuffed animal, a small, content smile on his lips.

binder blinked up at schilling, who was already kicking off his shoes and making himself comfortable in the bed beside elvis. he sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

“are we actually gonna sleep in here with him?”

“i am.” jerry answered simply, settling on his side. “he asked me to, so i’m gonna stay. he needs me.”

“but our work–”

“christ man, if you're so worried about that you don't gotta stay!” schilling whispered, annoyed. “y’can leave if you want, but i’m staying here– where it matters.”

binder felt his face flush with shame under schilling's scornful gaze. he hadn't meant to come off like he didn’t care about elvis, but he just didn't want to have to deal with another long, boring lecture from the colonel because they were behind again. all of this stuff was kind of starting to get to him as well. all he wanted was to get his work done in peace– without hearing the colonel butcher his name and call him a hippie.

“no, i…i’m sorry,” steve muttered, fidgeting with his ascot idly. “i’ll stay. i just– ugh, i don’t wanna hear his mouth in the morning.” binder sighed, undoing the fabric around his neck.

schilling's expression softened slightly in understanding. “yeah, i hear ya. i know he never yells at me directly– but man, i hate hearin’ him yell period.” he murmured, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. steve huffed warily in amusement, before silence fell over the both of them.

“...y’shouldn’t let him talk to you like that.”

“i don't…uh, really have a choice.” steve admitted. “i’m not…the confrontational kind. i prefer to push back in a much less direct way. he just…he just keeps approaching me, though, like he knows how uncomfortable he makes me.”

“he prolly does,” jerry hummed, his voice growing tired. “wouldn't put it past ‘im.”

binder smirked crookedly. “you getting tired on me, schilling?”

“hell yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes halfway closed. “been a long day. we all need some sleep.” he yawned, finally shutting his eyes.

“fine. goodnight.” steve hummed, laying his head down. he didn't get a response– just snoring.

he laughed to himself, studying the two men in front of him. elvis was fast asleep, clutching onto that same little bear for dear life as he chewed on it's ear, mumbling incoherently in his sleep. it made binder think. he mentioned his collection of plushies at home… so how long has this been a thing?

taking elvis’s past into account, and his relationship with his mother, binder suspected that this was more that a quirk or a hobby of his. he seemed like he was genuinely a little boy. like he couldn't control his emotions. that pitiful, petulant look in his eyes, those tears rolling down his flushed cheeks, the worn stuffed bear he clutched onto like a lifeline– maybe it was a lot deeper than just another thing he did.

steve could only wonder on the specifics as he dozed off, the soft snores of the other two men lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

[arickaandherfictionalothers]

Comfort in the hard times…

(Aricka Penbury x Steve Binder)

(After finding out Bobby Kennedy was assassinated, five months pregnant Aricka and her husband Steve find comfort and solace in each other.)

Aricka was shocked. Frozen. Hand over her stomach, the other cupping her mouth in horror. Steve was staring pensively, somberly at the television screen, open grief and tears in his eyes and on his face. She crossed the room, wading through the crowd in the dressing room; making her way to her husband, seeing Elvis with his fiancé - also named Aricka- huddled together, her on his lap rubbing soothing circles on his back while he had his face nuzzled again her shoulder.

It was good they had each other, just as she had Steve. And speaking of- she slid her hand slowly up Steve’s arm; across his shoulder, and leaned against him. He jolted at her touch, but quickly leaned into her as a source of strength. Her other arm slid around his waist and she squeezed. “We need to do something,” she murmured.

“I know,” he whispered back. “He needs to do something. The nation needs comfort.”

“He’s just a man, Steve. Seems like the Colonel has him on such a tight leash he can’t do nothing for nobody without express approval.” Steve clicks his tongue. Instead of replying to her, he turns to address the room at large, a heavy sigh slipping free,

“Listen, I ah, I just wanna say that- that this nation is hurting. It’s lost you know-? It needs a voice to help it heal.” He sighs, a pained laugh escaping him. “We have to say something.” Those blue eyes-bright with the sheen of tears and the weight of his emotions-darken, deepen, and he locks eyes with Elvis, “You, you have to make a statement, EP.”

Aricka nods, moving to take his hand, “He’s right.” She glances back at the Colonel, who was chewing his cigar hard enough to snap it in half. “The nation loves you, we wouldn’t ask you to do anything if we didn’t think it wouldn’t be received well.”

Aricka- Elvis’s girlfriend Aricka- smiles assuringly when the King of Rock and Roll looks at her. “They’re right. It’s about time someone else saw in you what I always have. Your voice is powerful- and I don’t just mean your singing voice.”

“Mr. Presley doesn’t make statements,” the Colonel finally objected, having gathered his jaw off the floor. “He sings “Here comes Santa Claus,” says Merry Christmas, and goodnight.” And to punctuate his words, he flicks the tv off.

“You might not make statements, Mr. Parker, but we do. We always have. And the decision is Elvis’, at the end of the day.” Aricka didn’t know where her bravery came from, but it was there.

Now all they could do was wait for Elvis to decide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the control room, it was just Aricka and Steve. The man sank heavily into the nearest chair, grief heavy on his face, seeming to weigh him down physically. Aricka went to join him, kneeling before him, one hand on his arm, the other on his knee. “We’re alone, baby. I locked the door. Bones is downstairs helping set up for tomorrow.”

At those words, her husband of three years leaned forward, and collapsed in her arms. Tears stained her dress sleeve, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her own tears fell silently as she held space for Steve to feel his emotions. “I know…” she whispered. “Just let it all out. I’m here to hold you through this.”

They sat like that for what could’ve been hours but really was more than likely mere minutes, and Aricka continued to hold Steve even as he came back to himself, wiping his eyes and looking sheepish even though he knew Aricka would never judge him for his feelings. “I-,” he starts but she puts a finger to his lips,

“Hush, my love, you’ve held that in for a while now, haven’t you?” He nods, a bit abashed. “It’s okay to cry, you know I’m a firm believer in that. I’m five months pregnant, I cry when my food isn’t brought to me quickly enough, does that make me weak?”

“No-!” He protests. “You’re carrying my child, you have every right to- oh.” He blushes. “Yeah.” He leans forward again, kisses her forehead. “You always know just what to say when I’m like this. How?”

She smiles, leans forward to properly kiss him. “Because you’re my Steve and I love you.”

His hand makes its way to her stomach, gently rubbing the spot where their child was growing. “I hope they get their momma’s compassion and love,” he says.

“And I hope they get their daddy’s deep feelings and sarcastic streak, ” she whispered.

Steve’s forehead rests against hers, and they both allow themselves the opportunity to close their eyes and soak in the warmth of each other’s presence. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back. The man stands, and pulls her to her feet, before wrapping his arms tightly but carefully around her, encasing her in a famous Steve Binder hug. She sighs happily and hugs him back, as tightly as her pregnant belly would let her hold him to her, rubbing his back and nuzzling his shoulder.

“We should wrap this up and head home- I want to show my wife how much I appreciate her constant support and love.” She giggles, but then the piano catches their attention.

A sad, slow version of, “Here Comes Santa Claus,” plays, and Aricka shares a Look with her husband.

He walks over and hits the switch allowing him to communicate with the stage from the box, “We’re pretty set for the number tomorrow, right, E.P.? It’s pretty familiar territory…”

Elvis looks up at them, as Bones comes in the room to grab his jacket. “A reverend once told me… “When things are too dangerous to say…Sing.””

Aricka, Steve and Bones exchange a Look, a smile blooming on Aricka’s face as sweet as a blossom after rain.

“Let’s get to work, then,” Steve says, and then proceeds to help Elvis create his statement.

——————-

Italicized script is taken from the movie script.

—————-

@astralshipper @rosieshipper @hyperionshipping @yeehawselfshipping @tsundere-selfship @callsign-revenge

[yourmidnightlover]

the story

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

w/c: 3.5k+

summary: the weeks following bucky ordering that steve be your bodyguard, followed by an insightful night at a gala with your beloved husband.

warnings: mention of the incident with john (groping), slight threats of violence, mention of fear, lip on lip action (the upstairs ones), if i've missed anything please let me know!!

a/n: hiii! the third installment of my forever? series! i didn't even intend for this to be more than one part, but you guys have inspired me to write more for it! my writing schedule is a bit off since i recently started a new job, but i'll try to be a bit consistent with it. i hope you guys enjoy this next part, more to come!

part 2 -> control

the first few weeks with steve as a bodyguard wasn’t too bad. he was actually kinda funny in a grandpa kinda way, and he was an amazing listener. you had bounced a few ideas for your book off of him and he seemed to be very intrigued by some of the plot points you had planned. he even promised to be one of the first customers, right behind bucky (which you may have rolled your eyes at), of course, as long as he was promised a signed copy.

but, at the two month mark you began to miss your independence. of course, the chef bucky had hired was amazing and had years of experience in italian cuisine, but sometimes a girl just wanted some greasy smash burger to chow down on. most nights you ate alone with steve until bucky walked through the front door. 

he always seemed beaten down and tired, as though work was more straining than usual. he would shrug his jacket off, place it on the hook by the door, then his shoes on the rack, and walk upstairs to shower before coming downstairs to eat as you and steve were finishing your plates. you tried your best to start conversation, to be the best company you could but eventually the silence always grew awkward and steve would usher you to go upstairs to your room with a pressed smile. 

after two months of not really needing to show you off i any way, there was an important gala for him to attend. of course, that means that you were to be his beloved arm candy for the night. 

“buck sent me the address for a local boutique that he thinks would be right up your alley,” steve read from his phone as you took a stroll in the garden that was full of beautiful colors. “the appointment is at 3:45, so we have plenty of time to get ready and head there too. oh and he says you should get something in that one shade of green… i’m assuming you know what that is?” his brows raise in confusion, as your mirror his in a stunned expression. 

“surprisingly, i do know what he means for once.” about six weeks before the wedding, you had spent an all nighter with him amidst all of the chaotic planning. 

“accent colors are super important! right now, all we have is an off white color, and while it’s a good color, i don’t want my wedding to wash everyone out that much,” you shoved his side as you sprawled your binders out on the coffee table. 

“i say… green,” he says after pondering for a minute. 

“green… like tree green?” you chuckled at the notion. 

“i mean the green that’s light yet earthy, not too dark but not scream-in-your-face bright. it’s beautiful. plus, i think you’d look stunning in it,” he shrugs casually as if he hadn’t described a mundane color in such an alluring way.

“so a sage green?” 

“maybe more on the jade green side,” he tried to hide a smile as his thumb began to mindly trace nonsense on your thigh. 

there was such elegance in the way he described the simple color, as if saying light green wouldn’t have sufficed. clearly, there was a significance to the mundane shade that he felt the need to recommend it. 

but you knew not to ask anything further to pry, doubting his readiness to comply so easily so early in your relationship. while it was during the happiest days of your relationship, you still knew he held you at arms length. 

at the appointment, you had found several dresses in the perfect color, but only one stood out to you after trying them on. steve was also a good guide in ensuring you were choosing the right one, although you’re sure he would just say every dress looked good regardless. 

growing up, you’d read about a love that was so encapsulating that one would rather face death than be without their lover. you’d yearned for that kind of love. the kind of love that was consuming and irreversible. the kind of love where your partner wouldn’t love you in spite of your flaws, but because of them. 

and now you were married to a man who didn’t seem to feel an ounce of that towards you. sure, the months leading up to your wedding made it seem otherwise. it made you hopeful that he could maybe grow to love you, as you could grow to love him. 

because truthfully, it was hard to see many flaws in the man, other than those that were rumored in the tabloids. you’d read or heard of his anger issues and his lack of patience but abundance of irritability. yet all you’d observed is his laughter, his diligence and compassion. 

it was definitely confusing to want to believe these two contradicting tales of composure, but ultimately seeing is believing. you’d decided to believe whatever he showed you, what was right in front of his face rather than believe whatever was whispered in your ear. besides, if something was worth believing it should be said with their full chest rather than in such a low tone. 

-

“almost ready?” bucky’s low voice rang through the door as you were doing finishing touches on your hair, making sure you looked as presentable as possible. 

“i just have to put the dress on, and i’ll be ready to go!” you replied, unzipping the bag that the dress came in, even though you suggested that doing so was overkill.

“let me know if you need any help.” you heard a thud from the other side that suggested that he was leaning against the door, waiting to hear if you did happen to need any assistance. 

you replied in silence, just stepping into the dress and lifting the straps over your shoulders. it was such a beautifully made gown, truly. it hugged you in the most flattering places, accentuating just the right amount without flaunting too much. the material felt like a warm hug from a lifelong friend, you almost never wanted to take it off. 

the only downside was the damn zipper. it was a bit rough to pull over your hips alone, but once you reached your mid back it seemed to reach a snagging stop. you twisted your arms every way possible, trying to avoid the totally cliche scene of calling him in to zip you up. 

alas, the universe had other plans for you. although, how much could you complain when that would mean his rough, yet gentle hands would be against your skin…

“...bucky?” your voice meekly called out, trying to interrupt your own thoughts from spiralling down the path you wanted them to so bad. 

“yea?” his voice piped up, seeming to jump an octave or two in the process. maybe you jst startled him. 

“could you maybe help me zip this thing up?” you became quiet before the twisting of your doorknob broke the silence. “my arms can’t quite contort the way they need to in order to zip this all the way…” you refused to meet his eyes as he trailed inside the room. 

the first sign of his presence was his hands grasping your shoulders, lightly tracing down your arms. then he leaned down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, more affectionate than he’d been the entire duration of your marriage without it being prompted. 

“you look beautiful,” he pressed another kiss to your other shoulder before letting his hands fall to a respectable place on your waist, stepping back to seemingly find where the zipper got stuck. “but what’s new, right?”

you chuckled at the compliment. 

“what’ve you been doing recently?” you asked meekly. “i haven’t seen you much at all since steve started his new gig as my babysitter.”

he sighed, stopping his antics to clarify what he felt he needed to. “he’s not a babysitter. he’s my best friend, and the only person i trust to look after the woman that i-the woman that i married, okay?” you felt his deep breathing on your neck before he continued, “i don’t know where john is yet. john is notorious for taking whatever he thinks is his and that night he made it very clear what he believed.” he turned you around to face him, the dress’ zipper be damned. “if anything happens to you… just the thought keeps me up at night. i need you to understand,” his voice was desperate, pleading almost. 

you understood what he was saying. at least, you were pretty sure you did. men in positions of power like bucky typically saw the people around them as pawns. part of you thinks that he’s saying all of this as the controlling, possessive boss man bucky. and that’s the large part of you. but the small part of you, the part of you that still believes in that fairytale love you used to read about, believes that maybe he’s saying all of this because he does feel something for you… something real. 

but that part of you is like… 15 percent. maybe 20…

“i understand,” you nodded, meeting his eyes and seeing desperation, fear. seeing fear radiating from a man that projects a version of himself that’s fearless is a scary thing. 

“good,” he nodded, his eye contact faltering to the dress that clung to your body. “you look indescribable, i’m a lucky man to call you mine.” once again, he grasped your shoulders to turn you around.

this time, he promptly found the zipper, his metal hand tracing nonsensical patterns on your shoulder as he zipped the dress with his flesh one. 

“all done,” he pressed a lingering kiss to your right shoulder. “my beautiful bride.” you wanted to believe him. 

“thank you,” you took a deep breath as you turned to face him. “so, tonight… what should i be expecting?” “well, there are a few people i’ll introduce you to, and a few i have to talk to. but i’ll be with you the whole time,” he pressed his hands into his pockets. “i scheduled a car to take us, and we have about 10 minutes before it should get here.”

“so we’ll be playing the roles of loving wife and doting husband?” you nudged his shoulder before you went to grab your shoes. 

“playing? this is all real, sweetheart,” he took the shoes from your hands, promptly dropping to his knees. 

“what are you-”

“i’m putting your shoes on, my love.” you chuckled before he guided your hand to his shoulder. “gonna want to hold on.” he picked up one of your legs by your calf, grabbing the correct shoe before slowly placing your foot inside and doing the same for your other shoe.

meanwhile, you were stuck staring down at him like a lovesick idiot. this behemoth of a man was beneath you treating you like a princess by putting your heels on for you. what the hell kind of alternate universe have you entered and how can you never leave?

“well, aren’t you a romantic?” you cleared your throat as he remained on his knees, a sight you could get used to. 

“don’t let the news spread around town,” he chuckled as he let your remaining foot hit the ground but not without pressing a kiss to your ankle. “i can’t have others knowing how enamored i am by you, can we?” “enamored?” you chuckled out. “what a word,” you shook your head as you helped him to his feet. 

“the perfect word.” he trailed his hand to a loose strand of hair, twirling it around his flesh fingers before he sighed, “the car should be here soon. we should head downstairs for it.”

it was a 45 minute ride there. you sat in a respectable silence, this time it wasn’t as awkward as it has been in the past. upon arrival, the door was swiftly opened for you, bucky getting out first and then offering his hand to help you step out. the first thirty minutes of the gala went very similarly. he would introduce you to a new face or say ‘hello’ to a familiar one, wrap his arm snugly around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek and move on to the next person. 

for a bunch of folks in banking and finance, everything seemed very high stakes. there seemed to be walls up all around you, from each man and woman you said a brief hello to or were meeting for the first time. everyone had decided to adorn a mask for the night, or maybe the mask was a semi-permanent fixture. maybe they’d worn the mask for so long they forgot how to function without one. you hoped you wouldn’t face the same fate.

to be doomed to fake face for so long that you no longer remember what was once real. you wanted something real, even if what you and bucky had was technically fake when you were in public. something about what happened behind closed doors when nobody was around gave you the illusion that part of it was real. 

“have i told you how ravishing you look tonight?” bucky held you close as you swayed to the soft melody. his metal hand was clutching your waist, his flesh hand holding your own.

“i think in different words, yes,” you both began to laugh at his flattery. “you don’t have to keep doing that, y’know? the compliments and everything… i think people get the idea that this is real by now.”

“you don’t get it, do you?” he shook his head before he moved his vibranium hand to your chin, nudging it up for you to meet his eyes. 

“get what?”

“buck,” steve’s voice interrupted your dance, but that didn’t stop bucky from pulling you taut to his side.

steve leaned in to whisper in his ear, but you were able to tell by his stone cold expression that whatever message that was being relayed to him wasn’t as delightful as the desserts from tonight. 

“when?” you barely registered bucky’s low voice over the music. 

steve went back to whispering in his ear and it wasn’t until he pulled back that you wanted to speak up, “what’s going on?”

bucky looked down to you, and when you looked into his eyes, what you saw was very similar to your earlier conversation with him. this time, however, there seemed to be anger buried beneath the stoic traces of fear. that’s when it clicked.

“did they find him?” his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“you told her about-”

“i told her what she deserves to know,” bucky interrupted steve’s accusatory tone. “you don’t get to question me or the decisions i make, especially not when those decisions are in regards to my wife.”

you weren’t sure if bucky was defending you or himself with the way he jumped on steve’s gears. 

“okay, got it,” steve rse his hands in defense before he nodded. 

“what steve was telling me was in regards to him, yes,” bucky clarified. “but it’s nothing important for you to need to know. you don’t have to worry about it, my love,” he let his flesh hand play with that same strand of hair as earlier as he looked down at you like his prized possession. 

oh yea, you almost forgot. that’s what you are to him. his trophy wife, as much as you hate that phrase. 

“when can we go home?” a shiver ran down your spine. what would john even do if he did get his hands on you? was he actually as bad as bucky made him seem, or was he worse? you gripped bucky’s arm tighter as thoughts raced through your brain. 

“hey,” he turned to face you again, his eyes no longer reflecting anger or fear but tenderness. “if you want to leave, we’ll leave. steve can get the car,” he turned briefly to steve who nodded before walking off, “we can talk on the way home. i can tell how many questions are running through that pretty head of yours right now. but i can assure you,” he cupped your face in his hands, and the contrast between the cold metal and the warm flesh was oddly grounding, “as long as your with me, or steve for that matter, you won’t have anything to worry about. i would do anything it takes to keep you safe.”

you nodded, pressing your lips together in a fine line, maybe a bit of doubt running in your head at the lengths he would go to in order to protect you. would he really go to the lengths necessary? would his hand be forced to do that? 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i was scared right now?” you couldn’t meet his eyes as you admitted it. 

“it’s not bad at all. in fact, i understand. i just hope that you know that this is why steve is watching out for you now,” he dropped his hands to your shoulders, down your arms to hold your hands. 

“will you-would you be up for staying with me tonight?” you popped the question, almost scared of his answer. “like… like you did that night? i don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

“you don’t have to explain,” he smiled. “of course i’ll stay with you.”

the ride home was similar to the ride there, but this time with your head rested on his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you. you’re sure he thought you were asleep when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. it also wasn’t beneath you to say you liked when he did it…

so much so that you apparently did fall sleep. when you woke up, it was wrapped in strong arms. you strained your neck to look at the clock beside your bed, the one that read 2:35 am. turning in bed to look at bucky, you realized you’d never seen him so peaceful. his hair had grown out a bit long, evident by the way it laid across his forehead. 

when you moved the few locks of hair from his forehead, he began to stir awake. 

“shhh,” you hummed softly. “it’s just me. sorry i woke you.”

“don’t be sorry,” his raspy voice was alluring this early in the morning, or was it late? “i don’t think i’ve slept this good since… well, since that night.”

“are you a secret cuddler, mr. barnes?” you smiled as he pulled you in a smidge tighter as he replied. 

“and what if i am?” “there are no complaints coming from me,” he pressed yet another kiss to yourforehead, then your cheek, your other cheek, and then you pulled back to look in his eyes again. 

the only light that was peaking through was from the hallway underneath the door, but that didn’t stop you from being able to see the bright smile decorating his face, a rare sight to see. 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i really wanted to kiss you right now?” his thumb trailed across your bottom lip, gently pulling it down and watching it bounce back into place.

“it’s not bad at all,” you let your eyes find his lips before looking into his eyes once more. 

he made the first move, taking his flesh hand and cupping your face before he softly met your lips with his. every other kiss you’d had with him had been for show, cameras or people around to witness and aww at the romantic antics of the newlyweds. this one wasn’t for show. this was purely authentic. gentle, soft, delicate. for a man like bucky, you figured he wasn’t like this very often. this was a side of him not many other people got the privilege of witnessing. 

he was precise in his movements, every swipe of his tongue and every placement his hand made was deliberate, yet he was so tender. the soft grasp of your hair, the easy glide of his hand that began to hold your waist. it was all so consuming, in the best way possible. in the way that you wanted to drown in his presence. 

when you sweeped one of your legs over his, now perched on his lap, you felt him smile against your lips. 

“you’re astounding,” he breathed into you. “breathtaking,” he rearranged his hips, accidentally brushing his hardon against your center. “shit.”

“sorry,” you smiled against him as you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. 

“nothin’ to apologize for,” he shook his head with a laugh. “i mean, you are my wife an’ all.”

“i know, but,” taking a deep breath, you tried to figure out how to word what you wanted to say to him. you came up with nothing. “i don’ know. it’s different. we haven’t necessarily been the most affectionate since our wedding.”

“i didn’t think you wanted anything more,” his face shone with disbelief. “i didn’t want you to think you were forced to be ‘affectionate’ with me. you didn’t really want to marry me in the first place. i realize that.”

were you not this puppet in his master show? some play thing for him to own and display whenever he pleased? had every story you’d heard about him been nothing but that… just stories? could this story of you and him have a happy ending?

tags:

@blackbirdwitch22

@onceithough

@learisa

@mrsnikstan

@cjand10

@mrs-bucky-barnes-73

@armystay89

@adesum

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@loki-laufeyson68

if you'd like to be added to the tag list, please just leave a comment or message me!

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Won't Let You Go, Belle

Biker!Bucky Barners x afab!reader smut

Summary: A flashback to Bucky and Belle's first date... and to fulfil some of Bucky's longstanding thoughts.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, porn with plot, kinda long, mentions of previous shitty boyfriend that i've referenced before, Bucky is bad at dates but good at sex, daddy kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, praise kink, p in v sex, i think that's everything

Notes: bringing anon (and my) dreams into reality. It did end up a little sweeter than expected but its because im a SAP. More Biker!Bucky content here

You stared at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom. You had put on makeup in a way you never did for other dates. You were usually very internally strict about what you did to make a date go well. Something about Bucky though... After he had ensured his extra helmet was strapped comfortably across your chin and your feet were in the right place, so you didn't burn your calves, it had felt uncomfortably natural to wrap your arms around his thick chest. You were sure he could feel your heart beating overtime in your chest when you leaned forward. You just hoped the rumble of the bike made it impossible to feel it.

Bucky was an experienced biker. He knew that. His friends knew that. Every piece of his instinct that came from riding across the country, in war zones, and across the city all came in handy as soon as he felt your hands tighten around him. You chest against his back made his heart beat so loud he thought there was no way you wouldn't hear it over the rumble of the bike.

"I've never been on a motorcycle before," you said quietly when you stopped in the driveway of the garage. The hum of the bike stopped made everything sound quiet in your ears. You understood Steve's loud projection which had startled you earlier.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good trip. Steve should be here soon," Bucky said gruffly, taking the helmet gently from your hands and stowing it away. He led you into the office of the shop. There were a few people sitting with bikes and chatting or working on cars inside the garage, who watched passively, but you followed into a closed office and Bucky left the door open behind you before sitting down on the other side. You felt awkward, but sat in the seat across from him. It felt odd after being so close to him for ten sweltering minutes. You could feel it between your legs.

"Steve'll be here soon." Bucky looked down at some papers and pulled open a binder.

"You said that already." His blue eyes flickered to you and you tried to take a full breath, but it ended up being loud and strange. You tried to stifle the expression you wanted to make out of your awkwardness.

And now you were standing in the bathroom of this steakhouse, feeling exactly the same way. Bucky had been nothing but sweet, interested in what you did and ordering what you wanted. It felt good, but there was a barrier between you that you hadn't felt when you sat behind him on that bike, chest to his back.

"Get yourself together," you muttered to yourself, carefully wiping away the dark lipstick you had opted for. It had felt appropriate when you thought about the biker the man was, and the vibe of the bar he owned next door. You only had it because of a Halloween costume. You felt a little bit more like yourself when you stepped out of the bathroom and took your seat at the table. Bucky was taller than your ex and you knocked your knee against his thigh as you crossed your legs.

His head tilted, scanning your face before his blue eyes focused in on your newly glossed lips. He chose not to comment.

"Dessert menu?" He was sweet for asking, but it had felt like the night flew away despite how physically uncomfortable you had felt the whole time. It felt natural.

"Of course! I love chocolate." Bucky smiled, reaching for his scotch and taking a long sip. You tried not to stare at his lips.

Bucky stared at the letters, but they felt like they were swimming on the page. He flipped the binder to a random page. He could still feel where your thighs had sneezed around his hips when he turned a corner too quick.

"I have to take a look at the car before I can give you a quote. The restaurant-" he looked at his watch, "-the bar next door is open and we'll come in and let you know when we have a diagnosis on the car." You blinked at him before nodding and slowly rising from your seat.

"Okay, uh, could you-" Bucky stood rapidly and nodded, showing you out the side door and into the Howling Commando Bar and Grill. Sam gave him a little smirk when he left you at the bar, and Bucky bared his teeth before heading back to the garage to wait for your car, and maybe take a few deep breaths and resolve the issue in his pants.

"And a dessert menu?" You blinked, trying not to think again about Bucky's warm hand at the small of your back when the waiter had led you to the table.

"Yeah, and a coffee for me," Bucky said.

"Me too," you chimed in. Your eyes met again as the waiter walked away. You second guessed the want in his eyes. Maybe it was just- His knee brushed against the middle of your thigh, then the other from the other side. He leaned forward, dangling his empty scotch glass from his fingers. His lips were wet again. You thought it should be illegal.

"Do you..." he took a quick breath, "I think you should come home with me." If it had come from anyone else, you thought you probably would have rolled your eyes and left him with the check, but you swallowed.

"I know I should." You stared at each other, Bucky's other hand resting on the side of your knee waiting for the waiter to arrive. When he came back you stuck out your card, which caught Bucky by surprise.

"We actually decided to skip dessert if you could take this for the check." The waiter looked shocked, but she walked away quickly.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I figured it would be quickest."

The two of you walked out into the humid air, and Bucky slid his extra helmet on your head, carefully strapping it below your chin. His tongue stuck out between his lips just slightly as he made sure it was tight enough. He put on his own helmet and then stepped over to sit astride the bike. He had now driven you on the bike four times, and it had gotten easier to use his shoulder to lever yourself onto the back, your feet naturally sliding onto the little foot rests. Your knees knocked his hips and he reached back to squeeze one of them.

"You're getting to a natural," he laughed, the bike starting over thought and drowning it from your ears. It wasn't a long drive, and you saw that he lived within spitting distance of the garage and bar. He let you get off the bike first, and then got off himself, helping you pull off the helmet again. He smiled sweetly at you as he pushed some of your hair back behind your ear. You were sure it looked a mess, but you couldn't help but stare a little moon-eyed up at him.

"I owe you back for that dinner," Bucky muttered as he unlocked the door to his apartment. You bit your lip, considering if you should let the statement out of your mouth before you decided it was the correct choice and said, "I was hoping maybe coming back here would do exactly that." Bucky's blue eyes were dark with... something when the door swung open and he pushed you in before him.

"I think I could make it worth it, depending on how badly how you want it, pretty belle." His voice was raspy, focused. You couldn't help but feel the heat between your legs growing. The nickname was warm and wrapped in affection that should have sounded out of place from this man who was a stranger only a few days ago.

"I want it very badly." The door shut behind you two, plunging you both into darkness, the only light coming from the streetlights through the window. You thought maybe you ought to be scared, but Bucky's arms were suddenly around you, his hot mouth on your neck, mapping its way up to lips against yours. The kiss made you breathless, the first in years, and you were at his whim.

"What do you want, pretty belle?" His lips continued on what felt like a natural path back down your neck and following the hem of your shirt.

"I want you, Bucky," you whined, your head lolling back as your fingers found purchase in his hair. He made a sound of displeasure in his throat, despite his hands pushing restlessly against your shirt, fingers skimming your now bare waist.

"I want you, daddy," you groaned again, knowing your fingers had gone still against his scalp. There was a stillness between the both of you for a moment, before Bucky moved, his hands tight against your thighs, pulling. You jumped and suddenly your only tether to the ground was him.

"Fuck belle, I want you too." It was dark, and you had no idea how long you were kissing down Bucky's lips to his neck before you were laid down on his bed. His jawline was sharp and the stubble tickled your lips and the feel of his pulse against your tongue as your traced the line of his neck was intoxicating. You could feel how wet you were as you shifted your hips against his. His groaned before pulling away reluctantly.

"Sorry, one second close your eyes." You followed his instructions and you could feel the lights turn on. He was muttering to himself and you opened your eyes to see him shooing a gray cat off the bed.

"For fucks sake Alpine, do you really want to ruin my chances," he was whispering as he closed the door behind the cat. He looked absolutely delicious now that you could see him. His blue eyes were entirely overtaken by lust, his cheeks pink under his stubble, and his lips wet. There was hickey forming at the hem of his shirt and you were certain you could add a few more.

"Sorry. Alpine's bedtime was like two hours ago." You smiled up at him, suddenly feeling a sweet flutter in your chest.

"Where were we?" Bucky over you in the light was entirely different and even more enticing than it was in the dark. He was in all black, his leather jacket tossed to the floor, his tshirt showing off tattooed arms that you knew you would be drooling over shortly.

"You were about to entirely fuck me up," you responded, bottom lip between your teeth. Bucky took a breath that read as controlling himself. Not at all what you wanted.

"I mean that," you repeated. His eyes met yours.

"You gotta be sure about that, honey." He was being honest, his arms bracketing your shoulders, halfway to a kiss.

"I mean it," you said again, your eyes refocusing on his lips, waiting for a reply. Instead you got a strong, warm body against yours, lips near attacking yours before they traced down your jaw and throat to your shirt. His hands were tugging at your hair.

"Fuck, belle, I want to see it all." You were happy to oblige as he pushed up your shirt leaving hungry kisses against your stomach and ribs, you undid your jeans and kicked them away. Bucky forced your arms up and pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in only the matching set you had put on in the hopes that the night would go anywhere. He stared at you, licking his lips as eyes raked over your near naked body on his bed.

"God, I think you're an angel sent to me," he mused, retuning his lips to yours. Your hands wandered, feeling out of place but very aroused but the fact that he was fully dressed but you were entirely naked. His shirt came off, and you didn't have nearly enough time to stare at the tattoos that covered him. Again you thought about mapping them with your tongue.

Bucky's hand explored as much as his tongue before you managed to wrestle his black jeans came off to reveal more of his tattoos.

"Please, Bucky, I want more," you whined, the slick between your legs making you shift your hips against him. You could tell he was huge in the confines of his jeans.

"How'd ya want it, honey? I gotta pay you back." You wanted to balk at the way he insinuated this was a favor, but you were near gushing between the legs.

"I want all of you," you whined, "Daddy, please. Anything." Two of his fingers ran against your panties, and he groaned at the wetness on contact.

"You are soaking, belle. I bet you taste as good as you sound." Bucky was quick to kiss down your chest, his hands' singular focus on getting your panties off. You groaned at the way he stared at you from where he knelt against the floor.

"Good thing we skipped dessert," he chuckled to himself, his hand wrapping around your ankle to pull one leg over his shoulder before his mouth pressed against your clit. You couldn't suppress the loud whine that you let out, already close as he teased your clit before his hot tongue made practiced motions down to your slit, his nose pressing to your clit. Your hips bucked and his big hands slid up your legs to press you back onto the bed.

"This is my treat, honey, I'm going to make you feel good." The baritone of his voice was a drug and you could feel your mind getting hazy as the feeling of your orgasm built in your stomach. Bucky's tongue moved back to your clit, a sinfully slow pace keeping you satisfied, but not doing enough. Once he was satisfied that you weren't going to try to wiggle away from him again, one of his hands joined his mouth between your legs, a finger pressing into you and providing delicious pressure right where you needed it.

"Oh you like that, huh belle?" Your voice was breathy through your panting, but you managed a, "please, more daddy." Bucky's chuckle against your clit in combination with another finger joining the first sent you over the edge and you came hard. Bucky's fingers slowed, pulling you through your orgasm while he pressed soft kisses to your thighs.

"Was that good, pretty girl?" You nodded and his fingers paused, blue eyes intent on yours.

"Words, honey." You blinked, the demand sending another jolt through you. Bucky obviously felt it based on how he smirked, his sinful wet lips now wet with you. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen.

"So good."

"I bet you could give me another one." It wasn't a demand, but a challenge, and even in this state you were certainly not one to back down from competition.

"Please, daddy." Bucky was back between your legs, another finger pressing into you and his tongue soothed the sting by running smooth and slow figure 8s on your clit. It was clear immediately that Bucky had paid attention to what you liked because after a few moments, his fingers crooked in exactly the right way and you moaned, and thought you might be embarrassed if it didn't feel so good. He leaned back, his other hand taking over the motion on your clit.

"Quiet, belle, we wouldn't want the neighbors to hear how good you sound. They might try to come take ya." Bucky added a fourth finger, an indication of what was to come and you came almost immediately, tight around him as your head threw back, hips moving to meet his finger's thrusts.

"Honey, you are gonna feel like fucking heaven," Bucky muttered as he slowly pulled his fingers away from you, "I'll be back in two seconds." You could still feel the orgasm in your toes when he came back, a towel and condom in hand.

"We can stop there if you want." You leaned up, leaning back against your elbows as he walked towards you. His expression was sincere, but you could see his cock straining against his jeans.

"Absolutely not." The wicked look returned to his eyes as he tossed the items beside you and then bowled you back over onto the bed, his lips finding yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you, quick fingers ridding you of your bra. Your hands found purchase over his strong shoulders and you managed to roll him onto his back.

"Taking control, honey?" He sounded condescending and it was hot. You straddled his thick thighs, focusing your actions on getting the button and zipper off his skinny jeans. Your eyes were wandering across the tattooed expanse of his chest. There was every kind of tattoo, and you were certain you had to ask about every single one when you got the chance.

"Need help?" He asked right before you managed to get the zipper down.

"Move." He laughed, lifting his hips, with you on him, and slid the jeans past his ass, pulling your hips forward so your swollen pussy ran right over the cold zipper and left you straddling the bulge in his black boxers. You both groaned at the contact and you rolled your hips, eliciting a delightfully hot sound from his lips as his eyes closed. He kicked his pants the rest of the way off and his hands were back on your hips, guiding their grinding till both of you were moaning and his boxers were soaked. Your head was thrown back, hands on his hot chest as his fingers left marks against your hips.

"Ya ready, belle?" You nodded fervently, and let him gently lay you down on the bed, leaving an intimate kiss on your lips before reaching to where he had tossed the condom. You stared hungrily as he pulled the boxers down and your eyes widened at how big he was. His thighs and all the way down his v-line had tattoos, which made the contrast of his flushed cock more distinct.

"Please, fuck me daddy." You thought you might be drooling.

"Oh, honey, I will." He rolled the condom down his own cock, pumping once before pushing your knees up so they were rested on his hips. You looked down and couldn't look away as he slowly pressed into you, the burn of his fingers nothing compared to this.

"Fuck, god... belle you feel so good, you're so tight." You wanted to push down against him, force him in faster, but he was gentle and slow and by the time he bottomed out his cock was pressed against just the right spot to make you want to moan.

"You were made for me, fuck." Bucky's right hand gripped your thigh and the other arm leaned on your left so he could press a feverish kiss to your lips.

"Please move, please." You could feel yourself squeezing around him. You were certain neither of you would last long based on the euphoric expression on his face. He took a focused breath and then his eyes opened, blue almost entirely overtaken by his pupils. You licked your lips, leaning up to kiss him. When you shifted it pushed him further and it was as if a dam broke. Bucky pulled away from you till he was up on both knees, the delicious drag of him inside you nothing compared to his first thrust. It was hard, unrestrained, and the sexiest thing you had ever seen.

"Belle, ain't no way this can be a one time thing," he muttered before pushing back into you. He set a brutal pace but he hit right where you needed him every time and you saw stars the first time you came, gushing around him and adding to the chorus of sounds that two of you were making. Bucky pressed through your first orgasm and then one hand slid up and found your clit.

"I want you to come with me, can you do that for me honey? I'm- fuck I'm so close." You nodded, barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Words, belle, fuck."

"Yes, daddy, yes please."

"Good girl." You both came together, Bucky's thrusts getting sloppy till he was leaned back over you, his forehead rested to your shoulder as he pressed one last time into you before pulling out. He grabbed the towel and quickly cleaned you up before himself and tossing it somewhere in the direction of the bathroom he had gone into before.

It was a few minutes before either of you spoke, wrapped in blankets, your head resting on his arm, facing one another.

"So much for being quiet." Bucky laughed, and closed the small gap to kiss you.

"I meant it when I said this can't be a one time thing." His dominating demeanor had dropped to that same sweet look from dinner. You nodded, feeling the sleep sliding across your eyes as you cuddled closer to him.

"I agree." You closed your eyes, getting as close to Bucky as you could. He smelled like sex and sweat and everything you had ever wanted.

"Good, because I don't think I could let ya go now, Belle." You giggled, his arms wrapping around you.

"Wouldn't let you."

[nicoline1998enilocin]

When I'm with you, I feel like I'm home

PAIRING ⇒ Girlfriend!Natasha Romanoff x Girlfriend!Florist!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT ⇒ 1.5K

SUMMARY ⇒ Getting married is something Natasha has not even considered until she met you and fell head over heels in love. Now, it's all she can think about; she wants nothing more than to call you her wife.

RATING ⇒ Teen (T)

WARNINGS/TAGS ⇒ Established relationship ~ Girlfriends, use of pet name (Printsessa, Detka), tooth-rotting fluff.

A/N ⇒ This one-shot is my first attempt at writing for my favorite Russian spy and assassin, Natasha Romanoff! A part of this story is based on this Instagram reel, which is the perfect opportunity to put it to use. I want to thank @ccbsrmsf1 for proofreading this; you're an angel 💜

EVENTS Masterlist ⇒ @fluffbruary ⇒ Engagement Masterlist ⇒ @anyfandomaubingo ⇒ Florist!Reader Masterlist ⇒ @lgbtqbingo ⇒ Free space

Banners: Yours truly ⇒ Divider: @firefly-graphics ⇒ GIF: Source

Main Masterlist ⇒ Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

The day you met Natasha is engraved into your memory as one of the happiest days in your life because even though you didn't know it then, she would become a more significant part of your life than you could have imagined.

It's a slow day in your flower shop, but it's nice to take a break from the rush you always have during summer and early fall - also known as peak wedding season. There are still weddings throughout the rest of the year where you will be providing the flowers, and you have an appointment today for one of those.

A few fresh bouquets are now proudly standing in the front of the store, waiting to be picked up and gifted or put in a vase and be the center of attention in every room they'll be standing in. There's still a little time before your appointment, so you get a binder with different photos ready, sweep the floor, and tidy up the rest of the store.

Not much later, the tiny bell above your door rings, and you turn your head to see a long, broad-shouldered blonde man and a small but equally strong-looking woman next to him. You instantly recognize them as Captain Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, and Natasha Romanoff, aka Black Widow—two of the original six Avengers.

''Hi, and welcome to Blooming Garden!'' you say in a cheery voice as you put the broom to the side, ready to greet them properly for their appointment. As you approach them, you take in Natasha's slender form, and you can't help but feel a warmth coursing through your veins and settling on your cheeks as you shake Natasha's hand and introduce yourself.

Her eyes roam over your body, admiring the dress you're wearing. It is a very flattering dress, perfectly accentuating every curve of your body. When she looks at your face, she can't help but feel like she's looking at an angel, as your soft features instantly make her feel like she came home. Your soft, pink lips give a graceful smile before you lead the way for the appointment, which is over too soon for her liking.

Steve paid the down payment for the flowers they had chosen, and after one last goodbye, they walked out of the store, leaving you behind with a bit of an empty feeling in your chest, like something was missing. It turns out Natasha had the same feeling, too, and not long after, the little bell rang again, and she walked back in, this time with her number written on a small piece of paper.

''If you want to go out for coffee sometime, you can text me on this number,'' she says before quickly running out the door again and on her way to her emergency mission. She couldn't leave without leaving a piece of herself behind, afraid she would never see you again if she didn't go back. Ultimately, she's thrilled she did indeed go back.

That same evening, you sent her a text, and even though it took a few days for her to reply, your heart skipped a beat when you saw her name pop up on your phone screen. You met for coffee and even went on a few more dates after that until you couldn't take it anymore, and you asked her to be your girlfriend.

You're visiting Natasha at the Avengers Compound today, and even though all the Avengers knew you and Natasha were friends, they didn't realize just how close you two were. They accidentally walked in on both of you as you asked her to be your girlfriend.

She's seated on the couch, her back against the plush cushions of the large piece of furniture, and you're straddling her lap with both your knees on either side of her legs. Her fiery red hair hangs loosely around her head, and you can't stop running your hands through the soft locks. Her hands are placed on your waist as she occassionally tickles you, pulling a fit of giggles from your chest that she will never get enough of.

''Nat, stop! I can't ask you to be my girlfriend if you keep tickling me!'' you say between giggles, and when you notice her eyes going wide, you instantly realize what happened.

''A-Are you- I mean, you want to be my girlfriend?'' Natasha asks, a hint of insecurity laced in the way she phrases the question. Your face drops at her words, and you guide your hands to cup her cheeks, looking straight into her eyes as you carefully express your following words.

''Yes, I do want to be your girlfriend, more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life. Being with you makes me feel like I can be myself, and life is just a little brighter with you around. Whether we're hanging out together in my flower shop or doing silly things anywhere else, there's no one I'd rather want to do that with than you, Nat. So, what do you say? Will you make me the happiest woman in the world and be my girlfriend?''

She looks at you with pure love and adoration in her eyes, and she nods her head before leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, gentle kiss that has both your hearts soaring. At that time, you didn't realize all the other Avengers had an entire show because they were curious about the giggling from the living room not long ago.

They all start clapping and whooping in excitement, and you pull away before burying your face in Natasha's neck, a broad smile adorning your face. From that moment on, you two are practically inseparable, and being away from her during her missions is always a challenge, but the reunion is worth it every single time.

Nearly four years later, Natasha plans to take the next step in your relationship. She never thought about getting married, but you have shifted something inside her that has her wanting to call you her wife. Whereas she previously never cared about anyone that deeply, you have shown her a love she never even thought existed, and she wants to bring your passion to the next level.

And so, after a few long months of planning, the day has finally arrived. The engagement ring is in the pocket of her jeans as you're taking a stroll over the beach in Florida, where you're currently for a weekend getaway together. Your fingers are laced together, and your sundress flows in the soft breeze from the ocean.

''Printsessa, can I talk to you about something?'' Natasha asks as she stops you in your tracks before going to stand in front of you. The sunset casts a beautiful light over both of you, and Natasha's hair has a fiery glow, making her look even more stunning than usual.

''Of course, is something wrong?'' you ask with furrowed brows, but she kisses your lips softly to calm your mind before starting off her story.

''Some souls instantly click. Words can't quite explain whether you're lovers, best friends, soulmates, or something so special. You accept this person for everything they are, and they would never let you be anything other than your beautiful, imperfect self. These are the souls you encounter and know in the first moment that you were supposed to cross paths,'' Natasha starts, and there are already tears welling in your eyes as you realize what's happening.

"Your presence makes me feel safe and calm like I am home whenever I'm with you. You're undoubtedly the most special I've had the privilege to love - no distance, time, or person could come between our bond. Your kindness, softness, sincerity, and unconditional love make me feel better because life is better with you in it. Your soul is my happy place, comfort, sunshine, and everything, and I could not imagine life without you in it. And because of that, I want to ask you something.''

Natasha lets go of your hands before wiping away some of her tears, sinking on one knee after getting the ring out of her pocket. The sunset casting an angelic glow over you makes the moment perfect.

''Y/N Y/L/N, will you make me the happiest soul in the universe and become my wife?''

''Yes, Detka, I will marry you!'' you exclaim, and when the ring is put on your finger, she jumps up and wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a breathtaking kiss that has your heart going a mile a minute from pure excitement.

When she pulls away, the realization sinks in, and the happy tears can't stop flowing down your cheeks. You're going to marry the love of your life, and you can't wait for the entire world to know how much you love each other. Life was great before you met Natasha, but this moment completes it.

You both continue your walk down the beach, walking into the sunset together. Today marks the start of the rest of your lives together, and you can't wait to see what life will bring your way.

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 2

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 1

If you heard the names Casey or Steve one more time you might go insane. Stu ran up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist. "Boo!" The binder you held in your arms unceremoniously hit the floor. "Let go of me weirdo." You struggled but he didn't let go. "Did ya hear about Casey and Steve?" You could scream. The heel of your Mary Jane shoes made contact with his toes making him lose his grip. With a huff you picked up your belongings. "Why is everyone so obsessed with them?" Stu cocked an eyebrow at you. "Uh because they were slit open like pigs in a butcher shop?"

"I get that trust me thats all anyone can talk about. But you can't act all sad like you've lost a loved one and then talk in great detail about what organ fell out where. It's inhumane." He leaned back on the lockers listening to you rant. "Yesterday was a complete shit show. That Steve guy was a prick to me and he didn't even know my name yet. So he can't be the saint everyone's making him out to be. Murders happen everywhere all the time these two aren't going to change anything."

"Interesting take from Marry Poppins. What's got your panties in a bunch today?" You opened your locker putting away your things for lunch. "Some asshole started talking to me in 2nd period about how in a movie I'd be a prime suspect because the murders started when I got here." Randy. Stu knew the moment you brought up movies. "Well you did say Steve was an asshat, that's motive Y/n." He was right but let's be real here. You couldn't take on an athlete if you were paid. You rubbed your face in frustration. "Relax I know it's not you. You'd cry if you got blood on that cute little dress of yours." It really wouldn't matter you knew how to take practically any stain out of a piece of clothing.

"You'd be surprised." Just as the words left your lips a kid bumped into you knocking you into Stu. His hands conveniently found your hips. "Watch where you're walking asshole!" Stu shouted with a laugh. You pulled yourself away from him trying to straighten your dress with your hands. "Hey I'm meeting Tatum and everybody by the water fountain, you in?" The idea of being around more people wasn't ideal. Stu could see on your face you didn't want to. "Oh come on Billy's going to be there." He wasn't dumb. Billy was an attractive guy, he was well aware of that. All the girls had a thing for Billy, you were no exception.

"If I go you can't just completely ignore me because I only know you two." Stu shut your locker for you as you continued to walk. "Ignore you? I could never. You could sit on my lap if you wanted to." You fake gagged making him laugh. "I don't think your girlfriend would like that." He just shrugged his shoulders. "Eh I do what I want." This doesn't surprise you. "You are a peace of work." The doors opened letting the light bombard your skin. "Picasso baby!" Stu shouted as he grabbed your hand pulling you towards the fountain.

"Fresh meat everybody!" He declared as you stood uncomfortably in front of everyone. Billy looked more than unamused at your appearance. "Y/n right? You're in my math class?" You nodded at the girl with brown hair. She stuck out her hand for you to shake. "I'm Sydney Prescott." Billy shook his head with a smile. "Nice to meet you Sydney." She smiled up at you and returned the sentiment. "She's the killer I'll bet anybody 10 bucks." If looks could kill he'd be six feet under. "Randy knock it off. You think this adorable face could murder?" Stu pinched your cheeks with a grin on his lips. "Not a chance." He let go and found a seat next to Tatum. "Plus there's no way a girl could've killed them."

"Scoot over let her sit down." Billy huffed but did what Sydney told him. "That is so sexist. The killer could easily be a female, Basic Instinct." You nodded in Tatum's defense. "That was an ice pick. Not exactly the same thing." Stu looked over at all of us before looking at Tatum. "Yeah Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. The fact is it takes like, a man to do something like that." Sydney looked down at the ground uncomfortable with the conversation.

"I don't know feminine rage is pretty scary. Do you know how many cheating husbands get stabbed to death or fed to the dogs by the wife. The fact is women know how to get a job done quickly and quietly. Men get cocky and want to play around that's how they get caught." Randy snapped his finger point at you. "See what I mean!" Stu laughed and Billy just looked at you with intrigue.

"How do you gut someone?" The honest tone of Sydney's voice made everyone quite down. "You take a knife and you slit them from groin to sternum." Billy sat up seemingly done with the gorey details. "Hey, it's called tact fuckrag." Billy looked at Stu his eyes once again saying more than his words did.

"Change of subject, I like your dress it's very Hepburn." Tatum spoke up. You cleared your throat trying to shake off that uneasy feeling. "Thanks I made it myself." She sat up in shock. "No way! You should totally make me one." If only it were that simple. "You think I'd look good in something like that babe?" She asked Stu and if you knew anything about him he'd give a smartass answer. "I think it'd look better on my bedroom floor but hey." She smacked his arm as everyone shared a laugh.

Stu continued rambling on about the murders with Randy. You were sick of hearing about it and it appeared so was Sydney. Her hand rested on Billy's knee as he whispered something to him. He nodded as she left a kiss on his cheek. The moment she left his demeanor darkened even more. He looked truly angry at this point. You assumed it was because Stu had upset her. Billy leaned next to you just enough to hit Stu's arm. "Ow man what gives? I was joking!" Billy was the next to get up followed by Randy.

"Hey Y/n? Are you doing anything Saturday? Me and Syd were going to hang out this weekend you could totally join." You knew Stu and Billy had plans to hang out with you and by the look on Stu's face he'd be upset if you said yes to Tatum. "Can't. My dad's going to be gone this weekend so I have to house sit." The smile on Stu's face was far from innocent. "You think with a killer on the loose you should be home alone?" She had a point but you doubted there was a serial killer running around. "I know how to lock my doors I'll be fine. Promise."

The school day went by fast thankfully. But once again everyone crowded around your car. "I'm not giving you a ride today." You shook your head. "I was thinking we could all go riding around maybe go to the mall? Someone's got to give you a tour." Stu said gesturing to the friend group you know found yourself a part of. "You don't have to of course." Sydney chimed in. She was probably the nicest one out of the group. "Who's got money for gas?" In an instant Stu handed you a crumpled up 100 dollar bill. "That should cover it and don't ask where its been." He noticed the shock on your face. "Don't worry there's more where that came from." He winked at you and Tatum rolled her eyes. You shoved the bill in your purse snapping it shut.

"Ive got work today so I'll catch you all later." Randy said as he walked away. You felt a little bad you were relieved at his absence. "Okay I've got bench seats so three people can sit up front and three in the back. "I call back seat with Stu." Tatum pulled at his shirt dragged him to the back. "No doing anything weird back there this is my dad's car." Tatum just laughed and Stu stuck his tounge out shaking it at you in protest. "Oh shit I forgot I've got to study for that exam tomorrow. I have to get home." Stu started to boo and Tatum echoed her boyfriend. "We'll only be gone a couple hours Syd."

"I have to pass this test Billy. You go ahead and go. You guys have fun!" She grabbed her bag and headed off towards the busses. Billy sat in the passenger seat again same aggravated look on his face. "Would it kill you to smile?" You asked lightheartedly. He turned to you flashing the fakest smile you'd ever seen. "See was that so hard?" Sarcasm dripping off your words. "Incredibly."

The mall wasn't hard to find after Tatum gave you some directions. You weren't sure how this little outing would go. On one hand it was nice having friends and spending time with people but on the other you and Billy were third wheeling. You had only been through half the stores and Stu already managed to spend an egregious amount. "Ooh help me pick out a set." Tatum said pulling Stu into the Victoria's Secret. Billy followed them in so you had no choice but to follow suit. "Do you have a boyfriend?" Billy asked as he touched the lace fabric on a teddy. "Odd question to ask considering you have a girlfriend."

"Fuck me for trying to make conversation." You laughed and decided to play along. "I do. We're trying the whole long distance thing." Billy found it hard to make eye contact with you. Choosing to play with and pick up anything around him to keep his hands busy. "He's probably cheating you know? Teenage boys do that." You're beginning to think both him and Stu have absolutely no filter. "Probably but it's not the like the guys around here are any better. I mean look at you and Stu." You're eyes flickered over to Stu holding up a bra to his chest declaring he was a girl. With a shake of the head you turn back to Billy. His eyes met with yours and for the first time he didn't advert his gaze. "Do you wear anything like this?" He gestured towards the thongs and see through bras.

"Nah I'm more into ropes and whips." You joke thinking if anyone would find it funny he would. His eye grew just a tiny bit wider surprised at your response. His lips quirked upwards a small smirk playing at his mouth. "I'm kidding!" Your face grew hot as he looked back down at what you were wearing. "No you're not. You're a freak. It's always the nice girls." Scoffing at that you wiped your hands down your dress trying to pull it further down your legs.

He smiled knowing he was making you uncomfortable. "You're a real creep you know that?" He held up in hands in fake surrender. "You caught me." Tatum shouted your name from across the store. "That's my que." You had no idea where she was or what she was doing. "She's in the dressing room I offered to help but ya know." He raised his eyebrows suggestively as if you didn't already know what he meant.

"Tatum it's me." You knocked on the door and it opened immediately. Her arm stuck out grabbing you and pulling you in. "You've got to stop doing that." You said in a hushed voice. "Opinions?" She said as she spun around practically naked. The red lace nightie left little to the imagination. "Um I think it looks cute. It doesn't cover much does it?" You ask and she laughed. "That's the point silly. You don't think it makes me look fat?" She was so skinny you worried about were her organs were let alone be over weight. "You look fine hun. I'm gonna go check on the guys." She said alright and let you slip out of the dressing room.

"We got you something." Stu shook the bag in front of your face startling you. "He got it." Billy spoke up as you took the bag from Stu. "No you grabbed it and said it would-" A swift punch to the ribs shut the blonde boy up. "Don't open it till later." Billy said and for some reason you agreed. "Is she about done in there?" The door opened and Tatum eagerly ran to the checkout desk. Stu like a puppy followed right behind her leaving you and Billy alone again.

"What did you get me?" Once again his eyes were on the floor. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He quipped his eyes finally reaching your face. "I would. That's why I asked." You both smiled at the small reenactment. "You didn't have to get me anything especially from here." He grabbed the bag from you tying the ribbon strings together. "Don't get too excited it's not a ball gag or anything." You smacked his arm snatching the bag back. "Plus I didn't pay for it. Rich boy over there did." He pointed at Stu.

"I'm hitting up Spencer gifts who's coming with me?" Going into that store with Stu was probably the dumbest thing you could do. "I'm in." You said mentally regretting it. "I'll go where you go." Tatum said as she hugged his arm. The last one to go was Billy. "Let's just get this over with." Stu practically ran to the opposite end of the mall with Tatum tossed over his shoulder. "There's no way your feet aren't killing you." Billy said looking down at your heels.

"I grew up in high heels mister. I could run in these bad boys if I had to." You weren't kidding. Growing up in a household where you had church every Sunday and you only had one pair of sneakers, you could run in heels. "I doubt that." He was getting more comfortable around you. Billy didn't even realize it. He used to be fun. He used to screw around and let loose like Stu does. Since his mom left and the world seemed to collapse around him he just had one to many stabs in the back.

"Wanna race?" He looked at you with a childlike curiosity. He would win he knew that much. Considering his murderous tendencies he could beat you in ten seconds flat. "I run to the store and if you catch me before I get there you win. What do you say?" Before he could answer you took off running. It was supposed to be fun for the both of you. A little game of cat and mouse. What you didn't realize was how seriously he would take it. The simple sound of his boots gaining up on you was terrifying. Your laughter stopped as you sped up.

You ran around people, who were then pushed out of the way by Billy. This was no longer a game. He was trying to catch you. The click of your heels got faster and faster till you ran into someone. "Woah there what's going on?" You looked up and saw Stu waiting at the door of Spencer's. You won. Billy was just two steps behind you the entire time. "Damnit!" He exclaimed appearing genuinely pissed that he didn't grab you. Tatum chimed in asking him what the hell was going on. After all to them it seemed like something horribly wrong had happened. "We were just playing. I told him we'd race each other." You looked back at Billy trying to catch his breath.

"Billy Loomis playing a game? Now that's unheard of." Stu gasped as he walked in the store. You approached Billy deciding to check on him. Your hand touched his shoulders as they heaved up and down. "Are you okay?" His hand wrapped around your wrist tighten enough to bare pain. "I'm fine." He flung your hand away, leaving you behind as he walked in the store. So much for that. It was hot and cold with him. You couldn't figure it out and you weren't sure if you wanted to.

Stu and Tatum were over in the novelty section making dirty jokes and just getting on each other's nerves. You didn't know where Billy went. You walked to the back of the store ignoring the adult toy section. You looked down at your stockings noticing the big rip on your right leg. "Shit!" You cursed picking at the hole. Going through the short selection of stockings they had to offer you finally settled on a pair. They were thigh highs which is something you usually didn't wear. Victoria's secret bag and stockings in hand you walked up to the cashier and paid.

Afterwards you met up with Stu and Tatum who were as equally ready to leave as you were. "Where's Billy?" She asked. "I have no idea." Stu leaned over trying to peak into the Spencer bag. "You get something from the back?" You did but you weren't going to be honest about it. "I did. I got it for Tatum though. She deserves at least six inches." She started to laugh as Stu acted all dramatic. "Ha ha really funny. Go ahead laugh it up. I'll have you know she's perfectly content with what she's got." Tatum shook her head making you laugh even harder. "You guys ready to go?"

"Where'd you go?" You asked Billy as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Bathroom." You're not sure what you did to piss him off. Is he butthurt that you beat him in a race? That can't be it he's not 5. He shouldn't be upset by such a small thing. "Let's go bitches!" Stu and Tatum walked hand in hand once again leaving you and Billy to talk. "Did I do something wrong?" You ask gingerly not to upset him further. "No." Another one word answer.

"We can race again. I'll let you catch me this time. I'll play dead and everything if you'd like." You laughed trying everything in your power to make him tolerate you again. "You would?" You weren't being serious but if that's what it took so be it. "If you'll stop being mad at me I will." That somehow put a smile on his face. "Should I start running?" You joke and he actually chuckles. "No no. We'll save that for later."

Everyone makes their way to your car getting in the same seats as before. "I know where Stu lives where do you two live?" You sit your bags in the floor next to Billy's black combat boots. "I'm going to her house before I go home so you can take me there. She's going to take me home before they pick up Sydney." She proceeds to giggle at the admission. "Just drop me off at Stu's" Billy says as he slicks his hair back. "Do you live at Stu's place?" You start the car leaving the mall in your rearview mirror. "Stu's parents are never home so they practically live together."

Billy looked out the window not making eye contact with anyone in the car. "Means I throw the best damn parties our school has ever seen." Stu and Tatum rejoiced in the back. That fact left more questions than answers. It made sense why Stu seemed to be so flippant with money. It even explained his overall behavior. Billy's case however was different. How bad was it at his house that he needed to live with Stu? In all honesty you felt bad for both the boys.

"Hey Billy open the glove compartment and play something." He did as told until he saw the contents of the glove box. "What the hell?" He said as he pulled out an 8 track. "Listen my dad had an 8 track player put in back in the 70s so that's all I got." With a smile on his face he dug through all the boxes.

Pushing the tape into the car AC/DC blasted through the speakers. "How'd I know you'd pick that one?" He carefully put all the tapes back where he got them. "I have good taste what can I say?" He shrugged. First stop was Tatum's house. She gave you the directions which you quickly found out she lives on the same street as you. "Your lights on upstairs is your dad home? I saw your car in the driveway this morning." Tatum asked pointing at your house. Fuck. "So this is where the mysterious Betty Crocker lives." Stu laughed putting on his best Vincent Price voice. Billy was just satisfied in knowing where you live. "Yeah my dad is. He's probably sleeping though he's got to get up early in the morning which means I've have to get home so scoot." You waved the couple out of your car quickly.

You pulled away getting just a couple houses down the road before your car began to stall. "What's wrong?" Billy asked as you look around. "I don't know it hasn't done this before." You turned the car off and on again but nothing happened. "Does it have gas?" You didn't get gas. The crumpled 100 was still shoved in your purse. "Son of a bitch." You cursed as you hit the steering wheel. "Hop out I've got to go get the gas can out of my garage."

"Do I get a house tour?" You stayed quiet genuinely upset at your ignorance. "Listen when we go inside I want you to be quiet. Okay?" Billy nodded as you unlocked your front door. "Holy shi-" You immediately covered his mouth. "I told you to be quiet." Slowly you pulled your hand away and he stepped into the house. "What year do you think it is?" You shut the door as quietly as possible knowing your dad could get up at anytime. "Oh shut up." Billy looked around at the old pictures, the old decor, really the old everything. Billy didn't come from rich parents like Stu. Your house was definitely bigger and better but it didn't have the rich person feel. Billy's house wasn't the problem for him, it was the people in it. It used to be a happy home but all that was waiting for him now was alcohol and fights.

While you sat your bags down he looked around the place. It looked like no one had bought anything new for the place since the 70s. The TV in the living room was 90% wood and the kitchen was a tacky yellow. All the appliances on the counters had to be at least 20 years old. Hell the phone on the wall was a rotary dial phone. Billy felt like he was walking into the Myers house.

"Let's go!" You whisper yelled at him the heavy gas can pulling on your arm. "Give it to me." Billy grabbed the can with ease helping you out the front door. He went ahead and filled the car up for you so you could run the empty can back inside. "Thank you." You said with a huff throwing yourself in the driver seat. "It's nothing." He replied already ready to go. Before you did anything you peeled the heels off your feet tossing them in the back seat. The next to come off were your ripped stockings. Billy watched as your upper thigh was exposed. He could see the hem of your pink underwear before you caught him.

"Perv." You smiled knowing he had to be a little flustered. He just shook his head looking at the ceiling. You threw the stockings in the back seat with your shoes. Billy cleared his throat trying to start up a conversation."Your house is nice." You breathed out a laugh as you started the car. "You don't have to lie."

Billy's demeanor changed once again. Now that it was just you and him he had one leg bent on the seat so his body could face towards you. Even though your eyes were on the road you could feel his burning holes in you. "I mean it. It's different. Better than all those rich bitches we go to school with." He wasn't lying. It was hard to find anyone who had an actual personality these days.

"I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. My dad doesn't really care what I do with the house as long as there is food on the table when he gets home." Billy bit his lip in thought. "So you did all of that?" He found it impressive to say the least. "Not really. I haven't messed with much since my grandparents passed. The way the kept things always seemed nice as a kid. And I don't see the sense in wasting money on new stuff when I've got perfectly good old stuff that works." He saw the way your eyes grew wide when Stu handed you that hundred. You're not a money person. You were modest. Going through the mall you only bought one thing for yourself while Tatum begged for everything she saw.

"How often is your dad gone?" He asked. A dangerous question to answer if Billy's asking it. "He can be gone for weeks at a time. He's a truck driver. He goes where his boss tells him to go." The car goes quiet for a little while. Luckily for you it's comfortable. "What about you? How's your mom and dad?" You meant nothing hateful by it and he knew that. "I live with my dad too. My parents split up." You could feel him putting those walls back up. It was night and day with Billy. Slowly you car came to a stop in Stu's driveway. "My mom isn't in the picture either. You know if that shit ever starts to bother you, you can call me. As long as your girlfriends okay with it that is." You grabbed a pen out of the glove compartment gently pulling Billy's hand towards your lap.

His hand sat on top of your right thigh as you touched the tip of the pen to your tongue. Carefully your wrote down your phone number where the numbers were visible. Billy for the first time in awhile, he was the one who was scared. Scared of moving even the tiniest bit. A simple harsh breath would ruin whatever this was. Softly you brought his hand up to your face blowing cool air on the drying ink. "There ya go." You tossed his hand back, your gentle nature now gone. "But um yeah if you ever need to talk you can call me."

Funny enough he didn't want to call you. "Sure." Was all he could muster up. Billy finally decided he didn't want you dead like the rest of them. You were kind enough not to piss people off but you were sure of what you wanted. Too trusting, yes but it definitely helped his case. He'd have to make a new plan one that doesn't get you hurt. Well, one that doesn't get you killed.

Part 3

[trashmouth-richie]

⛧「 ✦ 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔢 ✦ 」⛧

⛧tattoo artist! steve 💋 ⛧rising rockstar! eddie

⛧eddie x fem reader | previous steve x fem reader

⛧reader is nicknamed cherry 🍒

⛧summary: series of blurbs revolving around you, eddie and steve. after vecna: eddie sold his soul to remain alive— him and steve leave hawkins and indiana to go to college and leave what happened in the past. eddie is on the rise of fame while steve is still battling his demons. they both meet reader at school. reader has no idea what happened, and never finds out the truth. eddie progressively turns into a mentally abusive asshole throughout this story so keep that in mind. he’s not our lovable boyfriend.

⛧part one summary: a surprise for your boyfriend, you decide to get a tattoo of his name in a very private spot, from the only one he would trust to do it, his best friend… whom you have a past with. 

⛧warnings: implied smut, depression, anxiety, possession, selling soul to devil, post s4 where both eddie and steve leave hawkins. there will be a few blurbs in this au, (in other parts: smut, degrading, possessive mean! eddie)

It was your idea to surprise your boyfriend with a tattoo. After months of him joking around about branding you as his in a more permanent way, you decided to do it.

A tattoo would last forever, it wouldn’t heal like teeth marks did or fade away like his hickeys would. His dick kicked up at the thought of his name scratched into your delicate skin. The same night he had mentioned it he had you face down in the sheets, burying himself deep within your walls until you were both out of breath. Panting, aching for and from one another. 

The date was set, and you knew better than to go to anyone but Eddie’s best friend to get it done, and Steve agreed to do it for free, since you’re Munson’s girl. 

He agreed to keep it secret because you had wanted to surprise Eddie, but as the appointment creeped up, you became more and more nervous about trying to keep your present for him under wraps. 

The day of the appointment landed on a Friday, the same night Eddie’s band was set to play at The Bloody Dime, an up and coming bar that was known for fights breaking out and drinks being cheap. 

Per his demands, you weren’t allowed within 10 feet of such a place, already having to find out the hard way when he beat the bricks off a guy who wouldn’t stop staring at you. 

Pretty baby like you doesn’t belong there, kitten… understand?

Steve’s shop was downtown from your apartment, a cozy little space nestled into a black brick building—Inked Demo spelled out with neon blue lights. 

The walls were covered with paintings of strange creatures you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares, deep reds and violent shades of purple. Various plants hung from the ceiling and were potted in planters or tucked into ornate little terrariums. 

It smelled of rich cedar and hand rolled cigarettes. The bell on the door dinged announcing your arrival and Steve stepped from behind the back wall. His hair was how it always was, slicked back in a dark wave, and he merely nodded to acknowledge your presence. 

“Cherry,” he greeted, using the name Eddie had introduced you to his friends. He wrapped you in a bone crushing hug, kissing your cheek gently before he held you at arms length. 

Out of all of Eddie’s friends, Steve knew you just as well as your own boyfriend did. 

A smile creeps across his lips as he lets your arms go and walks to a small desk. His tall frame slinking like a shadow as he clicks on a slim lamp and begins flipping through a binder full of current work and past tattoos. He finds the heart shaped cherries with Eddie written in pretty cursive underneath. 

They were perfect— Steve was able to capture your ideas through horrible explanations and give his own little twist to them. A modern mockup of American traditionalism with the speckles of glitter you had seen on Pinterest.

His eyes sparkle through the shadow from the light as he proudly holds up the drawing, “so… where we puttin’ this sucker?”

Originally you had thought to put it on your chest, but decided against it when Robin had told you how much her tattoo had hurt there, even more so when she had to get Barb’s name covered by a butterfly. 

Crossing the tiger print carpet to the black tattoo chair, you sit down gently with your ankles crossed, “umm, would it be weird to put it on my thigh?” you asked meekly, “kinda high up so it’s a little more private?”

Raising your skirt, you show Steve the placement. A slivered peek of scarlet lacy panties are visible beneath the hiked up fabric in your fingers, and he nearly bites a hole in his cheek to not look. 

“You could put it there,” he ponders, moving a large veiny hand through the slick of his hair, only to land on his chin to really sell the act of him thinking, tapping his bottom lip, “but ass tats are really popular.”

Eddie would go berserk seeing his name anywhere on your body, but you had to admit— there was something a little bit sexy about his name being tattooed only somewhere he could see. 

“Will it hurt?” 

His eyes light up as he grabs supplies to sanitize his work area clearing his throat, “haven’t had anyone cry yet, so I’m gonna go ahead and say no.” 

Steve’s reputation for his artwork spread far and wide, he was booked solid for months on end, self taught, making tons of money for a college drop out— despite what his dad had said. 

He had done all of Eddie’s tattoos including the enormous stretch of bat wings that spread across his shoulders and down the expanse of his back. Sharp talons protruding onto the beginning of his hips, curved around to his wrists. Steve had freehanded most of it, as if it were from memory. 

Biting your lip contemplating the placement, you think of Eddie and the swelling size of is cock as it split you open once he laid eyes on his name branded into your skin. 

“Okay,” you smile, “let’s do it.” 

Steve smirked and rubbed his jaw, “cool, lay on your stomach for me.”

Flipping onto your front you lay with your hands under your chin, looking up at him through your lashes, “like this?” 

Steve sits on the stool facing away from you, straightening his table and tattoo gun, looking over his shoulder meeting your eye, “yeah… that’s perfect, Cherry.” 

You watch in amusement as he sterilizes his work station and sets up the ink, “Eddie playin’ at the Dime tonight?” 

“Yep,” you sigh, thinking of all the time you’d spent alone while he was gone, “last show of their College Daze Tour, then back to finals, and normal life.” 

A scoff rumbles from Steve’s throat as he wraps his gun, “what’s even considered normal? Everything is pretty shitty around here.” 

Propping up on an elbow you set to argue with him, “going to class is normal, hanging out with our friends, partying, sleeping in the same bed instead of him crashing in the back of someone’s van— that’s all routine for me, for us…” you sigh a little, picking at your thumbs. 

Steve looks over and sees the sadness in your face, grabbing the pink disposable razor, “last I heard from him, he was looking to leave Corroded and start up somethin’ with a few guys from here. Can’t say I blame him, anything to do with home is hard to deal with.” 

Eddie never talked about Hawkins. The only thing you knew about it was that he and Steve got the hell out of there the year he graduated, never looking back, never visiting. 

“That’s the plan for now at least… honestly, I wish he would take a break for a while, but you know him— he’s really driven to be the best he can be.” 

Steve knew all too well. Spending nights awake staring out of his large apartment windows, missing the way things used to be, regretting everything that happened in Hawkins. 

 “Eddie’s…passionate…about the things he cares about, he’s always been that way.” 

That part was always true, Eddie carried his feelings on his sleeve, never afraid to show his emotions, or make sacrifices for people he loved. Steve himself was a living breathing reminder of that. 

“…alright Cherry,” his voice dripped with smoothness as he got closer to you, “everything’s ready…I’ll need to lift your skirt so I can prep the skin, you cool with that?” 

You reply with a yes, and feel the goosebumps prick at your skin as the cool air hits your exposed cheek. The rubber of Steve’s glove drags across your skin as he rubs in the sanitation spray. “‘m gonna shave you now.” 

This being your first tattoo you didn’t know what to expect, heat flooding your cheeks immediately, “oh my God is it hairy?” 

Steve chuckles low, a fan of his breath blowing warm against your skin, “not at all honey, it’s just standard procedure for any tattoo.” 

He was delicate as he ran the blade across you in small motions away from him. One rubber gloved hand held your skin taut, the other on the razor. Your ass bounced back to him after the last drag of the razor leaves your skin, and you swore you heard him suck in a breath. 

Steve had always been handsome, ever since the first time you met during that freshman year mixer in the backyard of some random frat house it was that he was rushing for. 

He was different then, preppy clothes and expensive shoes, surviving during the week just to live for the weekends. A flask with his name claim permanently pressed to his palm. King Steve. 

But somewhere along the lines of college stresses and life back in Hawkins— he changed, dropped out of college completely and dove into his natural talent. Making a name for himself, carving his own path. 

That was why you had fallen for him to begin with. 

“E-Eddie said you have a date this weekend, are you excited?” 

Steve wipes your skin with a paper towel and spreads a thick ointment to lay the stencil, “I wish he’d stop trying to set me up.” 

His thumbs sweep across the stencil laying it firmly in place, “oh c’mon Steven…Lydia’s cute, she’s in one of my elective art classes, she reminds me of you.” 

Steven. Nobody ever called him by his full name.

“Of me?”

Looking over your shoulder you meet his deep mossy eyes, “in a weird way I guess, yeah.”  

He looks back into your eyes, watching as you slowly blinked and drifted your gaze downward to where his large hands were still splayed across your ass. 

The dusting of hair on his arms tickled your skin when he pulled back gently, pinching a corner of the transfer paper and peeling it from you. He purses his lips and blows on the stencil lightly. 

Steve often thought back to the way things were three years ago. The way your eyes gleamed under the string patio lights, the scent of your vanilla perfume and how it seemed to bake deeper with the sun's rays on your skin. 

He remembered how your lips tasted like melted ice cream against his, and how deeply he craved to be floating in the candy confectionery of sugar and sprinkles with you in the center of it, center of his world. 

Steve shakes his head, trying to erase that time in his life but always coming up short. “This won’t hurt too bad, I’ll stop whenever you need, okay? It’s best if you lay down.”

Your chest tightens with nerves as you nod your head, pressing your cheek into the vinyl of the black headrest. 

The gun starts and Steve tells you he’s going to do the outline of the cherries first. The needle vibrates into your skin and you wince at the first few lines made but eventually getting used to the way your skin buzzed and the pain that came from it. 

You whimpered out in a few spots and Steve’s velvet voice shushed you gently, telling you the worst was almost over. 

“Outlining is finished,” Steve murmurs, rubbing ink from your skin, “you’re doing really good, honey.” 

Your mind slips to him saying those words in a different setting, a miniature golf course with clubs that were too short and a go-kart track. He had said it when you finally sunk your ball after par ten thousand on hole eleven. 

Sarcasm spread across his face and you wiggled your tongue at him and threw a middle finger his way. Only for him to chase you around the tiny windmills and grassy hills, catching up and tickling you under your arms until you were near to tears. 

You thought he would have kissed you that night, but to your surprise and dismay— he had waited for the third official date.

“Thank you,” you smile weakly. 

He returns the smile and looks away, clearing his throat, “the shading will be a cake walk, we’ll be done here before you know it…might even catch the end of Eddie’s show.” 

“Really?” you say with a spring of hope in your voice. He couldn’t dismiss how his friend's name made his mouth taste like poison, but how it made you weak in the knees. “That would be great, Steve.”

“Sure thing princess,” he nearly whispered, “lay back now, I’ll be done soon.” 

Steve tried to blank it all out as his tattoo gun spelled  Eddie in a cursive calligraphy he knew was yours. Letter by letter he swallowed down the feelings he had been harboring from you, from him— from everyone. 

He wished he had never taken you to that concert. He loathed himself for the way Eddie slithered between the two of you, how Eddie could have had any girl at that after party but he chose you simply because you were with him. 

Steve tried to deny him of it, tried to steer him toward another girl, a girl who wasn’t you. One he hadn’t been in love with, one who didn’t appear in his dreams despite the nightmares clouding in. But one low growl and a flash of those sharp fangs and Steve knew he didn’t stand a chance. 

Letter by letter he branded his friend’s name into your skin, giving the girl he loved a silent goodbye with every curve and final dot of the ‘i’.

“All done,” he said with a shaky throat, cleaning you up, “wanna see it?”

You nod and reach for his outstretched hand,  swinging your legs and standing to follow him to the mirror. It was perfect. Equal parts colorful yet traditional with a spark of modern flare added to it. 

“Steve,” you gasp, mouth hung open in adoration, “it’s beautiful!”

He rubs his neck and watches your reflection in the mirror, the way your mouth ticks up on the ends into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

His heart was aching knowing it wasn’t for him

[ronearoundblindly]

Day Eighty-Three (1)

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!Reader

10 A.M., an It Had To Be You tale (see previous or series)

Summary: A joint meeting between AmCaps and the heads of four other major companies goes about as horribly as possible...or is it exactly as you expected? Either way, Steve messes up big time.

Warnings for (hi, I'm Ro) arguments, the absolute shittiness of misogyny, degrading use of petnames, language, social idjit!Steve (he honest-to-god tried his best but whoops). MINORS DNI. If this is not to your taste, please feel free to search lighter stories here. WC 2571

Sadly, the whole thing would have gone better if Tony Stark showed up.

Stark doesn’t do meetings like this though, and you may never bother with one again. You may have no need.

Clammy hands grip the leather spine of your monogrammed portfolio, comfortingly thick with the employee files you’ve brought as ammunition. This is a battle, no doubt in your mind, but Steve acts as if it’s any other day. To him, it probably is.

This is Steve’s fourteenth quarterly get-together of entities using the stabilizing, hydrostatic, insulated, electro-neutral, lead-dense (aka S.H.I.E.L.D) modules which American Capsules supplies. You’ve worked here for twelve of those but never been in the room.

The room feels as big as a concert hall with you an ant in the back pew.

Since the meeting is on your turf, you and Steve wait till the others arrive, your boyfriend highly aware of your nerves but without a clue as to why.

You’ve been preparing for this far longer than the not-quite three months you’ve held the title of co-CEO. It’s important to understand what is really happening between these companies and who exactly is to blame. It was also important to tell Steve nothing until you knew all the facts, and you didn’t until the phone call you just got off three minutes ago.

That’s not enough time. He’ll have to enjoy the show like everyone else,

Steve loosens his skinny black tie and repeats that you shouldn’t worry. He can take the lead. All the stats are printed in the binders laid in front of six chairs around the oblong table. He touches you, reassuringly he believes, at exactly the wrong moment.

Justin Hammer saunters through the door, clocking the intimate hand on your arm when Steve leans forward to whisper, “what’s wrong?” The outrageously pompous pumpkin sucks his teeth, winking at you, and spins to moonwalk closer. Hammer even goes so far as to cup your other elbow with an over-tanned palm.

“Peach, you’re gorgeous. Don’t ever change,” he flirts, damn well knowing that you aren’t the assistant anymore but are dating the man right beside him. “Hey, pal, how’s it going? Lookin’ sharp.”

Justin wheels the nearest chair away from the conference table and plunks down, lounging against the high-backed seat, swinging his feet up onto the adjacent chair. He may as well be at the beach.

He snaps, hand landing in a finger gun pointed at you—or your backside, more accurately, where he’s also staring.

“I like mine sweet and dark. Thanks. ‘Preciate you.”

There’s no elaboration. You’re just the coffee bitch to him.

What’s wrong, you want to tell Steve, what’s wrong is that asshole is only twenty-five percent of the shit I have to deal with this morning!

Before you or Steve can respond, however, the other three arrive in quick succession.

Darren Cross of Pym Technologies might actually be the least offensive of the bunch. His smile is polite and jovial, he greets Steve simply and shakes your hand, and he smacks Hammer’s calf hard enough to make a sound as he passes by.

He, unlike Justin, brought a briefcase, keeping up the illusion that he participates in the company he’s here to represent. Cross probably does still participate, considering he was only promoted recently after Hank Pym retired.

Aldrich Killian is undoubtedly (one of) the brains behind his think tank, AIM, and Brock Rumlow is undoubtedly smug, being a lowly former associate at Stark Industries, now an executive for the Roxxon Energy Corporation.

Each of them has skin in each other’s game; throughout the history of American Capsules’ products, innovations have been shared between them to either create suitable shipping containers or to have their products shipped via those containers. They’ve quite literally shielded their collective work.

It’s a symbiotic relationship.

It’s a circle jerk.

Killian and Rumlow do not bother to walk around and say hello. They fake niceties and unbutton their suit jackets to sit on the other side of the table.

Noticeably, none of them chose either ‘head’ of the table. No one was willing to take a position of power equal to Steve in his own house. Your boyfriend seems to interpret this as acquiescence of some sort—proof that they’ll blindly respect what and who Steve himself respects,—and then Steve wrongly decides to gently run his hand the rest of the way down your arm, his fingers curling to lift your limb until the very last second.

He made it look like you were reaching out for him, like you were a scared child in need of support. You are, in a sense, but he didn’t have to fucking advertise it to these men.

Steve doesn’t make mistakes. He did that on purpose. Maybe he meant to establish some sort of claim to you? To stop them objectifying you? Whatever they do now is solely out of respect or fear of him though, not you.

You’re frozen in place—in anger, truth be told—until Justin drops his feet to the floor dramatically.

“Indulge me, sweetcheeks.” He winks again. “I’m thirsty.”

Doing your very best Vanna White impression, you step back and sweep an arm out toward the drinks on the side server. “Help yourself,” you say with a smile.

It’s only because Justin is an idiot that he misses the dig.

Open to the page he wants, Steve tosses his binder to the wood surface, the slap of lamination to varnish attracting the attention of all the men, and takes his seat at the end.

You waltz to the other side, a clear and distinct separation between you and Steve, equals in life and work but opposites today.

“Shall we wait for Stark,” Rumlow growls in his low voice.

“Not necessary,” Steve allows. “If he shows, he shows. Let’s get to it.”

Steve begins, pointing out a few key concerns. Since you already know all of this, he doesn’t look to you while speaking, but neither do the other men when they respond.

They talk over you as if you’re not there, being blowhards and patting each other on the back for ’surviving in this economy.’ You let them go on. Steve gets nowhere. He gets excuses. He gets parroted promises.

Justin dismisses insufficient specs by saying he’s just a pretty face. He leaves all the numbers to nerds. He laughs about how he’ll have to check with his people about the nitty-gritty details, but he’s sure it’ll work out.

He stands to get his own black coffee, plopping three cubes of sugar in the chrome mug.

Rumlow barks out that shoddy Hammer tech nearly sank a Roxxon oil rig.

Justin feigns ignorance of the incident.

Killian uselessly offers a fix for that, at a price.

Darren argues that Pym has followed their agreement with AmCaps to the letter.

Everybody is fucking lying to themselves.

The shouting continues, escalating until it looks like Killian and Rumlow are close to throwing punches, though you’ve missed why those two are at odds.

Finally, Steve rises, stretching his hands out in peace.

“Everyone, calm down! Take a breath. Have some water. Sit.”

He’s stressed, clearly, defaulting to conditioned behavior which means Steve then looks right at you with a pleading expression.

Wrong again.

Darren lets out a huff and nods at you. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

“I’ll take a glass,” Rumlow adds with a tap of the table in your direction.

Killian sighs an unmistakable ‘loser’ to Rumlow, and suddenly, the fight is back on.

Time to lock and load.

You cough and stand, flipping open the portfolio in front of you, adjusting your hips in your pencil skirt with a tug but only for affect. You know exactly what draws the attention of these men.

The room goes mostly quiet.

“Water. For the table,” you deadpan command Steve.

Picking up your copy of the report set, you clear your throat.

“I’m afraid Rogers has given you all the impression this is a negotiation. It’s not.” You slide the binder to the center. “It’s a courtesy. A courtesy which none of you deserve.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Rumlow gruffly asks Steve.

“I’m talking about unpaid balances and unfulfilled orders. I’m talking about product tampering and verified illegal activity that hereby voids your contracts, effective immediately.”

Darren shoots out of his seat. “You can’t do that!” He turns to Steve. “She can’t do that, right?”

Steve, however, is blanched with shock. “Wait, I—“

“Each of your agreements with us—“ you barrel over his protest “—contains a morality clause which was broken by Hammer Tech when they conspired to produce a subpar protective lining and pad Roxxon gas sales in the region, unwittingly causing unsafe storage at a Stark factory in Galmira because the entire operation no longer followed American Capsules specifications—your specifications for transporting your own products.

“Pym,” you continue with force, “failed to produce compact enough items for the containers they ordered and instead chose to resell the regulated lining materials for a premium.” You toss a packet of papers down to Darren. “In your infinite wisdom, this also means you violated multiple Customs laws by forging shipping weights and ignoring safety guidelines.”

Killian puts a bejeweled hand over his vested heart. “Cross, you didn’t?”

“Which brings me to fucking AIM,” you grit.

“Precious,” Steve breaths with a warning tone, but you can’t stop. You’ve waited too long for this moment.

“Because who the hell do you think created the new formula for a light-weight, lower-cost, shitty lining?” You take such pleasure in stabbing a finger in his direction then flinging stapled proof across the table. “Evidence. Evidence of all of this provided by multiple sources. And you were warned…”

Now comes the really fun part.

You spread out eight folders.

“…warned by Roxxon’s own Betty Ross, Wanda Maximoff, and Kamala Khan. By Hammer’s Monica Rambeau and Kate Bishop. AIM’s doctors, Christine Palmer and Helen Cho, and finally, Pym Tech’s Mary Jane Watson—none of whom, I’m excited to say, work for you anymore.”

There’s a stunned heft to the frigidly controlled air in the large room. The florescent lights overhead buzz harshly.

“Are you fucking serious?” Killian rasps.

“Put your bitch back on her leash,” Rumlow bites to Steve.

“Don’t speak to her like—“

“Wait a minute,” Justin snorts, “I’m confused.”

“Your nerds will explain it to you once you crawl back into your hole.”

“Prec—” Steve snips in alarm but catches himself. He looks panicked and blind-sided, which he would be. You kept their complicity from him until you had everything you needed to invoke the morality clause.

You turn to the junior CEO for Pym Tech. “Expect a call from Hope Van Dyne. She has a few thoughts on Cross Technologies.”

Called out for his as-yet-unannounced rebranding of the company, Darren breaks, and he breaks viciously, vaulting the three chairs between you.

“Fucking cunt,” he screams through bared teeth.

Steve launches past the skittering seats and makes it to Cross milliseconds before he can intercept you.

“I didn’t make you lie, cheat, and steal,” you screech. “You screwed yourselves!”

Killian straightens his lapels and smooths his shirt nervously. “Surely, we can come to some arrangement.”

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Hammer adds.

Rumlow simply walks out with a shout of “you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.”

Steve slams Cross into the window, an ominous rattle shaking the frame, the cheek of the struggling man whining as it smears along the glass. When Darren still tries to hiss something else at you, Steve pins him against the wall instead, a forearm choking off any other choice words the bald man might offer.

“This meeting is over,” Steve grunts, pushing at Cross until the man settles.

“Right,” you sigh, keeping your voice as level as you can. “Gentlemen, I’d say get your houses in order, but I’m afraid the furniture is about to be repoed.”

Killian runs his hand through his styled hair. “Think I’ll leave you to talk some sense into your precious partner. Good day.”

You’ll never forgive Steve for blurting your private nickname out in front of the worst possible people to know it, but this is how you chose to play the meeting. You knew there’d be…pushback.

The AIM founder takes a lazy sip. “Thanks for the water, Rogers.” He taps his pinky ring several times on the glass, a hollow, high ting lingering after each strike, and then Aldrich heads for the door.

Steve releases Darren despite the wild look in his eyes, but Cross would be a fool to make any move except to leave. He gathers his things and slips through the exit before it fully closes.

The only one remaining is Justin Hammer, and he tosses out his arms with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Kitten, come on. This is crazy. Isn’t this crazy? We’re all friends here. Let’s just chill, relax, and work this out. How ‘bout a drink?” More snaps. More finger guns. “You want coffee? Alright, perfect. Love ya. We’ll have coffee.” The man fidgets, sweat visible on his lip and forehead when he turns in the window’s light and approaches the drink cart.

“Sure thing, Justin. I take my coffee like I take my women—“ you smile “—from you.”

Okay, that part just felt good.

“That—” Hammer’s brow raises and he wipes down his jaw with one hand “—now that was uncalled for.”

Steve cuts in, a solid dismissal in the form of “I said ‘the meeting’s over.’”

“Oh, boy. You—well, you better watch…This ain’t over.” Hammer makes a fuss of buttoning his jacket again, puffing out his chest, then walking off even more empty-handed than he arrived.

The enormous, heavy door shuts slowly on buzzing, bright silence.

After a pause, Steve heaves out a breath.

“That went well.”

Sarcasm is not one of his strengths.

You’re not sure what you expected. You stand as a block of granite decor in the corner you retreated to once shit hit the fan.

It was the right decision. This was the right thing to do, the moral thing. It’s in the goddamn contract.

Though physically he shows no signs of duress—Steve used very little of his actual muscle to subdue Darren,—he hangs his head, stepping to your spot at the table to look at what you brought in. After a pause, Steve rubs his temple like it aches.

“I…I have no words,” he mutters, tone inscrutable.

You don’t care if he has words or not. You only have to wait until they’re out of the building.

“I don’t understand. What just happened?”

The door opens to reveal a bored-looking Topaz.

“Boss, Stark sent a catered lunch over. Where should they set up? It’s shawarma.”

“I don’t care,” Steve bursts. “Just take it down to R&D or something!”

That’s your cue to leave.

You shut your mostly-empty portfolio and tuck it to your chest.

A hand wraps around your wrist, unyielding.

Steve’s stormy blue eyes are felt more than seen, his hold tightening, trying to inch you closer, but you rip away.

“I’ll send you a memo,” you tell Steve without looking directly at him. “Keep those. I have copies.”

Fast as you can in heels and a skirt, you hurry after Topaz and past the food, fleeing first to your office and then to your own home.

[Day 83: 6pm]

[tender first aid drabble; Big Girls Don't Cry]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Ahhhhh! Next up is how Steve makes it up to you...or at least starts to...😱😵‍💫🥴

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@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

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@bigtreefest @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

@fallinallinmendes @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

[elvisabutler]

let's not let a good thing die

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley x female reader and steve binder x female reader word count: 2644 warnings: thigh riding. cuckolding. infidelity which is implied by the cuckolding. coming in pants. p in v sex ( unprotected ). voyeurism. minor minor daddy kink. a bit of a humiliation kink on steve's part. minor minor size kink. dominant elvis. slight period typical homophobia in thoughts. i think i have everyone? i am unsure. oh author’s note: welcome to day 1 of ally's wet hot smut summer, cuckolding with steve binder x reader x elvis. this was fun. title came from suspicious minds coming on at the place i was writing this when i first started. moodboard does not reflect race or size, i just had a vision for this board and went with it. this is alos basically a faint continuation of ride it, my pony even though that is gender neutral. you don't have to read it for this to make sense in the slightest.

"Steve. My boy, my boy—" Elvis practically croons as you grind on his thigh, aching for friction and just that more touch from him. 

"I'm two years older than you, E." Steve bites back in a rush as he watches you- the one woman he loves more than anyone else in the world grind on Elvis Presley’s thigh.He should tear his eyes away and look anywhere else in the room but he can’t. How many times had he fooled around with you like this? How many times had you been so needy while he was working that you found yourself on his thigh, muffling your cries in his shoulder? Too many times to count and yet here you were in this moment not on his thigh but on Elvis’s. Elvis who he had told to stay away from you, because you were his as possessive as it was. You were supposed to be all Steve’s and only his. Yet were you? The way your hips shift and your body grinds down on Elvis betray such a familiarity that Steve bites back bile the longer he looks at the two of you. 

“You wouldn’t know it,” you start to mock before Elvis’s knee bounces in just the right way to send a shockwave through your system. “El—”

“Sorry darlin’, ya know me, got those jittery legs. Practically got ants all in my pants. Seein’ ya bounce like that— can’t help it. Gotta give ya a helpin’ knee.” Elvis chuckles, his pretense of even trying to sound chagrined thrown by the wayside as easily as the scarf that had been around your neck. His hand moves to settle at the bottom of your throat. “Look at that neck o’hers, Stevie. You give her all those marks? Bruise up this sweet skin o’ hers?”

Elvis’s smile is all teeth as he moves to nuzzle and bite at your neck while Steve manages to finally answer even as his voice shakes just that little bit. “Not— I don’t usually— those aren’t all me.” You had been wearing that scarf for two days. “How- how many of those did he give you?”

His question is directed at you, even as his eyes just focus on Elvis’s plush lips against your skin, watching your pulse jump just that tiny bit. Steve realizes that he's never seen that scarf in his life on you. He thinks, and thinks, and looks at Elvis's throat only to force himself to look away and try to think about anything except how it was Elvis's scarf, how it'd looked around his throat. How you had joked with him about how easily it would be for someone to pull him by it into a kiss. You had been speaking from experience hadn't you? Visions of your laughter as you yank Elvis by that scarf swarm Steve's mind, replacing times you had done the same to him. Your eyes are hooded and your mouth is open allowing tiny little pants to escape it when you answer.

"The scarves? Or the bruises on my neck?” 

Scarves. The word settles in his brain as it passes through his ears. It settles like a ton of bricks, weighing down his chest and twisting his heart. Elvis had given you multiple scarves and multiple hickies and you were supposed to be his and yet. Yet maybe you weren’t. Maybe you weren’t if he had allowed himself to be deceived like this. If he had allowed himself to be cuckolded by Elvis Presley. 

“Both, I guess.” Steve wets his lips, his eyes once again settling on Elvis and how he’s touching you. How his lips caress your skin and how his hands are gripping your hips, trying to get you not to move. You always were so impatient, so much so that he sometimes let you slide. Elvis— Elvis’s grip on you didn’t allow for a single bit of movement, earning small little whines of displeasure that sound like music to Steve’s ears. It’s better than any note he’s heard Elvis sing or heard him play as of late. 

“Just two scarves,” you answer, as Elvis finally lets your hips go just enough that you can grind down again. “And I lost count of everything on my neck. I know you did one a few days ago.”

The implication is that Elvis had put the rest of them there in the past few days. No wonder he had seemed as if he had a pep in his step. Steve swallows and tries to step away, tries to turn around and leave the room but he can’t. You and Elvis would be content to do this without him but if he’s going to have this happen, why should the two of you get to do it in private. His jaw tenses as he moves closer, close enough to touch your arm and you jump, your clit brushing up against Elvis’s thigh.

“Steve,” Elvis growls out what almost sounds like a warning before raising his eyebrows. “Stevie boy, what’re ya doin’? Tryin’ to take her off of me? I don’t think she wants that—” he turns to look at you, one hand removing itself from your hip and grabbing your jaw in order to pull you in for a kiss. “Do ya honey?”

If you were being entirely honest you don’t know. On the one hand, Elvis has brought a significant amount of pleasure to you over the past few days while Steve has been otherwise occupied. It wasn’t your intention to go behind Steve’s back, it just worked out that way. It’s not that you don’t love Steve but you were aching and wanting and Elvis’s cock and lips and tongue were there for the taking. A pleased hum leaves your lips as your head lolls back a little until you remember that your boyfriend is in the room with you and Elvis. You should answer him. “Steve,” you pout, your tone every bit of a person being spoiled in your pleasure. “He’s been good to me. You should see him fuck me, I’m so full.”

Steve can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as his eyes glance down to where he can see Elvis’s sizable bulge pressing against his slacks. His own arousal has his cock pressing against the zipper of his pants with such ferocity that he swears it’s leaving an imprint on it. Elvis had fucked you better than he had, Elvis had filled you with his cock better than he had. He had claimed you as his own as if he didn’t already have every woman he ever wanted at his feet. As if Susan hadn’t been fooling around with him, as if all the dancers didn’t want a piece of him, as if the crowd while they filmed didn’t want to jump him. Elvis had claimed you, of all the people in the world and Steve— he wanted to know why.

“Show me.” The demand is simple and concise and yet has both you and Elvis’s eyes widening just a bit. This was a side to Steve you had never seen and Elvis, well, Elvis was surprised the wonderful Steve Binder had it in him. Still, he manages to speak before you do.

“Is that right, Steve?” His lips are curled into the sort of grin you only see on wolves and other predators. It shouldn’t be arousing to anyone and yet you lick your lips at the sight. “Ya know, you ain’t the first man I’ve done this to, Stevie boy.”

“I’m just the first one who caught you?” Steve spits out, trying to maintain some sort of dominance as if he hasn’t been on the losing end of things this entire conversation. Maybe if he fakes it enough Elvis won’t see the throbbing outline of his cock, begging for him to release it from the confines of his pants. “Or the only one who’ll fight for the person they love?” 

A shiver wracks your body and you mewl as Elvis’s hand that had been still on your hip slips between your legs, pushing aside your panties and slides two fingers in with a obscene squelch of arousal. “El— Ste—” you start both of their names, unsure of which one to say before Elvis tuts. 

“Nah. Ya the first one ‘m gonna show how to treat her right. ‘Cause—” A huff of a laugh. “Ya may not believe it, but Binder, I gotta lotta respect for ya. Ya deserve this. Deserve this woman on ya arm, but my boy ya gotta take care of her.” His fingers move slowly inside of you as you try and speak. “Ya hear that? Haven’t even fucked her today and she’s that goddamn needy. Achin’ for my cock. Ya wanna help me give it to her? Wanna watch my cock slide in between that tight fuckin’ pussy ya get to sleep ‘side ever night?”

No. His instinctive answer is a resounding no but when he glances at you and how your body is trying to grind on Elvis’s hand, chasing a feeling you’ve experienced with both men in the room. Well, it makes up his mind easier than any other thing could have. “You— I’ll help you.” His hand reaches out to touch your chin, to replace Elvis’s hand only to be swatted away by the man in question. 

“Been callin’ the shots wit’ me all week. Right now Daddy’s in charge. Gonna give ya girl what she needs and give ya a lesson in it.”

Steve’s reaction startles him, a groan he has to turn into a cough as his cock pulses in his slacks. He’s not— he’s pretty sure he doesn’t indulge in those sorts of thoughts but Elvis— is another person entirely. He makes it so easy to just think about him in that way. In the sort of way he doesn’t think he should when he’s in a very committed…at least on his end, relationship. The only thing that manages to get Steve out of his head, the only thing that silences his thoughts is your moan and the sound of Elvis’s zipper and pants being undone. His cock springs forth from it confines in all its uncut glory and Elvis moves to grab Steve’s hand, moving it close to between your legs but not quite where it needs to be. 

You look down at Steve’s hand and smile at it along with Elvis’s cock. “Can he help you put it in, E? Can he?” 

“It’s like you read my mind, darlin’,” Elvis croons as he moves Steve’s hand to the front of his crotch right above his cock. “Ya heard that girl of yourn, Steve. Help me put it in. I’ll guide you.”

Steve’s never been one to back down from a challenge and today is no different as he wraps his hand around Elvis’s cock, allowing the man to help him pull back his foreskin before you shift just enough to expose your pussy to them both. Somehow you’ve lost your underwear and yet Steve can’t complain even as his free hand twitches with want to touch your pussy, to feel the slick heat of your arousal against his fingers. He wishes he could taste you right now but he’s supposed to just watch and assist. The three of you hiss as Elvis enters you. The burn erring just on the side of comfortable and Elvis marveling in how you’re still so tight and warm. Steve’s hand caught for a moment before he pulls it away and moves to undo his pants, the press of his cock beginning to be too much finally to the point where he’s certain he’ll die if he doesn’t manage some release. 

“Now, Steve, ya can’t be studyin’ and learnin’ if ya distracted. Ain’t no playin’ with that cock ya got ‘tween ya legs. It ain’t mine but I know she likes it jus’ plenty. Eyes on her pussy, Binder. Shame ya don’t got ya clipboard. Be able to take notes on how a real man takes care of his woman,” Elvis grips your hip and thrusts upward as you grind down on his cock before pulling back, his cock sliding out of you with an obscene squish of your combined arousal and Elvis’s precum. “Ya see, Stevie? Gotta let ‘er ride ya like the cowgirl she is. Gotta let ‘er take what she needs while you press into ‘er jus’—” he thrusts particularly hard and fast and you yowl in pleasure. “Right. Hard ‘nough for her to feel it in her stomach and in her throat. Use her like she’s usin’ ya. Mutual pleasure for the both o’ ya.”

Steve listens, Steve listens and yet the words start to jumble in his head the more he sees Elvis’s cock covered in your juices and the more he hears your mewls and cries and the more he sees Elvis touch your clothed breasts, squeezing them tightly in his hands. He’s not even sure of the passage of time or anything beyond the rush of his heartbeat in his head and the pulse of it between his legs. He’s doing what he was told, just watching as Elvis fucks you with a speed you don’t usually allow Steve to. Maybe— maybe he should do it the next time. He’s not as large as Elvis, but he could manage this pace. He could grab your breasts and pinch your clit and cover your neck with bruises he left there. 

“Steve—” you cry out in his mind and in front of him and when Steve looks at you, staring at him blissed out and fucked on another man’s cock, he can’t help the grunt that leaves his body. His orgasm slams into him not long after as he leans forward, trying to make it less obvious as his underwear fills with his release warm and sticky as he shudders. His mind registers that there’s no noise other than his breathing and your breathing and Elvis’s breathing before he looks up and sees you biting your lip and Elvis’s hand slipping between your legs even as he looks directly at Steve. 

“Didn’t think ya had that dirty secret, Stevie boy. What’d ya say I help her come since ya couldn’t even wait for her to finish. No wonder she came to me. Settle down and keep watchin’. Maybe I can make ya do it again? Make a real mess of ya.” 

Elvis’s hand slides between the two of you, his fingers sliding against your clit and rubbing in just the right way that his cock hadn’t been. Your whines increase in volume even as Steve starts to breath harder once again, his cock somehow rising to the attention like he’s a teenage boy. You bite your lip to try and hold back your noises before Elvis leans against you, whispering softly in your ear. 

“Scream for me, darlin’. Scream so he knows who ya really belong to. Who ya always gonna belong to no matter what happens.”

Those are the magic words that have your hands moving to his biceps and clawing at them as you come with a shout of Elvis’s name, the intensity causing aftershocks and shivers to flow through your body even as you sag against him, allowing him to use you until he pulls out, coming on your stomach. 

Elvis moves your head to face Steve and smirks as he pets your hair. “Think he learned, darlin’? Think he’s gonna take care of ya?”

Your eyes take in Steve’s face and his flushed cheeks. They glide down his body where you see his clenched fists and his cock against his slacks and you let out a small giggle. “I think, Daddy, he needs another lesson. Let him touch this time, though. Make it a little more hands on.”

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @justrae9903, @thegettingbyp2 i will probably use this same tag list for all of this wet hot summer minus any subtractions of people i know don't want austin fics. or if i'm not sure a kink is your jam.

[leth-writes]

Avengers x reader who is hyper vigilant? Has problems calming down and relaxing? :3

🌌 anon (cuz i felt like maybe i requested too much twilight)

Hello again Galaxy anon! Don't worry about feeling like you've requested too much, your requests are really interesting and fun to work on!

Steve

Steve’s seen this hypervigilance before, oftentimes in his fellow soldiers. Being able to calm down from that constant state of anxiety is honestly a skill that needs to be honed

Makes sure to dim the lights, dump as many fluffy blankets as possible on top of you, prepare you some nice hot chocolate, and cuddle next to you as you watch your comfort film, tries to make you as relaxed as possible. He also teaches you the same methods of calming down that Sam taught him when he was first struggling with hyper-vigilance

Tony

Tony deals with anxiety constantly, with panic attacks being quite common. His main method of coping is through distraction, so that’s what he uses for you. He puts on your favorite music and lets you tinker away in the lab, making sarcastic jokes the entire time. He’s trying to take your mind off of your worries so you can relax, and maybe working with him will help. He won’t ever let you know he’s worried, though.

Thor

Early on, I can see Thor really struggling with a significant other who is hypervigilant. He’s loud and boisterous, which definitely doesn’t help your anxiety. 

Needs you to explicitly spell out what you want, but honestly struggles even afterwards.

Later on, after he loses his eye and especially after the events of Endgame, he starts to understand. He has nightmares about his home being destroyed, and Loki dying, and you getting injured, so the two of you can bond over your hypervigilance. 

Uses exercise to work out your anxieties, tiring out until you can barely walk, let alone feel hyper-vigilant

Bruce

Probably the best at helping you, he’s got an entire binder filled with methods for calming down.

If your hypervigilance is tinged with anxiety rather than anger, he may struggle at first, but he spends a couple of days doing some constant research and comes out the other side with a 300 page therapy plan to help you feel more relaxed and work through your hypervigilance.

Bucky

Early on, Bucky really struggles to help you. Before, he hadn’t ever struggled with anxiety, and during his time as a captive of HYDRA he often wasn’t awake long enough to break his conditioning and feel anxiety. 

However, afterwards, he’s plagued with the constant feeling HYDRA’s right around the corner, waiting to come and drag him back to his personal hell. 

The two of you go on the journey together, trying to learn techniques to calm down and attending therapy constantly, until you establish a good coping routine and ways to help each-other when in the midst of anxiety.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 12

Black White and Midnight Blue | Loki x Reader

You and Loki repay your debt to the Avengers by attending Baron Zemo's exclusive Hampton's dinner. But when an unexpected guest arrives, you find yourself the centre of attention.

Warnings: Baron Zemo chat (I hate that guy), mention of PTSD and anxiety for reader, angst, whump/hurt (the comfort comes next chapter!)

A/N: I'm so sorry this has taken ages and it's not the extra long chapter I promised because, in the end, the extra bit just made sense further along in the story telling. We're really moving the plot along at pace in this chapter and revealing a bit more about our antagonists so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for sticking with this!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

There was a time in your life when you had only ever dreamt of sitting beside the Avengers in their luxurious top floor office, discussing plans to save the world. Like everyone else, you’d seen the news, watched the footage of them battling in New York and been awed by their bravery and prowess. But now, seeing them argue and having felt their fear and wrath, you only felt cold. 

Their icy demeanors hadn’t thawed since you returned, the truce between the heroes and Loki was dangerously thin, held together only by Thor’s surprisingly adept diplomacy and their need for you. 

Below the table you felt the only warmth in the room, Loki’s hand on your thigh, pressing his fingertips just a little harder than normal, to help you feel grounded. Below the surface you could feel his magic thrumming, restrained in its frustrations, straining against its bonds in an attempt to be freed. It was a feeling you could empathise with, your magic called back to him, coiled inside of you ready to strike. 

The poor weather of mid autumn had kept you trapped inside and unable to practise the depths of your magic as you wanted to. But when you were alone together, your sedir tangled with his and had allowed you to make and support illusions both beautiful and romantic. 

You sighed, bathing in the memory of Loki twirling you around his bedroom, transformed for the evening into a miniature Asgardian ballroom.

Hands clasped, one steadying palm at the small of your back as the waltz rose around you. His intricate steps leading you into dizzying turns. 

Your memories blurred together, dances from aeons past melting into this perfect evening. 

“Are you two listening to me?” Steve barked, hands on his hips as he commanded the room, a large leather binder spread open on the table in front of him. 

“Of course we are, Captain.” Loki drawled, a note of disdain lingering in the otherwise quiet room. 

“Yes, Captain Rogers.” You answered, earning a tickle of long fingers along the inside of your knee from Loki. 

Such a good girl 

A teasing warmth spread over your skin, starting in the dimple of soft flesh that Loki had pinched and up your spine. 

I just want to get this done with

“As I was saying,” he coughed, flipping a page in his folder, “Loki and Estrid -” 

“Oh, you don't have to start using that name-” you interjected. 

Since returning from Tønsberg you’d shared your new name with the group for clarity. But it still felt odd to have an entirely different identity. Though there were things you could become accustomed to, your new name was proving to be a sticking point. 

“Loki and Estrid -” Steve continued. 

“Lady Estrid,” Loki interrupted, leaning forwards across the table and flourishing a gold pen from the thin air around his hand, “if you're going to ignore her wishes, you could at least be correct, Captain, allow me to update your little record for you. It’s Lady Estrid, Princess of -” 

“If you want to use it, then just Estrid is fine.” You took the pen from his hand and placed it carefully on the table where it melted into the surface leaving a faint trace of gold.  

“Darling you should -” 

“It’s fine, Loki, let’s just-” you tipped your head towards the waiting team and raised your eyebrows. 

Please, let it go

Never, you deserve to be treated with respect, especially from these cretins

I know, I know, but the sooner we’re done here the sooner we can just leave

Loki scowled, but turned back to Steve, “continue.” 

Steve returned the scowl and went back to his book, “Loki and Estrid will use their powers to infiltrate the party and separate at the bar, your new identities will be in your briefing packs and outfits will be provided. Although I suppose, should the need arise, you will both be able to create disguises. Should you be compromised this will be key to your escape. 

“Loki, you’ll head to the office room so that you can break into the safe. There should be a laptop in there with - well, possibly best if you don’t know. But it’s important. Estrid you’ll be keeping people away, providing cover as this is your first op. Loki, you should hand the laptop over to Natasha who’ll be waiting here -” a map flashed up above the desk in the same, obnoxiously bright blue and orange that all of Stark’s designs seemed to favour.

You and Loki leant back in your chairs to get a better look. “Natasha will be waiting in the first of the get-away vehicles. It’s important that you both stay at the party for at least a short while so as to not raise suspicions. When it’s time for you to leave we’ll let you know through your comms. Understood?” 

“Understood,” you nodded at Steve. 

“Loki?” The Captain stared pointedly at the Prince sitting next to you who had become so bored he’d produced a nail file from somewhere and was carefully tidying up the edge of his middle finger.  

“You understand that I’m a God? This is not the first time I’ve been in a raiding party.” Loki raised one eyebrow, “I think between us we’re perfectly capable. Now, my darling, can we leave?” Loki had a way of speaking to you as if there was no one else in the room, clear and direct, his eyes focussed on you entirely and it made you tingle all over. 

“Yes, we can go.” You allowed yourself a small smile at his impatience and took his outstretched hand, allowing your gaze to rise up his lean, muscular body. 

The two of you had barely left Loki’s rooms since your date, snuggled together in blissful solitude morning and night. Just being in the conference room felt painful and you longed to return to the comfort of Loki’s bedroom. 

“But we still have -” Steve started. 

“My Ásynja has said that it’s time for us to go,” Loki cut off Steve’s protests and turned his back on the Avengers, tucking your hand into his elbow and leading you back to his quarters. 

The light glimmered off your dress as you stepped from the dark interior of the limo and out onto into the softly lit courtyard of Baron Zemo’s Hampton’s residence. Behind the tall gates and stone walls, New York’s most wanted were being wined and dined while the Avengers set up their checkpoints in the inky darkness of the beach and grassland that surrounded the vast estate. 

Loki kept hold of your hand once the door closed behind you, tucking your fingers into the crook of his elbow, the soft wool material of his suit warmed your palm while you looked up at the towering mansion. Behind the stone walls the home itself looked almost cosy, warm lights detailing the traditional white wood and blue accents. Who could have known that behind the white linen curtains lurked so many criminals, the blood on their hands enough to fill the tinkling fountain in the centre of the courtyard. 

You squeezed Loki’s arm to get his attention. 

“Yes, darling.” His voice was a low purr against the backdrop of muffled string music and laughter. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” You whispered, stepping closer to him, “what if I can’t hold this shape?” 

The entire operation was dependent on you and Loki pretending to be a minor couple from one of the European crime families trying to break new ground in America. When you’d questioned where the real couple would be, Steve had told you not to worry about it. But Tony gleefully explained that he had arranged for Natasha to pay the mysterious pair a visit just before their limo was due to arrive. You hadn’t dared to think about where she’d put them for the duration of the evening. 

“You can and you will,” he assured, tugging you closer, “and then we can be free of this nonsense, Ásynja, and we can return to Tønsberg together.” Behind the illusion, you saw the flash of Loki’s blue eyes, a shimmer of gold, of promise, and you straightened yourself. “It doesn’t hurt that you look absolutely radiant, my darling.” He grinned, appraising the black cocktail dress that had been chosen for you. It was a very beautiful dress, and although you’d become rather accustomed to wearing green and blue, you had accepted that it was your job to blend in tonight and not stand out. 

“Loki,” you gave an embarrassed whisper. 

“Well, you do.” He said, matter of factly. “It’s incredibly distracting.” 

You grinned back, “you look very handsome too..”

“Then let’s make our entrance.” Even under his vanir the same mischievous look past over his eyes. 

Loki gave your hand one last squeeze before guiding you up the steps and into the foyer, ready for your first mission. 

Inside, the party appeared to be in full swing. The host, Baron Zemo, held court at the centre of the room, talking animatedly with a large group of men all dressed almost identically in luxurious looking black tuxedos. Hanging off their arms were some of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, the jewels dangling from their ears catching in the soft lighting, their tinkling laughs cutting through the gruff bluster of their dates. 

Loki had already clocked at least two doors that he would need to check, you could tell by the way he squeezed your arm as you passed by the quiet porter who took your coats at the door. He would have to sneak off soon, but it was your job to stay at the bar installed in the corner of the large dining room, to talk to anyone leaving the Baron’s circle of confidence who might become suspicious about Loki’s whereabouts and, in the event anyone left the room, you could alert Loki or try to cause a diversion to allow him time to secure the laptop and escape.

Together you made your way across the crowded room to the bar and ordered drinks, taking only the barest sip to keep sober. Although the sedatives that you were used to taking had completely worn off, you were liable to get very drunk, very quickly, when you were nervous and you had never had to maintain a completely different body while drinking. You hoped that twirling your straw flirtatiously would be enough to look natural while Loki scoped out the room. 

“It’s time, darling.” He whispered in your ear, his familiar scent ghosting over you, despite his unfamiliar appearance. He traced the shell of your ear with the tip of his nose and then kissed your cheek, leaving you with goosebumps appearing on your arms. 

Loki siddled away from the bar, blending into the shadowed edges of the room and vanishing from sight as he rounded the corner into the area roped off as ‘private’. 

Alone, you surveyed the room again, watching as the Baron captivated his laughing audience with another tale of his debauchery, the crispness of his starched shirt hiding the clearly healing cuts and bruises below.

 You’d heard stories about him, mostly from the Avengers themselves, about how he had tried to break them, how he had manipulated his way into the compound and triggered Bucky. The super soldier hadn’t been around for that conversation, but Steve had looked over your shoulder as if he could still see the image of his best friend, snarling like a feral beast as he tore his way through the compound. Natasha had reassured you that it couldn’t happen again, but it wasn’t Bucky you were afraid of. He seemed to be as much a victim as circumstance as you, always grimacing before a fight and never bragging about his victories. He was trapped in that compound just as you had been, his only comfort the red headed spy that he was dancing around approaching. 

The reassurances of the Avengers meant nothing to you, because it wasn’t Bucky or the Winter Soldier you were afraid of. It wasn’t even necessarily the Baron and his despicable friends, although the easy way he spoke about death had sent a chill down your spine. 

The people you were really afraid of, who made your skin crawl and your head hurt. The people you really wanted to be away from... It was the Avengers and Agents that swarmed the compound, the way they recited their allegiance to each other and bowed down to Stark and his wealth. 

That scared you more than anything else, because it left you with no one to trust. 

No one but Loki. 

It brought a familiar, nagging, question back to the front of your mind. If the Baron had been neutralised, why were you even here in the first place? No one had told you and it was really the last place you wanted to be while you were still recovering from your ordeal. 

What if the kidnappers were here, what if he was part of it? Your heart beat sped up, your chest feeling tight as your breath became shallow. 

You turned away from the bar and carefully dabbed at your tearline, catching the tears before they fell and tucking your now mascara stained handkerchief back into your clutch bag, allowing yourself time to play with your bracelet, hidden inside, flashing in the candle light as the only way to sooth your fractured nerves. For the first time you’d do anything to go back to your slow and steady life from before, to not know about this world or any of these so called powers, if this is where it got you. 

Risking a look up at the room you were relieved to see no one had even noticed you, and you allowed yourself to think of the one thing that was keeping you going, Loki. If none of this happened, there’d be no Loki and, powers or not, he was the first positive thing to come into your life in a long time. Or, if your memories were right, to come back into your life. 

Your breathing evened out at the thought of him, the way he’d smiled so softly while helping you shift into this new form. How he’d kissed your temple while waiting for the limousine and held your hand the entire way. He’d promised to reward you for your bravery as soon as the laptop had been handed over and, if it was anything like his other ‘rewards’ it was certainly worth looking forward to. 

Just as you were settling into the thought of falling into bed with Loki, a ripple of fear rolled up your spine and a scream cut through the gentle tones of the string quartet. You span around, leaping to your feet, your hands held in front of you just as Loki had taught you, ready to defend yourself against the mobsters. 

But there was no gun fight, no knives drawn, instead the room began to fill with blinding light, so white you had to cover your eyes with your hands, pressing so hard you could see stars as the other guests began to scream and shout. 

“Estrid, are you there?” Natasha’s voice crackled in your ear, so far away and useless as you backed away to crouch down behind the spindly barstool. Suddenly this entire operation seemed like a terrible idea. 

“I’m here, but so is something else, where’s Loki?” Your voice cracked, hoping he was close by. 

“He secured the item, it’s with me and he’s heading back to the party-” Natasha’s response was cut off by the familiar feeling of Loki’s presence entering your thoughts. 

I’m here, I’m safe, are you?

It floated to you through the chaos, anchoring you to your spot. If he was coming then you could hold yourself for now, though you were too scared to even breathe properly. Each inhale felt jagged, like ice in your lungs. 

There’s someone here, it’s so bright, I can’t see, I don’t know what’s happening

“Estrid, come in? - Report? - Estrid!” Natasha shouted, the distinctive click of her trying different channels before returning to yours made your head ache. Slowly, trying not to draw attention to yourself, you popped out the earbud and placed it in your bag, silencing the electric hum of the comms. 

Everything else went silent then and, for a few seconds, you thought it might be over, but then there was a hand on your elbow, pulling you up and out from your hiding place. You hoped it was Loki and that the change in his cologne was due to his needing to hide, but an uneasy feeling had already settled over you. 

“Loki?” You whispered, “can I open my eyes?” 

“You can open your eyes, child.” The speaker had a deep, rough voice, as if it hadn’t been used in many years, the words jagged and jarring, pulling at your memories. 

“Child?” You cracked one eye open enough to see who had spoken, the room was still white, but between the two of you it flowed as a golden river, dust motes dancing in the air and rather than being blinded as you imagined, it made you think of your Grandfather and hazy summer afternoons with the windows open wide and the dust motes dancing in the air.

Around you the party goers were locked, stock still, in time, their hands over their faces as yours had been. 

“Come, Estrid, I have been looking for you.” He moved his hands to cup your cheeks, turning your face up to him as you opened your eyes. In slow motion he smiled down at you and you felt a strange sense of peace wash over you. 

The man before you was tall and fair, blonde curls fell in perfect tendrils over his broad shoulders and the green cloak that fell to the floor in waves. On one shoulder a silver pin kept his cape attached to his tunic, as if he’d stepped straight from a history book into the party. Although the room was already bright, he seemed to be lit from within, like he was standing in the summer afternoon sun. His eyes were bright too, but not with anger. 

“Who are you?” You asked, though it was clear this was another god, you willed Loki to arrive, none of these mortals would be able to help you now and despite your training you felt powerless. All of your energy was focussed on maintaining your illusion, just in case there was someone looking. 

“Ah, child, of course, you do not remember. I forget myself, that we have not seen each other these past centuries. It is I, Lugh.” He stepped back and placed his hands back on the pommel of the broad sword hanging from hip and nodded his head politely. “I knew your mother, long ago, she was dear to my heart and I had searched for you, her beloved daughter, for many years. I have sent for you, though you escaped my man.” He smiled at you indulgently, “you always were such trouble, Estrid. Whatever will we do with you?” 

His words were soft and he was honest and friendly as if he knew you well, but all you could hear were the shouts of your memories. 

Insolent welp

Disgusting

Fallen

You’d been dragged around, half starved, poisoned and beaten. The anxiety that had gripped you so tightly just moments before morphed inside of you, a tight, heavy rage bubbled and filled every pore. How dare he. How dare anyone. Turn up now and play nicely after you had been passed around like a spare part.

“Get away from me.” You kept your voice low, clenching your fists at your side as your anger bubbled within. “Get away from me, right now.” Your rage, like lava, moved in slow motion, rising slowly and heavily. 

“Child, it is imperative you -” 

“No!” You shouted, the light blared brighter, the bulbs smashing around you like fireworks. 

The man reached forwards, and as his fingers touched your own the bubble inside burst and your magic took over, wrapping you in leather and velvet, a shining silver breastplate and epaulettes were revealed by the shimmering blue flame that danced over your body. The meagre outfit you’d once conjured with Loki and Thor was a mere memory compared to the battle ready armour. In your hand you now held a long spear and, as you watched, the flame danced to it’s place upon it, flaring and then dancing in the air. 

But he didn’t let go and as he tightened his grip you were overtaken by the memory of winters in front of a huge fire, piles of furs surrounding you and your mother, sipping wine in a cup and laughing. The snow beyond the entrance of the room fell in soft flakes and the fire smelt of pine and peat. The man was there laughing too, toasting with your mother. 

“You are truly a kind friend, Lugh, to host us so.” Your mothers voice was warm and rich, like sweet chocolate and spice. 

“Brigid, my dearest friend, it is an honour to have you and your beautiful daughter stay with me on your journey home.” 

“Ah, we should discuss that later,” your mother nodded towards you, “I have been planning for Estrid’s future and I fear - sweet girl, perhaps you should go and play a while.” Your mother pointed towards a neat looking pile of woollen capes and a young boy, so familiar, with bright eyes. 

“Go, Estrid, enjoy the snowfall.” Lugh touched the top of your head as he passed and you were thrown back into yourself. 

The man took a step back, his own five pointed spear tapping the floor and, behind him, Loki stood aghast but smiling only for you, his own battle armour shimmering gold and his horns brushing the doorframe. 

“You heard the lady, back away, now.” Loki strode forwards, twin daggers appearing in a flash of magic, he turned his head away from the bright light of the stranger, only facing him when his magic had conjured a pair of black sunglasses to protect his eyes. 

The man sighed and banged the end of his spear on the floor again, a red flame appearing which he swung in a wide arc creating a barrier between himself and Loki. The wall of flames reached almost to the ceiling, blocking your escape and your rescue. 

“Loki!” You cried out, making your first move away from your position at the bar towards him, a hand reaching out, almost touching the flame.

 “Leave him!”

 You rounded on the man, your spear tipped forwards in front of you, half defensive and entirely furious, your teeth ground together. “I don’t know who you are but I won’t go with you, leave me alone!” 

The man rushed forwards, knocking your spear to the side in one deft movement and grabbing your hands, “you must listen you’re in danger. You are being hunted, you must stop using your magic and hide yourself.” 

“By you!” You fought against him, “I won’t be put back there, I won’t.” But something nagged at you, that was why the boy was so familiar, you’d seen those eyes before as the boy, now a man, had earnestly begged for you to stop using your magic. You hadn’t listened, you’d carried on and then - and then you’d been taken again. 

The man began dragging you towards the windows, the too bright light that had kept the guests subdued parted around him like smoke revealing the dark parquet floor.

“I can remove you from this place, but you must stop manifesting this armour, you do not require it and it will only draw their attention.” 

“Let her go!” Loki projected himself across the room, his body still stuck behind the flames but multiple versions of himself appearing in a semi-circle and hemming your kidnapper in. The man glowed brighter, blurring his features beyond recognition. 

With one last attempt to free you Loki, your real Loki, pushed at the flame, shooting his own magic through in one huge green blast, and knocking the man backwards and away from you. 

But you fell too. 

You cried out, rolling on the floor and landing heavily against the doorframe with a sickening thump.

<<Chapter 11

Chapter 13>>

God mentioned

This is just from my own reading, I'm by no means an expert! This is also a fictionalised version of actual mythology, just like Loki & Thor in the MCU.

Lugh: A figure in Irish mythology and belongs to the Tuatha Dé Danann. He's portrayed as a warrior but is also linked to artistic skills as well as truth telling and oath taking.

Lugh and Brigid are similar in that they are linked to many attributes.

In the Irish mythology Lugh challenges Brigid's husband, Bres, who is king. So. Take from that what you will! In this story I will be portraying Lugh and Brigid as friends and kindred spirits.

[the-ravenist]

That's my wife

Steve Binder x Fem!Black!Reader

Reader and Steve are married, they share both of their last names, reader is somewhat tall, reader is a boss ass bitch, reader is implied/mentioned to be infertile, reader is female(sorry), Steve is a simp for reader, suggestive dialogue(no smut), reader wears pants, reader and Steve match accessories, and protective!Steve(I think)

The smell of cigarette smoke fills the sound room, multiple eyes focusing on Elvis on the stage below, the young man's voice blasting through the speakers. The abrupt sound of the door slamming gains the attention of people in the room, yet a pair of blue eyes stay focused on the act below. Those pairs of blue eyes belong to the amazing Steve Binder-(L/N), a great man, producer, friend, partner, and husband, yes husband.

Steve had the opportunity to work with the infamous Elvis the Pelvis Presley, to produce his Comeback film. At first, he was hesitant to accept the offer, but he could see that Elvis's career wasn't doing...well. But Bones had convinced him, there could be a possibility that old Elvis might come back.

Steve can feel a headache beginning to form, a dull pounding at the back of his head and the slight twitch in his left eyebrow gave it away. If the Conole didn't shut his yapper soon, Steve was gut him like the fat fish he was.

"Kennedys' been shot!"

That definitely broke him from his thought. The backtrack of Elvis's song continued playing through the pen-drop silence throughout the studio.

Dancers, makeup artists, hairdressers, singers, and others alike were piled in the small dressing room, the dialogue of the news lady sounding like white noise besides a couple words Kennedy, shot, and dead stick in the brains of the listeners. The decrease in volume catches the attention of the grieving, Steve stands in front of the TV eyes slightly red and glistening with tears.

"Listen I, uh, I just want to say that," a sad chuckle breaks through his lips. "This nation is hurting, it's lost you know."

A couple of nods and sniffles ring throughout the group.

"It needs a vioce right now, to help heal it," he nods towards Elvis. "You, you have to a statement EP," said man's eyes lighting up.

"Mr. Presely doesn't makes statements." Eyes snap to the colonel.

"He sings here comes Santa Claus", he walks towards Steve menacingly. "And wishes everyone merry Christmas and good night", he continues with a sharp glare on his face.

A beat of somber silence passes by, anger and frustration build up in Steve and Elvis. Steve knows that the Colonel could care less about the president's death and Elvis, he was The Snowman, after all, he was cold in all ways.

"This tragedy, a tragedy yes," fake sympathy is plastered on his face. "But it has nothing to do with us."

At that Steve had calmly stormed out of the room, Bones and Jerry following. Everyone else had walked out of the room slowly after, all going their separate ways to dressing rooms mostly or back to the stage. Steve had walked, well stomped into the sound booth, lighter lighting the cigarette in his hand.

He takes a deep inhale of the toxic smoke, holding it for a beat. He knew that he had a show to run he knew it but during this time, nobody was really in the best mental state to work. As he exhaled the smoke the phone on the best corner rang, he let it ring for two more rings before his shaky hands picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey sweets, you okay?"

At the sound of your voice, his body instantly slacked. He was glad you called, but that's not what he's worried about at the moment.

"I'm fine puff," he had called you that due to your afro, rather than a halo of curls on top of your head reminds him of a puff of smoke. I know weird comparison.

"'M just a little tired, how about you?"

" 'M not gonna lie to ya sweets," your voice shakes a little. "I'm a lil shakin' up."

Steve puts out his cigarette as he exhales the last bit of smoke. He can feel the dull pounding get a bit louder, now trust me dear reader it's not because of you I promise.

"Yeah, this...event has everyone shakin' up," a small sigh. "I wouldn't be surprised if the damn whole country stopped functioning." A small laugh was heard through the speaker.

"Honestly, I'd believe it," A huff escaped your lips. "Damn near got into a fuckin' car accident when I heard it."

"What?"

"It's nothing though, I'm fine the cars fine," you murmur softly. "And so is my fro." Steve couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

The line is silent for a moment, it's somewhat comforting in a way. "Even though neither of you is facing the other in the comfort of your shared bed, it seems as if you were standing next to one another.

"Hey, puff?"

"...yeah?"

"How do you feel about getting creative again?"

"I'm on my way."

Elvis, Bones, and Jerry are watching Steve pace in the small room. Elvis laying on the floor by the piano, Jerry lounging on the black couch on the wall, and Bones leaning on the crisp black piano watching his friend stress out.

"What's he stressin' about," questions Elvis.

"I don't know E," Jerry says eyes narrowing on the nervous man.

"He's nervous about his dames," Bones speaks up from his spot.

"Wait his girl," Elvis questions. "Why is she comin'?"

"I guess-"

Steven turns around quickly startling the men in the room. He seems calm, yet his eyes give him away; they're wider than normal.

"I'm sorry boys," a hand runs through his hair. "This might seem completely out of character of myself," and was it ever.

"Yeah, we can tell," Jerry mutters. "Why does your girl make you nervous?"

"Huh?"

"Bones had said that your girl was coming," Elvis had said from his spot on the floor.

"And we want to know why you're actin' a nervous mess," Bones continued.

"Well if I'm being honest boys," Steve reluctantly starts. "I'm worried how she would think of y'all, minus Bones."

Well, it's not like you were a judgmental person or anything like that. It's just that you're kind of intimidating in a way.

"What," Elvis says through a small laugh. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Now listen EP," Steve's is laced with seriousness. "This woman is very important to me, she's the best out there for this operation."

"So please behave," he slightly begs.

"But still be yourself, and don't say anything stupid," Bone adds.

"Don't worry my mama taught me better than to disrespect a woman," Elvis says as he sits in a crisscross position.

"Good, 'cause she'll," he takes a glance at his watch. "She'll be here any minute now."

Just as he says that the door is pushed open, with a dark brown heeled boot. And those boots are paired with brown high-waisted pants, a white turtle neck, and a pearl necklace.

"Sorry that I'm late, sweets," the woman closed the door with her heel.

"I had to speed back home to get the stuff that I thought we could use, but then I realized that I had no fuckin' scissors," she dropped the bags full of supplies on the couch next to Jerry.

"So, I had to drive to the store to get scissors, and I realized that we'd might be here a while so I bought myself a silk scarf cause why the hell not, and-"

Steve grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you a bit, to stop her rambling. She had stopped talking as she looked at Steve with wide (e/c) eyes.

"Puff, I'm glad you're here but we have company," his eyes dart to the people behind her.

"Shit," she looked at the men behind her. "Right, my bad y'all." She coughs to clear her throat. "Hello, my name is (Y/N) (L/N)-Binder, and I'll be helping y'all 'cause y'all desperately need it."

"Now excus-"

"And you, white and sideburns," you point to the boy on the floor. "You must be the big Elvis the Pelvis Presly," the boy smirks a bit. "Now I'm not a big fan of yours but I have to admit you have some hip swingn' songs." The woman demonstrates as she moves her hips a bit.

"Well thank you," Elvis trails off, not sure if what the woman had said was a compliment or not.

"It's no problem," she dismisses, she puts her attention on the entire group.

"Now what have we gotten so far hmm?"

Silence

"Have y'all at least started on a song?"

"I mean," Jerry bravely speaks up. "We sort of do," (Y/N)'s sharp (e/c) eyes are basically pinning him to the couch.

"All right let's hear it."

And then the construction begins.

"Alright, the song is done," she sighs in exhaust. " And let me tell you, y'all are by far the hardest people I've worked with."

Jerry and Elvis gawk at the confidence of the women in front of them.

"Now E," the switch from sarcasm to seriousness throws off the boys. "It's quiet obvious to anyone with an IQ of a basic human being, that your career has been nothing but a pile of flaming shit lately."

Steve chokes on a bit on the smoke of his cigarette.

"But with this song and a killer outfit by my design," you can see a child-like excitement spark in Elvis's blue eyes. "You'll bounce back in no time."

"Now," you snap loudly. "How does everyone feel about leather?"

.

.

.

"Good night boys, I'll see your show tomorrow m'kay," you say as you watch the guys leave. Leaving you and Steve in the small room.

You plop your body down on the dark green couch, body slacking once it hits the cushion. A sigh leaves your mouth and your eyes begin to close.

"God, I'm getting old. I've never been that tired in a hot minute," you mutter as you grab your head scarf from your purse.

Steve nonchalantly kneels before you, hands reaching for your boots.

"You're not getting old, you need to stop saying that," he mutters as he unzips your left boot and gently slides it off your foot, hands moving to unzip the right one.

"Oh right, I'm not getting old. I'm aging," your speech is sarcastic. Yet Steve ignores it and places your boots next to the piano.

Steve plops himself on the couch next to you as you wrap your hair with the scarf. The scarf in which looks similar to the ascot that you're husband is wearing around his neck. Once finished you wrap your leg around his waist and your arms around his neck. As if automatically, he wraps an arm around your waist and slides a hand into your back pocket.

"You know what else ages," Steve croons teasingly as he locks eyes with you. You hummed in a curious tone.

"Wine, wine ages," he leans his head forward, lips grazing yours.

"'nd you my darling puff, are some very fine wine~" His lips finally touched yours. Once your lips touch you fight back a smile as his comment registers.

"Oh, Mr. Binder you are the devil in disguise I swear," you're able to say through the onslaught of kisses you're receiving.

"If I'm the devil, you're my angel in disguise," he purrs as he continues his trek of kisses to your neck.

"Okay, now you ruined the mood," you snort as you push his head back slightly.

"Aw whaddya mean," he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"... he's so young sweets, too young."

"I know."

"He looks like a young man but has the eyes of a man who works at an office 9-5. Tired, stressed, yet yearning."

You begin to play with Steve's fingers as you begin to ramble.

"He misses his mama Stevie, he stuck to me like glue. Kept looking at me, as if he was looking for affirmation. Like a child would."

"God Stevie, why do I want someone to look at me like that again?"

Your eyes begin to water as you subconsciously rub your stomach.

Steve frowned at your sadness, he knew you wanted kids. The both of you did. The thought of having a little bundle of y'all's creation running around the house made him smile. Of course y'all have tried but when you went to a doctor the worse news has erased that dream. As an interracial couple adopting a child was harder than it looked, so in the end it was replaced with two fur babies you have at home.

Oh, Harley and June, two energy filled great danes. They're probably sleeping in your shared bed, drooling all over the sheets. The thought of them brings a small to your face.

You look at Steve's blue eyes. Oh, how you love those blue eyes. You cup his cheek, he leans into it, it makes you snort. You peck his lips, once, twice.

"Let's go home Stevie," you hop off his lap. You bend over to grab your boots and bags. Steve of course can't help but take a glance at your ass. Those pants accentuated everything. You pop right back up and turn to Steve, who still sits on the couch looking up at you. "I have to go home and sew a leather suit for a 6'2 man."

Your husband groans as he reluctantly gets up from the couch, standing in front of you.

"Do you ever rest?" His hands grip your hips as he sways them a bit.

"Yes, but only during a full moon," you tease with a smile.

"That tracks," you let out a squeak of a shock. He turns you around and carries you bridal style.

"I'll have you know that I'm working because I want to," your arms automatically curl around his neck. Steve takes the bags from your hands and puts them as far up on his arms as possible.

"Mhmm, puff y'know Harley and June don't need set after set of pajamas, he remarks as you begin to walk out of the office.

"But they're cute~."

[deliciousangelfestival]

My Problematic Girl - 11

Character: College!Steve Rogers x Rich!Female Reader

Summary:  Steve has lived being nobody in this prestigious university. He just wants to graduate and get a job to get more money to pay the bills for his mother's surgery. But his life turned upside down when a new student attended his class. His quiet and dull life became dangerous and full of surprises.

My Problematic Girl - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

The following day, Steve woke up early, as usual. After getting ready, he went to prepare the medicine for his mother.

Once everything was set, he headed to his benefactor’s apartment, a woman he admired and resented. Seeing her struggle with nightmares recently had stirred a sense of pity in him.

He knocked on her apartment door. "Knock, knock!"

“Come in,” her voice called from inside.

He entered and saw her being attended to by a makeup artist and hairstylist.

“Great, you’re here,” she said, glancing at him through the mirror.

“Do you have an event to attend?” Steve asked, noticing the formal preparations. He knew she liked parties, but this seemed different.

“We’re going to the Solomon banquet,” she informed him, her eyes returning to her reflection.

“We?” Steve repeated, a hint of surprise in his voice.

She pointed towards the couch where a suit was hanging. “That’s your outfit.”

Steve sighed. “Why are you including me in this?”

“They want to meet the artist who received half a million dollars in less than a month. I’m sure you’ll find potential buyers at this event,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

With another sigh, Steve unzipped the garment bag. Inside was a designer suit and bowtie. He changed into it, feeling the quality of the fabric as it fit him perfectly.

“Does it fit you? If not, I’ll order another suit,” she said from across the room, glancing over her shoulder.

“It fits,” Steve replied, not wanting to burden her with unnecessary expenses, knowing how expensive the suit already was.

“Good. Next, I want you to remember some important names,” she said, turning back to the mirror as the makeup artist continued their work.

“Huh?” Steve didn't understand what she meant until he saw the binder handed to him by her stylist. Opening it, he saw photos with names and job positions. His eyes widened—these were all the guests attending the Solomon banquet.

Flipping through the pages, he exclaimed, “Are you insane? This is a lot! And you’re just giving it to me now?”

“It’s not difficult,” she replied nonchalantly.

Steve rolled his eyes, knowing it was futile to argue with her.

“You can’t be clueless about the people you’ll meet there. None of them will be wearing ID badges,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, trying to memorize the guest information.

“You have two hours,” she added.

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” she said, her tone amused.

Steve approached her and saw her wearing a black dress with long sleeves, which he knew was to cover the scars and tattoos on her arms. The simplicity of the dress was contrasted by the elegant diamond necklace shaped like a snake.

“By the way, you’re not afraid of heights, are you?” she asked.

“No,” Steve replied. “Why do you ask?”

He should have known better. Soon, he felt a cold sweat forming and his fists clenching as he realized what was happening. He closed his eyes tightly.

“You said you weren’t scared of heights,” her voice came through the headphones.

“I did. This is my first time flying in a helicopter,” Steve admitted, still keeping his eyes shut. She hadn't mentioned they would be traveling by helicopter.

He heard her laughing while he desperately hoped the helicopter would land soon.

🚁🚁🚁🚁

Steve's heart finally started beating normally again after the helicopter landed at the Solomon residence. The mansion was the largest he had ever seen, an architectural marvel that spoke of old money and long-standing power. The pristine gardens, the sprawling estate, and the impressive line of luxury vehicles and helicopters signaled the status of its guests.

This was the first elite party he had ever attended, and the grandeur of it all left him momentarily speechless.

“Close your mouth, Steve,” Y/N said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Steve did as instructed, feeling like a child amazed by Christmas lights. The interior of the mansion was even more opulent, with chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, priceless art adorning the walls, and finely dressed attendees mingling with an air of practiced elegance. He couldn’t help but notice the curious and scrutinizing gazes of many guests directed at Y/N and himself.

“They’re looking at you,” Steve whispered, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“The stray daughter comes home,” she replied, her tone laced with sarcasm.

They continued walking until they saw Maximus Solomon, the family patriarch, seated in his wheelchair. Though physically frail, his eyes were sharp and commanding. Beside him stood his daughter, Sophia, a middle-aged woman with an air of affluence and authority, and her daughter, Sarah.

Sophia, dressed in an elegant evening gown adorned with sparkling jewelry, greeted guests with a practiced smile. When she spotted Y/N, she whispered something to her daughter before excusing herself and walking toward them.

Sophia opened her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Y/N, I’m so glad you could be here.”

Y/N put on a fake smile. “Me too. I want to slit your throat.”

“Ohohoho, funny as always,” Sophia responded with a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “Your grandpa is waiting for you. You should go see him. I’ll accompany your friend.”

Steve felt a bit abandoned as Y/N walked away, but he squared his shoulders and tried to maintain his composure.

Sophia turned to him with a polite smile, breaking the ice. “I finally get to meet the artist who has been the hottest topic.”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to have someone like you know me,” Steve replied, trying to keep his nerves in check.

Sophia chuckled, her gaze appraising. “Polite young man. As you know, I have a gallery too. I could give you an offer that’s better than Y/N’s.”

Steve felt a mix of surprise and unease. He wasn’t used to such direct propositions, especially from someone as influential as Sophia. “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Solomon. Y/N has been very supportive of my work.”

“Of course,” Sophia said smoothly, her eyes never leaving his. “But opportunities like this don’t come around often. Think about it, Steve. You have potential, and I can help you reach heights you’ve never imagined.”

Steve nodded, trying to mask his discomfort with a polite smile. “I’ll definitely consider it.”

Sophia’s smile widened, satisfied with his response. “Good. Now, let’s enjoy the evening, shall we? There are many people here who would love to meet you.”

As they moved through the grand halls, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling of being a small fish in a large, wealthy pond.

@cherrybubblebullet

Author Note: I know this chapter feels like a filler, but I feel like I need to keep writing to regain my inspiration. 😔

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[alcalystrasz]

(This has been said a lot but idc)

He loses his bestfriend, he's destroyed and he cries because he thinks he's dead and he's going to blame himself because he'll think it's his fault. The song in the background is Heroes. And the lyrics, at this precise moment are:

"And we kissed, as though nothing could fall. And the shame, [changing to Joyce and Jonathan] the shame was on the other side."

Which is a clear queer coding. That means that Mike and Will kissed (= spent time together, very close) as though nothing could fall (= nothing could go wrong), and the shame (= of being gay) was on the other side (= the Upside Down, where Will is. Because he's the obvious gay one). And it changed to Joyce and Jonathan because they're Will's family.

And now, let's skip to Season 3:

This hug, from end of season 3 is a clear parallel of the first one we saw on season 1. His face isn't obviously the same. In season 1, we can see he's sad, crying and he hugs his mom desperately. But season 3, shows a confused, emotionless Mike who hugs his mother like he's in shock. Why's that? Well...

The parallel is to show Mike's feelings. In the end of season 3, when El kisses Mike, his eyes are wide open, he doesn't move and when she's done and leaves he doesn't move, instead he looks on the side with a super confused and shocked face. And in the original script (sorry couldn't find it), we saw that Mike's reaction was like this because it was written:

What is wrong with me?

So it was meant for him to be that way (and btw Finn played it well). And then, when Hopper reads his letter to El, we can hear his voice with scenes showing up. And when he says:

"And if I'm being really honest, I don't want things to change."

Mike looks back at Will's house before leaving with his bike.

This is a lowkey queer coding. Change is the liking boys realization from Mike's side. And why Hopper says "I don't want things to change" ? Because the change means the behavior change for Mike. He'll feel like a mistake, just like Will, he'll feel different, incapable of liking a girl like every other boys his age...

So what I'm trying to say is. That these two scenes are parallels to show Mike's improvement and changement over the seasons. Season 1 he was sad because of the loss of his bestfriend. But why would we only see Mike's POV and not Dustin's or Lucas' ? They also cared about Will. No, we only see Mike's because he's Will's love interest. And in Season 3 we see a total confused Mike hugging his mother, trying to understand what happened. Because what happened is that he understood, he finally admitted he was in love with Will. Why's that? Well, first he's confused by El's I love you, and kiss. Then he looks back at Will's house, knowing he just left. And finally he hugs his mom trying to figure out what's wrong with him. Cause he thinks there's something wrong with him, as seen in the script (try to find it yourself, cause I couldn't. But I remember sawing it on Twitter 'X' !). And it's even more possible because Mike's introduction in season 4, has a lot of queer coding. I'll try to list them all.

Rainbows on the letter (= signifies lgbtq+), One Way arrow pointing to an open closet (= one way arrow -> "only possible thing/explanation", open closet -> he's out to himself), Poster with a naked Dragon (= just like Steve or Billy, straight boys, have, almost naked women, on their walls, Mike has almost naked character, men and animals from dnd), poster from a movie with an almost naked man (= to understand he likes them naked, just a gay thing I guess ;-;). For this last point, yes there's also a woman almost naked, however since the movie is about men, being way superior to women (that's the movie don't blame me, and I can't remember its name, sorry), I'm not sure he'd really want to have this woman in particular in his room.

Also there's one of Will's binder under his bed, the same one where there are tons of his drawings and finally, I'd like to end up with Mike literally destroying El's letter when Nancy tells him he's late (who does that?). So yeah that's all I could find, there's probably more, which needs more attention and analysis but I did the minimum let's say.

So all of this, to say that season 1 and 3 hugs were parallels of Mike's feelings, and that the season 3's is more possible when we notice the character introduction of Mike in season 4. So yeah, he really had a Gay realization over there!