#steve binder x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elvisabutler · 10 months

Text

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.

94 notes · View notes

floralcyanide · 9 months

Text

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 ✿

58 notes · View notes

starboybutler · 1 year

Text

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.

#elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis x reader #jerry schilling x reader #steve binder x reader #elvis presley #jerry schilling #steve binder #elvis 2022 #agere #age regression

64 notes · View notes

nicoline1998enilocin · 3 months

Text

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.

#fluffbruary 2024 #anyfandomaubingo #lgbtqbingo #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha #natasha fanfiction #natasha x female reader #natasha x reader #natasha fluff

357 notes · View notes

wasawattpadkid · 1 year

Text

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

#billy loomis #ghostface #slashers #scream #scream 1996 masterlist #scream 1996 #billy loomis ghostface #billy loomis masterlist #billy loomis x reader #stu ghostface #stu macher x reader #stu macher #poly!ghostface #ghostface x female reader #ghostface x reader #ghostface smut

2K notes · View notes

mrs-illyrian-baby · 4 months

Text

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.

#Loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki/reader #Loki x Reader #Loki fanfic #Loki series #loki marvel #Loki x you #Loki/You #loki fanfiction #Loki smut #The Old Gods and the New #Loki fluff #loki x female reader #loki angst

111 notes · View notes

oftenwantedafton · 2 months

Text

Personal Space - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

Tuesday morning.

Steve decides to try to show you around the computer programs that are used the most frequently. He appreciates technology; how could he not, given his engineering background? But he’s a creature of habit. He likes the old tech that’s familiar, comfortable. It’s the reason he hasn’t let them switch out his computer or phone for something newer. The electronic typewriter on the table behind his desk still sees a lot of use. He likes the old adage “If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.” Nothing wrong with innovation. He admires that. But. When it comes to this job. Well, he just prefers the tried and true methods.

He’s still not an expert on the new scheduling program. He doesn’t use it much. But he figures he might as well try to show you. Every time he moves the mouse to click on something he finds himself on the wrong screen. Confusing the menus. He’s getting frustrated already.

“Here, let me try.”

“No, I think I’ve got it…no, that’s not it.”

“Can I just…” You lean over without waiting for a response. Your fingers close over his to guide the mouse.

Raglan inhales sharply. This close, he can smell your fragrance. Something fruity like raspberries, maybe. Your hair is tidy today now that the skies are finally emptied of water. You’re wearing a black pantsuit that fits better than the outfit you’d worn the previous day. The skin on your fingertips is soft. Your eyes are focused on the screen. He should just remove his hand and let you take over. But he’s frozen, immobile. He can’t remember the last time someone’s touched him beyond the courtesy of a handshake.

“There it is. You were close. It’s just a little convoluted…” Your voice trails off as you release his hand, leaning back. Staring. Something’s happening. You hadn’t quite moved back to your original position. Still close. Heat wafting. That sweet scent.

Steve’s mouth goes dry. He struggles to work moisture into it. “Well, good, I guess we don’t need to waste any more time on that, then. I’m going to go make coffee.” Pushing the swivel leather chair away. At last some clearer air. He fusses at the coffee bar. A little clumsy. Nearly drops the pot on the way to the sink. You’ve unnerved him. Not an easy thing to do. He doesn’t like it. He makes sure his seat is further from yours when he settles again. Grabs some binders from the nearby shelf and dumps them on the desk blotter. Something to distract you until the next client arrives.

The untouched coffee seated on the coaster goes cold.

***

Wednesday afternoon. Another workday behind him.

You’re parked closer to his car today. You’d taken his advice and gotten to work earlier.

Steve halts near the rear bumper of yours. He notices an outline of Hello Kitty affixed to the left corner. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns to leave but your voice halts him.

“Are you doing anything? When you get home, I mean.”

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“Want to go get coffee first?”

He frowns. “You don’t drink coffee.”

“Well, I’ll get something else then. Know where to get a decent milkshake?”

“I do, actually.” He’s still hesitating. “We just spent eight hours together. You really want to spend another hour?”

“I don’t know anyone else,” you remind him.

So that was the motivating reason behind it. You were lonely. Homesick already. It was certainly beyond any obligation of his. He was only responsible for you at work. Outside of that was your own affair. But a milkshake actually sounded great. He surrenders. “Alright, let’s go.”

“We can take my car.”

Raglan has a difficult time settling into the passenger seat of the compact. His knees press uncomfortably close to the dashboard.

“The lever to move it back is underneath the seat, in the front…yeah, you got it. I guess that’s as far back as it goes,” you murmur apologetically. The seat only moves a few scant inches. The older man is still quite crammed in. “Um, where are we going?”

“Take a right out of here and head to the second set of lights. I’ll tell you the rest when you get to that point.” He reaches for the shoulder strap of the lap restraint and notices there’s a Hello Kitty cushion velcroed over it.

“Is your masculinity threatened yet?” You glance over at him as you reverse the car out of the parking spot.

“Hardly,” he responds drily.

“How come you know who Hello Kitty is, anyway?”

“My daughter.”

“How old is she?

“Around your age.”

“Do you have other children?”

“Yes.”

“How old are they? Are they home with your wife or…”

“No. I live alone.”

“Oh.” You exit the parking lot. There’s a fair amount of traffic this time of the afternoon. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine.” It’s not, actually. But you couldn’t possibly know the reason why. So he’ll accept your apology in good faith.

“So where are we going, anyway?”

“A diner.”

“Do you go there a lot?”

“Everyone does. It’s something of a local attraction. That’s it there on your left.”

Steve sighs in relief when he’s able to extricate himself from your cramped vehicle. There are a lot of cars in the parking lot. Probably better off getting something to go. Which meant getting back into the sardine can again right after. Great.

“It’s so cute!”

Raglan grunts, watching you take in the chrome trim, red vinyl seating and checkerboard patterned flooring. Classic 50s styling.

As he’d predicted, there’s a line for seating. “We’ll get drinks to go, okay? Otherwise we’ll be waiting forever.” You nod. “Flavors are up there on the right.” He points to a row of signs with red printing. You protest when he pulls out his wallet after you order and he waves the argument away. “I’ve got it. You can treat me next time.” You look a little too pleased with the promise that there will be a next time and he inwardly curses. He has to be more careful with his wording.

He doesn’t even know why he’s going through this charade at all. He should have just declined and gone home.

Steve jams himself back into the passenger seat and takes a sip of his shake, the burst of sweetness on his tongue mollifying him a bit. Well, he guesses it was maybe worth it. Maybe.

“So since I told you about my family, why don’t you tell me about yours. Siblings?”

“None. Oh, that is good. I get why this place is so popular.” You take another long swallow. “It’s just me and my parents.”

Well, that conversation dead ended quickly. He tries to adjust his knees. He knows he’s going to have bruises before this evening is over.

“Let me ask you something. How do you think I’m doing so far? Be honest.”

He looks at you. “You’re performing adequately.”

“Adequately,” you repeat. “That’s it?”

“You’ve barely just begun. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Just not ‘adequately’. What can I do to improve?”

Raglans frowns. “Your handshake is too weak, for one thing.”

“So show me the right way to do it.” You settle your cup into the center console’s holder and the older man mirrors your movements.

He hesitates a moment longer, then reaches out to take your hand. As expected your grip is very tentative. Also cool from the chilled drink. “Harder. Be confident. It will automatically help you when you begin the conversation.”

He feels your fingers tighten, exerting more pressure. Then your hand drops and his goes with it. Still clutching each other, resting on the padded surface between you. Yours so small and soft in his. He withdraws his hand abruptly, jerking free with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, snatching his cup back up and taking a long pull from the straw. Instant brain freeze. He winces.

“How was that?”

“Better.” He busies himself with studying the other cars in the parking lot.

“What else do I need to do to improve?”

“We’ll discuss it at work. I’d like to go home now.”

“Um, okay.”

A silent ride back to the office parking lot. You pull in beside his car.

“Thanks for coming out with me.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Back in his own vehicle. So much roomier.

So much emptier, too.

***

Thursday. There’s a seminar being offered nearby. Steve isn’t really interested, but he thinks you might benefit from it so he agrees to attend with you. Taking one car because it just seems easier. He insists on being the one to drive this time.

“Wow, there’s a cassette player in here. How old is this car, anyway?” You ask, settling inside and drawing the seatbelt strap over your shoulder.

“Old. Like me.” He turns the key in the ignition. The rabbit’s foot swings gently on its chain.

“You’re not that old.”

“That old?”

You grin. He’s starting to like your smile. Soft and sweet and warm. Natural. Genuine.

Once you arrive in the conference center, he allows you to choose where you want to sit. You opt for the back row, occupying the two seats on the end. You’re handed a copy of the PowerPoint presentation. There are lines for taking notes to the right of each printed slide. Steve glances over to see what you’re writing. You’re not. You’re doodling. Drawing. A little cartoon rabbit. He fights the urge to smirk. “Stop that and pay attention,” he hisses. Another smile. There’s no way you’re unaware of how disarming that gesture is.

“It’s for you,” you whisper back, sliding the packet over to him. He hands you his own copy in exchange. Admires the little caricature that is nearly an exact replica of Spring Bonnie, the mascot from the picture on the restaurant coaster in his office. Jaunty bow. Rows of buttons. He stares at it until his vision blurs.

There’s a one hour break for lunch. Fast food has been acquired. Burgers, fries, soda. He chooses a spot at the end of the parking lot. You dip a French fry into sweet and sour sauce. Raglan scowls disapprovingly. “That’s a crime you’re committing right there.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s the salty sweet combo. It’s good. I bet you’ve never even tried it.”

“I don’t need to.”

“You should. It’s not fair to judge it unless you have.” You dip another sliver of fried potato into the plastic cup and hold it before his lips. The pale brown sauce drips down. He takes a reluctant bite. Your fingers brush his tongue in the process. It’s just as you’ve said. Salty. Sweet. You lick the stray dribbles from your fingers, watching his reaction. “It’s good, right?”

He won’t admit it. Just like he refuses to acknowledge he’d liked tasting your skin just then. He stares hard outside the windshield. Lets you babble and grunts noncommittal answers until it’s time to return inside.

Late afternoon. Steve pulls up outside your apartment building to drop you off.

“Thanks. It was fun.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be educational,” he mutters reprovingly.

“Come on, Steve. It was kind of fun, right?” Your head tips back into the cradle of the headrest, watching him.

“Kind of.” His voice is rough.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You struggle with the seatbelt buckle.

“It gets stuck sometimes, here…” He leans over. His fingers collide with yours. The mechanism finally surrenders, releasing. The sound of nylon winding back into place. You make no move to leave. Whatever you were expecting clearly hasn’t happened. “See you tomorrow,” he says gruffly, his fingers wrapping around the steering wheel, dismissing you.

***

Steve had forgotten he’d given you his home phone number. Early on, in case you needed to contact him about something work related.

It surprises him when he hears your voice that Friday evening. He doesn’t get personal calls often. Doesn’t usually get calls period unless it’s from a solicitor. He leans forward, easing off of the cushion against his back on the living room couch. “Are you alright? What time is it?” He’s too embarrassed to admit he’d dozed off. He rubs at sleep bleared eyes, trying to focus his gaze on his wristwatch. Only ten.

“Were you asleep? Did I wake you?”

“No,” he lies. “Are you alright?” He repeats. He remembers you mentioning you were going out with some of the other employees after work for drinks. He’d politely declined the invite. He never goes out to socialize. “You didn’t drive home drunk, did you?”

“Yes. No.” A sigh. It’s loud in his ear. Your mouth is very close to the receiver. “I can’t sleep.”

He frowns, leaning back. “You seriously called me in the middle of the night to tell me you have insomnia?”

“It’s not the middle of the night,” you protest. “How early do you usually go to bed?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Are you mad? You sound upset. I hate it when you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not upset. Just confused. What do you expect me to do about it? Drink a glass of of warm milk.”

“That’s so gross!”

“Count sheep. Put some television on in the background, I don’t know what you want from me. Take a shower.”

“I just took a bath.”

“Oh.” An image of you swathed in bubbles shoved from his thoughts just as quickly as it appears. “Well how did it go tonight, anyway?”

“It was kind of boring, to be honest. They’re kind of boring.”

“They’re you’re coworkers. You should try to get along with some of them, at the very least. In case you ever need—”

“—I wish you had gone.”

His hand tightens on the receiver. “I don’t see what possible difference it would have made.”

“Because then someone I actually wanted to talk to would have been there.”

He doesn’t have a response for that. Doesn’t really comprehend any of what’s happening beyond you being inebriated and lonely. Again, not his problem.

“I think you should try to sleep now.”

“Okay, I guess. If that’s what you think I should do.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re sure you’re not mad?”

“Starting to be,” he mutters.

“Wait, Steve, really?” You suddenly sound sober.

“Forget it. Just get some rest. I’ll see you Monday.” He hangs up the phone, deciding on a shower before bed.

Comforter and top sheet flipped back and he’s tucked beneath both. Eyes snapping back open as soon as they’re closed. Staring up into the void. Sleep eluding his capture.

***

A new week of work begins.

You arrive looking well rested. If you’re at all embarrassed about the other evening’s phone call it doesn’t show. Maybe you’d even forgotten it. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to dwell on it.

“Can we eat outside today? It looks nice by the pond.” You let the blinds snap back into place and rejoin him behind the desk.

“You can have lunch wherever you want.”

“You’ll come with me, though, right? I don’t want to eat by myself.”

“Maybe.” He’s not committing himself to that. “You need to focus on the task at hand right now. The next client is coming in soon. You’re going to be leading the discussion.”

You nod, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “How do I look?”

“Nervous.”

You frown.

“Poised, articulate, confident. Those are the three qualities you need. Even if you’re not feeling them, you should exude them.”

You blink, looking surprised. “You want me to lie?”

“Sometimes lying is the correct choice. The only choice,” he adds.

“That’s…I don’t even know. Give me one example of when it’s better to lie.”

“Fine. Say a young child’s lost their parent in a violent death. Isn’t it kinder to say they went to sleep, they’re in heaven with loved ones, watching over them, whatever platitude people like to spout, as opposed to telling them they were murdered, hacked to pieces by some serial killer?”

“Geez, that’s really dark.”

He shrugs. “You wanted an example.”

You shake your head. “I still don’t think people should lie.”

Steve grunts. “Do as you like. I’m only trying to give you pointers to ensure your success.”

“Do you lie a lot?”

Oh, what a question. If you only knew. “Yes.”

“To me?”

“What would I lie to you about?”

You squirm in your seat. “I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“But why? Why would you?”

He sighs. His fingers drum on the desk blotter. The conversation is becoming tedious. He wishes the applicant would hurry up and make an appearance. “For the same reason as the example I gave you. For your own good.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not supposed to. Where the hell is this woman? Maybe I should have reception give her a call. See if she forgot, got tied up or…”

“Steve.”

The drumming fingers still. “What?”

“I don’t want you to lie to me. I’m not a child.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

“Is it because of my car?”

You’re trying to make light of the situation and it irritates him to no end. “It’s everything. Everything about you screams immature. Your appearance. Your demeanor. And yes, that ridiculous car. Getting drunk and calling me up.” He sees you wince but he barrels forward. “Even asking me for permission to eat outside. Take some initiative. Be an adult and make a decision on your own.”

The light, teasing tone evaporates. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice is faint, barely audible.

“Friends? We’re not friends. We’re coworkers. That’s it. I didn’t volunteer for this. You were foisted upon me. All because you had some preconceived notion that I was going to be some ideal instructor for you to follow. You shouldn’t even be here. You belong up north. Back with your parents. Whatever friends you had there. There’s nothing for you here.”

It’s like a floodgate has been opened. He knows he’s being unnecessarily cruel. It’s hardly the first time. So why does he feel so guilty for saying these things to you?

Your eyes are getting shiny. Making him feel even more uncomfortable. “Don’t even think about crying. I’m not dealing with th—” The phone rings, interrupting his next tirade. “Raglan. Great. Yeah, find a block to reschedule.” He hangs up, glancing at you. “She cancelled. We’re free until the afternoon now. After lunch.”

You nod, averting your gaze.

“I’m going outside.” He doesn’t wait for a response, grabbing his lunch tote and heading for the elevator. He punches the down arrow with more force than necessary. Stupid, feeling remorse. Over some new hire. Who was immature and overly sensitive. He was doing you a favor. The real world was not a kind place. You needed to toughen up. The training wheels had to come off sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.

The career counselor settles onto one of the shadier picnic tables. Doesn’t even bother unzipping the bag. He’s looking out at the water. A pair of mallards and a row of offspring following. Gentle quacks. Preening feathers. Beaks dipping for a drink.

You sit beside him. Drop a plastic shopping bag on the weathered wood. Make no move to open it, staring at the pond.

“I brought you a brownie.”

He blinks, looking over at you. Your gaze is still focused on the scenery. You sniffle. He thinks some of those tears made good on their threats and escaped after he’d left you in his office.

“Thank you,” he says stiffly.

You nod. “I’m not…I’m not really hungry.”

“Neither am I. I’m going to go for a walk.” He stands. Glances at your seated form. “You can come along, if you want.”

You rise from the bench. Still not making eye contact. The older man begins walking. The trees grow thicker the further away from the pond you travel, a dense stand that reaches back to the edge of the property. Conservation land that can’t be developed. Sunlight struggling to reach through the leaves. Dappled shadows. He likes it better here. Too fair skinned for all that light beaming down. Better in the cool green shade. The pond is no longer in sight. Even the office building is out of his field of view. In truth he’s never been back this far.

Steve halts abruptly and you stumble to stop beside him, nearly tripping over a tree root. What he means to do is simply break your fall. Curse you out for being clumsy. But his body has other intentions. The arm that was to be a barrier curling around you. Pulling you against him.

It’s not in him to say he’s sorry. He’s not one to apologize. He thinks it’s a sign of weakness. A degradation of character. Erosion of pride. He won’t allow it.

Your back rests against his chest. He hadn’t set a very brisk pace. More of a leisurely stroll. But now he finds it hard to breathe. The harsh rasp of it echoing loudly. His arm is still wrapped around you. Both of your hands curled over it. His lips pressed against your hair. Inhaling the scent buried there. Strawberry shampoo. He releases you gently. Doesn’t push you away, merely loosens his grip. Feels your hands hesitating over his dropping arm. Reluctant to let go. You turn to face him. His lips part as if to speak. What will he say now? What can he possibly say?

He says nothing. The coward’s way out. He turns back in the direction of the pond. You follow beside.

The trees keep this secret.

#william afton x you #william afton x reader #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #dividers credit @ saradika-graphics

70 notes · View notes

myobmaya · 2 years

Text

Reading Glasses

Description: Rainy days and Steve Harrington. You love your boyfriend but your boyfriend in glasses? Enough said.

Who: Steve Harrington x AFAB! Reader

Warning: Smut, fluff, feelings (?), breeding kink. hand job. P in V sex. Cursing. Did I mention Steve is wearing glasses bc got damn

Lyrics in photo: Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran

—————-

It started raining last night. An overcast head that turned into a light drizzle. You remember falling asleep to the sound of the rain just outside and Steve’s heartbeat just below your ear as you laid on his bare chest.

Now waking up to the soft tumbling rain drops against the window you feel content that it wasn’t the bright sunny morning waking you up for a change. You didn’t have to turn to know Steve was already up for the day. He was the early riser. Taking on a manager role and having to be the one to get the day started you grew accustomed to the empty side of the bed in the mornings.

Yet, it still didn’t ever fill the ever needing void of you wanting to wake up with him beside you and in you.

Trailing out of bed you automatically picked up his shirt from last night and covered your body with it. Undergarments weren’t necessarily as you opted out of them heading straight to the bathroom to brush your teeth. As if the slight limp in your walk wasn’t enough, the marks on your neck were a clear reminder of the long night you had with Steve. You didn’t mind as you pulled the shirt down far enough to see his love assault continued down to your chest. Looks like you’ll be wearing turtle necks to work again this week.

Steve sat in the living room at his desk that was pushed against the corner of the wall. The morning sun didn’t give him much to work with so the small lamp that set upon the desk was in use. It gave him just enough light to see his work in the darkened room. He studied the numbers in front of him as you finished waking up in the bedroom. Since his promotion he prided himself in having work ready the Sunday before his weekly shift began. For once in his career life he felt like he was right where he needed to be and he wanted to keep that feeling for as long as it could be held.

His fingers worked along the paper before flipping a page to make sure things were adding up correctly. Unfortunately for him, they weren’t. Taking the lenses that rested in his nose, Steve took them off to run a frustrated hand through his hair before setting them back on his face. As Steve aged, his sight did as well and a couple years after graduating high school he found himself with glasses.

The man didn’t wear them when he didn’t have too. In fact he only wore them when he was home and doing his reports. It’s not like he needed it when he was on the floor at work sealing new deals, nor did he need them to drive. He never did his end of week reports at the office so he found it more sensible to keep them at his home desk where he knew he could always find them in the same spot every time.

You stood by the doorway just in time to catch him taking what would be his final “look through” from his work. A smile instantly on your face and butterflies erupting in your stomach seeing Steve. He always looked so handsome.

You knew about the rare occasions that he wore them. Something about the way it made him look so domesticated. So soft. How it added something more to him. You openly stated to him how you wished he’d wear them more on more than one occasion that would just lead him to laugh it off.

A few moments passed by and you watched as his eyebrows furrowed before Steve closed the binder pushing it away. An aggravated sigh left him as his hands ran up his face and under his glasses before settling down. He let out a yawn and leaned back with arms outstretched. He looked around the room, doing a double take seeing you.

Happiness replaced his annoyance as he swiveled his chair to face you, keeping his arms open. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he lifted his hand towards you, inviting you over. On que he took a hand into yours and guided you to sit on his lap. Your legs sat behind the back of the chair as he leaned back gazing at you causing a faint shade of red to paint your cheeks. It didn’t matter how long you’ve been together he always managed to make you feel so loved and beautiful by a simple look.

“Sleep okay, sleepyhead?”

“Would have been better to have woken up with you beside me, boss man” You grinned leaning in to give him a quick kiss. Steve sighed nodding in agreement. His eyes glanced over to the paperwork on his desk and you could see the aggravation behind his eyes. You shrugged letting him know you knew what he was doing the whole time you slept in.

“Did you at least get everything figured out? The sales matched up correctly?” Steve hummed out a small reply as you smoothed his hair back. You knew his mannerisms well enough to know he wouldn’t stop going over his work until he felt it was correct.

“You work too hard.”

Steve only shrugged as he looked up at you. A ghost of a smile on his face as he took in the hickies on your neck knowing he left a trail that was hidden under the shirt. You worked to fix the part in his hair back in place. He looked down at your bare legs and could see where he sucked a few hickies on your thighs making his mind remember the noises he got out of you.

You graze your fingertips across his forehead sweeping the hair out of his eyes. He doesn’t say a word as you trail them down his face and right over the side of his glasses until they’re resting on the back of his head. Giving him a few light scratches that cause a smile to grace his face.

You didn’t pay too much attention to the way his fingers began to run up and your thighs. One of Steve’s love languages was touch so it was almost second nature for you to constantly feel him. Steve stared down at your legs aimlessly tracing the marks he left, “I work to provide a future for you. For me. For our family”

The family talk was one you and Steve have had. You knew he wanted children so the topic wasn’t a stranger to you. Still, every time he brought it up it was always a reminder to you that you both were growing older and the time would be getting closer. You took the opportunity seeing his focus still on your lap kissed his forehead. “Family you say?“

Steve’s eyes were now focused on where his shirt ended on your upper thigh. He had his suspicions you weren’t wearing panties but when he casually flipped the material up and saw your bare mane his question was answered. The intention to have a repeat of the night prior wasn’t initially there. Yet, Steve could never get enough of you.

“Yeah I want nothing more than to come home,” he looked up at you and kissed you lightly. “See you with a swollen bump,” his nose trailed down to your neck and peppered kisses down it. “Knowing everyone that sees you,” he made his way to your ear and his tongue took the lobe into his mouth. “Knows it’s was me,” he released it and turned your head over so he could suck on the back of your ear. “That filled you up.”

You both know where this is heading and you happily continue it on as he grows confident in his assault across your neck. You grip his sweater in your hands and take it off of him meeting your cold hands with his warm chest.

“I think you did enough of that last night, Mr. Harrington,” you bite your lip leaning forward and placing a kiss on his chest. His hands move from the back of your waist to your hips as he adjusts himself below you. His legs spread wider causing you to feel the effect you have on him against your bare core as you tighten your hold on him.

“Mhmmm,” Steve groaned out. “I think filling you up with my cum one more time will really get my point a across.”

Your hands find the waistband of his sweats and grip him. He feels you smile against his collarbone when he lets out a groan. His grip tightens and you’re sure a bruise will be there by morning but you don’t care. Your thumb sweeps over his tip and you pull him out of pants. Steve breathes heavily as you look up at him through your lashes keeping him in your hand.

Your eyes never leave as you give him a smile. Steve swears you could be a glimpse into Heaven from the way his desk light shines from behind you giving you an innocent shadow despite the sinful things you’re about to him. Gathering saliva from your mouth you keep eye contact as you spit on his cock. Steve’s eyes scrunch up and his head rolls back as you pump him gathering your spit to spread across his hard on.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Steve moans out. He runs a hand through already messy hair pulling on the ends as he watches your hand on him. Your thumb runs across the dribble of precum leaking down his tip, slicking him up. After a few more pumps you lift your hips and run the head of his cock up and down your slit making him feel how wet you are

Keeping the base of his cock steady you fill yourself up with him and settle back down hearing Steve let out a stream of curses. “Feel s’good,” he mumbles out lifting the shirt up to your hips to see you taking him fully. You stay like that for a few moments knowing just how much he loves to see you stuffed full of him.

“I want you to put a baby in me, Steve,” you give him a longing kiss making sure to swipe your tongue across his bottom lip. You move your hips forward and Steve gives you a whiney moan. His hands guide you up and you’re back down on him setting a pace that makes you both cry at the pleasure.

He takes the shirt off your body and throws it across the room. Something falls in the distance but neither of you care to give any attention to it the moment his mouth is on your chest. You grind yourself down on him relieving some pressure your clit was aching for. His tongue circles around your nipple. He sucks on it then releases it with a blow of his mouth causing yo hot let out a delicious moan.

Steve hears the hiccup of your breath and the way your stomach starts to contort in the way that lets him know you’re close. He sucks his fingers in his mouth getting them nice and wet and places them right beneath where you meet.

“Fuck,” you stutter out as his finger moves your clit. Steve groans feeling himself about to lose it just watching the way you fuck yourself down on him.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Milk this cock. It’s all for you.”

He encourages you taking your nipple back in his mouth nodding his head. You close your eyes feeling your body catch up to all the sensations overtaking you.

Steve keeps his hand on your core and takes his other hand to smack your ass. Your fingertips dig into his shoulder and leaving angry red crescent marks. You don’t care. Steve doesn’t care. All that he wants is for you to come all over him.

“I need you to come, sweetheart,” Steve is practically begging now. “Cream this fucking cock so I can cum in you.” Steve watches as your jaw goes slack and your head tosses back. You don’t get a chance to lose your pace because Steve’s hands are right there to continue it so your pleasure can hit you full force. “Let me come inside that pretty pussy.” The coil in your stomach snaps and you’re crying out as he helps you ride through your orgasm.

Watching you in such a beautiful messy state Steve feels himself contract and as you’re coming down from your high he’s reaching his. You feel him paint your walls white and take the opportunity to help him ride our his finish.

“Fuck, honey,” Steve whimpers out as he fights to catch his breath. You both let out one final moan as you grind down on him one last time and crash against his chest. His arms wrap around you as you feel the sweat of him against your cheek but you don’t care.

He stays inside of you as he lazily traces circles on your back as you both come down to earth. Your eyes search the room and fall on some newspapers scattered on the floor. A giggle leaves you and Steve lets out a hiss feeling you tighten around him. It causes you to laugh harder and he’s laughing now knowing you know what you’re doing.

“You threw my shirt like a baseball,” you tease him nudging towards the papers on the floor. Steve kisses the top of your head and rolls his eyes.

“Wasn’t a problem when I had-“

You raise your head and smack his chest preventing him from finishing that sentence. He’s laughing again and so are you. After a few moment the laughter stops and all that’s heard is the gloomy weather outside. Steve quietly says your name and you look at him. He has a guilty look on his face and before you can even question him he gives you a sad smile.

“I’ll do better.” You give him a confused look but he just kisses you. “I want to wake up with you. I’m sorry I don’t. I’ll work on it, sweetheart. I promise.”

You only nod and give him a hopeful smile knowing that Steve Harrington is a man of his word. Wordlessly, you gently take the glasses from his eyes and set them on his desk. Happiness spreads throughout your chest seeing his bare eyes. You loved him in glasses, but his bare face was always a win. He presses your head against his neck as you watch the rain continue it’s mark on the windows. Before you know it your eyes are heavy and you fall asleep there with him still inside of you.

When you wake up again a few hours later you’re in your bed. Marks are on your body. The phantom feeling of your lover is still inside of you. And the rain is still falling. It’s almost as if it’s deja vu. Except this time, the other side of the bed is filled and Steve Harrington is sound asleep beside you.

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x y/n smut #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington fic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington drabble

2K notes · View notes

elvisabutler · 11 months

Text

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.

#elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #steve binder x reader #steve binder x you #steve binder x y/n #ally's wet hot smut summer #ally writes #maybe that's the right amount of tags?#who knows.

132 notes · View notes

floralcyanide · 2 years

Text

One for the Money, Two for the Show

Steve Binder x Elvis Presley x Reader Smut

>> so I've had this idea for a while now and I'm just now finishing it! I've mentioned writing this a few times on my blog and everyone seemed really excited about it, so I hope everyone enjoys this!! I stopped proofreading towards the end because my brain just stopped wanting to work, so if there are mistakes, please let me know (:

pairing: Steve Binder x Elvis Presley x reader

warnings: smut, threesome, overstimulation, nipple play (brief), oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex, double penetration, MINORS DNI, mentions of assassination, death.

word count: 4577

masterlist || add yourself to the taglist HERE!

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

If you could choose one person in the world to be your favorite, it would be your boyfriend, Steve. Despite his sarcasm and quick wit, he’s kind, understanding, and patient. Steve keeps to himself for the most part- he doesn’t have much to say if the conversation isn’t interesting to him or beneficial in some way. Until he meets Elvis, that is. The two of them can talk about anything, whether it’s business or not. They just flow naturally when conversing, much like you and Steve. It makes you happy to see your boyfriend opening up to someone else, especially someone as outgoing as Elvis. Usually, extroverts made Steve weary, but there’s just something about Elvis. And you’ve picked up on it too.

Elvis had called Steve personally to discuss a comeback special on NBC. He wanted Steve and his co-producer, Bones Howe, to help him put it together how he wanted it. Elvis’ promotional manager, Colonel Tom Parker, prefers a Christmas special as Elvis’ big comeback. But the singer has other plans. And he knows that Steve and Tom are the people to help him carry out those plans. The three of them, along with Jerry Schilling and the rest of the Memphis Mafia, had met to discuss the comeback special further. You didn’t tag along like you usually do when Steve has a business meeting, but he told you about it. You’re going to make sure to be at the filming of the special no matter what. You want to meet the one and only Elvis Presley.

It’s the day of filming the beginning sequence of the special, and you’re standing next to Steve in the production booth, which has an excellent view of the entire studio area. You both watch as Elvis makes his way to the small stage in the middle of the said studio, clad in a leather jumpsuit. He looks undeniably good in it- the leather hugs everything on his body. Everything.

“I suggested the leather outfit when we discussed the special,” Steve says to you as he fiddles with his cigarette, “We needed something raw and dirty.”

“It’s definitely raw and dirty, alright,” you say breathlessly, and Steve smirks from his seat, “But I wonder if he’s as dirty as people make him seem.”

Steve glances up at you and takes a long drag of his cigarette, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You shrug innocently, “Wouldn’t everyone?”

Steve just hums in response with a somewhat smug look on his face before focusing back on filming the performance.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here’s Elvis Presley!” Bones announces from the small stage, allowing Elvis to replace his position.

Elvis takes a moment to prepare himself before grabbing his guitar. He shakes himself out and takes some deep breaths. When he’s finally ready, a shaky hand reaches up to the microphone as he begins singing Jailhouse Rock. This is his first time performing in front of an audience in years, and in just the first few minutes, everyone in the room is hooked. The way Elvis is moving and singing like he never stopped is captivating. He exudes confidence, and the audience is eating it up. Everyone in the production booth is silent, watching as Elvis’ comeback is in full swing.

“Well, that was energetic,” one of the men from the Singer Sewing Company comments, and his boss side eyes him with a displeased look. You try not to snicker from beside Steve.

Elvis plunges into the next song, just as passionate as before. You roll your eyes as the boss of the sewing company makes a few comments about how Elvis has yet to sing any Christmas songs. He also points out that he wasn’t wearing their Christmas sweater. You bite your tongue to hold back words you know Steve would disapprove of in the workplace. The Colonel abruptly leaves the booth with his assistant following close behind, assumingly going to stop the performance. You turn to go after him, but Steve grabs your wrist and gives a warning glare. You frown, sighing in defeat as you shake off Steve’s grip. Thankfully, after a few minutes, nothing happens and the performance continues.

After a few more songs, Elvis is now discussing how happy he is to be back on stage and playing what he wants to play. A smile graces your lips at his dedication and genuine love for what he does. Steve looks up at you with a proud look, and you return it, knowing he is happy to be doing this. Pride in one’s work is something Elvis has in common with Steve, as well as their love for what they do, and you think that’s one reason why they click. They understand each other.

The performance wraps up, and the stage is cleared as well as the audience. A few more sets are filmed, such as the Karate and Whorehouse sequences. Now the Gospel number was to be filmed next. Elvis is dressed in a nice red outfit and ready on the platforms awaiting further instruction.

“Bindle-” The Colonel says, out of breath after running back up the stairs to the production booth. You figure he had seen enough at this point.

One thing that pissed you off about the Colonel, other than the obvious manipulation tactics and control he had over Elvis, was the fact he didn’t have enough respect for your boyfriend to call him by the correct name. He referred to Steve as “Bindle” instead of his actual last name. Your thoughts are interrupted by Steve’s commanding voice booming through the booth.

“Cue the gospel number now. Go,” Steve demands through his microphone.

Elvis begins singing and making his way down the platform as the dancers start their movements, much to the Colonel’s dismay.

“No,” he says in disbelief, eyeing the performance in a near panic. “N-none of this will be in the special,” he says to the men from the sewing company.

“Can you make a note that, that should be in the special?” Steve asks Bones, leaning over the soundboard.

The Colonel and the men of the Singer Sewing Machine Company look displeased from their seats, and a part of you is proud of Steve and his headiness. Especially if it means men in power are angry.

“Okay, now let’s segue straight into the whorehouse dancers. Go!” Steve instructs.

“Whorehouse? No,” The Colonel mumbles in protest.

The new footage of the Gospel number merges into the Whorehouse number that had been shot previously. The montage plays on the screens in the production booth, and the entourage of the sewing company begins to show their unhappiness about the situation.

“Now bring in the Kung Fu spectacular,” Steve says, letting the set play on the TV screens in the booth.

“What? Kung Fu?” The Colonel is in utter disbelief.

The businessmen begin to argue with the Colonel, saying he’ll be hearing from their lawyers about the lack of Christmas in the special. They promptly leave, and you smile smugly down at your boyfriend, who mirrors your expression as he flicks the ashes of his cigarette. The pride doesn't last long. Suddenly, the Gospel dancers stop upon someone shouting and running toward them. You can’t determine what they’re yelling until they’re finally in earshot.

“Bobby Kennedy’s been shot!”

At that moment, time seems to freeze. Everyone in the booth frantically looks around at each other before hurrying out of their seats, getting ready to run to Elvis’ dressing room, where the television is. Steve stands up quickly and grabs your hand as the two of you join the others in their pursuit. A few of the dancers, some of the crew, Elvis, Jerry, and you and Steve all pile into the room and huddle around the television. You can hear people screaming and crying in the crowd as they surround Bobby Kennedy, who is lying unconscious on the ground. Tears burn behind your eyes as you grasp Steve’s hand tightly, deeply saddened by what you’re witnessing on the screen. You force yourself to rip your gaze away from the TV and gauge the reactions around you. Elvis is sitting next to the person standing directly beside you, a little hidden from sight. But you can see his eyes are red and watery when the person moves forward slightly. Your heart pangs, almost wanting to reach out and comfort him, but you decide against it.

“Steve,” the floor manager mutters, “We’ve gotta get back to work.”

Steve softly lets go of your hand and takes a few steps ahead, muting the TV before turning to face everyone.

“Listen,” he says quietly, “I uh, just wanna say that this nation is hurting. It’s lost, you know. It needs a voice right now to help it heal. We have to say something,” Steve sniffs, looking up at Elvis with tear-filled eyes, “You have to make a statement, E.P.”

“Mr. Presley doesn’t make statements,” the Colonel interrupts from the back of the room where he’s suddenly appeared, “He sings Here Comes Santa Claus, wishes everyone Merry Christmas, good night.”

The Colonel switches off the television, and everyone silently disperses from the dressing room, including you and Steve. Both of you begrudgingly walk out and head to the stairwell where you can converse privately.

“Why is this happening? Why does this keep happening, Steve?” you put your face in your hands when the door to the stairwell shuts behind you.

This was the second major assassination to happen this year alone. And the two people killed were important to you and Steve, as well as many people in the nation and worldwide. Seeing it happen in real-time makes it worse somehow.

“I don’t know, darling. This world is full of evil people,” Steve frowns, pulling you into his chest as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“Elvis seemed really upset about it. Do you think he’ll say something?” you lift your head and peer into Steve’s eyes, searching for any answers you can get to all of this. But there’s none.

“From what I know about him so far, he definitely won’t stay quiet for long.”

“I wanted to comfort him, Steve,” you say, eyeing the wall beside you, “No one was beside him. He was just sitting there alone.”

“It’s not too late to comfort him. I’m sure the rest of filming today will be easy if there’s any at all. I think he’d appreciate someone showing they care,” Steve says, grabbing hold of your shoulders and looking you in the eyes.

“How do I do it without seeming odd? What should I say or do?” you cast your eyes down.

Steve lifts your head with his hand, “You have a gift of helping people when they need it. Whether it’s words or actions, do anything he asks or anything he needs. It won’t come off as odd, I promise. We need to lift his spirits, Y/N.”

“Anything?” you furrow your brows, asking Steve a silent question.

You know Elvis is known to flirt with just about everyone, and if he’s upset, there’s no telling what may come out of his mouth. What if he needs something you can’t give? Would Steve be okay with you giving that?

“Anything.” Steve raises his eyebrows in seriousness, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

“As long as it’s okay with you,” you bite your lip.

“As much as the situation is bleak, find out how raw and dirty he really is if you have to.”

Steve lets go of you, and the two of you exit the stairwell. You walk back in the direction of Elvis’ dressing room while Steve heads back to the production room. As you walk down the corridor, you pass a pensive-looking Colonel Tom Parker. You hope he didn’t worsen Elvis’ already dampened mood. You look behind your shoulder once you pass him to ensure he doesn’t see you enter the dressing room—all clear.

“Elvis?” you call out, gently knocking on his dressing room door.

“Come in,” he says frustratedly.

You walk into the dressing room, feeling a little out of place since you don’t know Elvis all too well. It was a tad weird being in his personal space all alone.

“I know you don’t know who I am, but I just wanted to make sure you were feeling okay,” you say sheepishly, avoiding direct eye contact with him.

“I know who you are. You’re Steve’s girl, right?” he asks, staring at you through the large mirror as he leans against the vanity.

“Right,” you nod, peering up at Elvis.

He sighs, “I’m alright, darlin’. My manager is just on my case about everything,” he growls.

“I’m sorry,” you say genuinely, taking a step forward in Elvis’ direction, “Is there anything I can do?”

He slowly drags his eyes up and down your body, taking you in, “I have an idea, but your boyfriend wouldn’t like it very much.”

“How do you know?” you ask, catching onto his wandering eyes as warmth spreads to your cheeks, “Steve is obviously very open to people’s ideas.”

Elvis smirks at your words, “You are right about that. But my ideas may not be ones he would consider creative.”

You feel a burst of confidence as you move to sit down in the chair next to you, letting your legs splay open a little. You’re wearing high-waisted pants, so there’s not much to reveal, but the insinuation is still there.

“I’m sure Steve would love to hear these ideas,” you smile, “But for now, I think you need to let out some of your negative emotions.”

“And what negative emotions would I have?” Elvis takes a step towards you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I saw how upset you were earlier,” you say, seriousness taking over your expression, “And you seem more upset now that the Colonel is gone.”

Elvis leans over you, pressing his hands down on the arms of the chair on either side of you. He hums in acknowledgment, eyes raking over your body. You remain still, looking everywhere on his face but his eyes.

“Just how will you go about helping me let out these negative emotions, hmm?” Elvis says, his voice now deeper than before.

“However you need me to, Mr. Presley,” you gulp, staring up at him through your lashes.

“I need you to tell me, sweetheart. What are you offering that’s worth my while?”

Pressing a hand to his exposed chest, you push him away from you, and you stand up from the chair. You walk around behind Elvis and guide him to replace your spot in the yellow accent chair. Once he’s settled in it, you fall to your knees before him.

“I’m offering whatever you want,” you say, “But I have an idea of what you need.”

Wordlessly, Elvis gazes down at you through his impossibly long eyelashes, his pupils darkening at the sight of you pushing up his silken robe. He’s completely bare underneath it, so you don’t have to worry about removing anything. You’ve never done anything like this before. You’re always faithful to your partners and explore a fair amount, but you’ve never gone as far as having sex with someone else other than the person you were in a relationship with. You and Steve have explored your desires in and out of the bedroom, so something like this hasn’t been entirely out of the picture. But you never thought in a million years it’d be Elvis Presley you were quite literally fucking around with. However, Steve gave you permission, so you slowly moved your face closer to Elvis’ cock that’s now hard and against his stomach in front of you.

You lick a long stripe from the base all the way to the tip, where you circle your tongue slowly. Elvis maintains eye contact with you as you do so, a low groan vibrating in his throat. One of his large hands slides through your hair, his fingers gripping softly into your locks. Repeatedly circling his tip teasingly, you suddenly switch gears and take him into your mouth. You use your hand to pump at the other half of his cock that isn’t between your lips. Suddenly, a movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention, but you don’t cease your actions. The dressing room door is slightly creaked open, where you can see Steve peeking through. Your eyes don’t leave his as you let Elvis thrust himself fully into your mouth. He hits the back of your throat, and you let the hand that previously pumped him grip his thigh, your fingers massaging in time with his thrusts.

Elvis notices you stopped making eye contact with him and turns his head to see who you’re looking at. He barely can see Steve but knows it’s him watching.

“It seems we have an audience,” Elvis mumbles, his breath hitching when he hits the back of your throat at a certain angle.

Elvis doesn’t seem to mind Steve is watching- if anything, it made him harder against your tongue. The thought of your boyfriend watching as you took his cock in your mouth is erotic. You hum in response to Elvis’ comment, switching your focus back on his face instead of Steve’s. Quickening your pace, your throat closes around Elvis as he fucks your face incredibly faster. He feels himself twitch and hurries to pull out of your mouth before he cums.

“Wanna cum inside you while your boyfriend watches,” Elvis says hoarsely, his eyes hooded in arousal.

You scramble up from your position on your knees and stand there, waiting for Elvis’ command.

“Why don’t you give me and Steve a little show, hmm? Take off that lovely suit of yours,” he says, lazily pumping himself with his own hand, “Steve, you can come in for the full view.”

A few seconds pass before the door creaks open, revealing a disheveled Steve. He closes the door behind him quietly and remains in his spot behind the chair.

“Have a seat,” Elvis politely motions to the vanity chair despite the situation growing in intensity.

Steve slowly walks over to the vanity and sits down on the chair, taking in your messy hair and ruined makeup with a slight smirk on his face. You wait for him to settle before you begin removing articles of clothing at a slow pace. First, you pull off your blazer, letting it fall to the floor. Then, your blouse underneath, and finally, your pants. Now, you’re in just your underwear in front of Steve and Elvis. Your face burns from the feeling of their eyes drinking in your body.

“Take the rest off, Y/N,” Steve says softly from his spot behind you.

You slip a finger under your bra strap, pulling it down sensually as you connect your eyes with Elvis.

“You’ve got a beautiful lady here, Steve,” Elvis runs his tongue over his bottom lip hungrily, his hand still barely giving his cock attention.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve says, eyeing you from head to toe as you slip your other bra strap down your shoulder before unhooking it all together.

You shimmy out of your underwear and let them slide down your legs where the rest of your clothing is pooled. Now you’re starting to feel nervous being fully revealed in front of not just your boyfriend, but Elvis Presley as well. You aren’t used to so many eyes on you naked at once.

“Come here, darlin’,” Elvis motions for you to come to him, “Gonna ride me like the good girl you are.”

Elvis unties his robe, letting the sides of it lay in the chair by his legs as he reveals his body to you. You walk over to him and throw your legs over his hips, positioning yourself on his thighs. Taking him into your hand, you pump him a few times before raising your hips to line yourself up with his cock. You drag his tip along your arousal. You’re already wet from the fact your boyfriend is about to watch you fuck Elvis Presley. Pushing him in slowly, you adjust to the stretch as every inch enters you. You turn your head to glance behind you, and you see Steve has already untucked himself from his pants as he glides a hand along his cock. You feel Elvis hit your cervix as you take in all of him, wiggling your hips a little to get used to the fullness. Elvis places his hands on your hips, softly digging his fingers into your skin. He starts moving his hips upward, and you gasp at the feeling of him hitting your g spot dead on.

“You look so good on top of me, baby,” Elvis bites his lip as he takes in the sight of you riding him, his hair falling on his forehead as he thrusts into you steadily.

Steve matches his strokes with Elvis’, observing your side profile. The look of pleasure starting to form on your face turns him on. The whole ordeal is turning him on. He starts to think this is the best idea he’s ever come up with. You begin moving your hips along with Elvis’ thrusts, matching his rhythm as Elvis moves his hands from your hips to your breasts. He pinches your nipples, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you. Steve curses under his breath, but you hear it. You make sure to moan like that each time Elvis twists the sensitive buds between his fingers every few seconds. Both men are getting riled up from the sounds you’re letting out. Suddenly, Elvis starts to turn you around in his lap, forcing you to face in Steve’s direction.

“Steve, why don’t you let your lady please you too?” Elvis says, beckoning him to come over to you.

Steve gets up from the vanity chair and walks to you where you’ve now opened your mouth, prepared to take him. You look up at him through your lashes as you grab hold of his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip. Elvis continues his quick thrusts into your impossibly wet pussy, the sound echoing in the dressing room. Steve feels himself harden even more at the sights and sounds in front of him. He runs his fingers through your hair, gripping it as you pull him into your mouth and down your throat. You let him guide your head along his length, gagging lightly when he hits the back of your throat. You feel so full, but in the best way. Both Elvis and Steve were fucking you in both ends, and it feels indescribable. The two of them match their paces, Elvis hitting the sensitive spot inside you simultaneously that Steve was hitting the back of your throat. Tears stream down your face at the overstimulation, but god, it was so good. You feel a knot forming in your stomach, and you know Elvis is nowhere near finished, and neither is Steve, so you try your best to push it away.

“I can feel that you’re close, baby,” Elvis chuckles, running his hand over the curve of your ass before landing a slap directly on it, causing you to surge forward and sending Steve’s cock further down your throat.

You groan in response, holding back your gag reflex. Elvis snakes a hand around to circle your clit, stoking the fire growing in your belly. You pull off of Steve for a moment.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whine, immediately resuming sucking your boyfriend off as you push yourself on Elvis as fast as you can.

“Cum, baby girl. Cum on my cock and let your man watch,” Elvis smirks, not letting up on his assault on your clit as he slams into your g spot.

Stars burst behind your eyes, and your vision goes white as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t stop letting Steve fuck into your mouth, and Elvis is continuing to slap his hips into your ass. If you felt overstimulated before, it was nothing compared to this. Both men don’t let up on their rhythms, still slamming themselves into you with no mercy.

“Gonna take it like the little slut you are?” Steve grips your jaw, his pace becoming faster as he nears his own orgasm. He keeps his eyes on yours as you try your best to keep them open.

You can’t nod, so you moan around him as you relax your throat and let him do with you as he pleased. Elvis keeps circling your clit with his fingers at the same he’d fuck himself into you. At this point, you’re so buzzed from your orgasm and overstimulation that you let go and let them both do what they want with you. Everything felt so good, and you didn’t want it to stop, even if you felt like you were floating. Elvis’ hips start sputtering, and Steve starts getting sloppy with his movements, alerting you that they’re both close. Steve hits the back of your throat at a different angle and cums in your mouth, and you swallow it with no hesitation. The sound of Steve letting out a guttural moan sends Elvis over the edge, his cum shooting into you in hot spurts. You lean against Steve’s stomach as he runs his hands over your hair comfortingly.

“You did so well, baby,” he says reassuringly, “So good.”

You just hum a reply, unable to move a muscle. Elvis helps you off of him, and Steve assists in getting you to stand up. Your legs wobble, and both men hold your shoulders and waist to steady you.

“Thank you, darlin’. I need some takin’ care of from a beautiful lady,” Elvis flashes a smile as he leaves you with Steve to retrieve a towel.

Steve takes the towel from him and cleans you up, and you’re still trying to snap out of your daze. Elvis offers you some water, and you graciously take it, carefully gulping it down as your brain starts to feel less fuzzy.

“I’m glad to have helped,” you smile back finally, feeling very aware of sweat and tears drying on your face.

Steve zips his pants up and kisses your forehead before gathering your clothes from the floor. He offers them to you, which you accept, and you begin to get dressed as he and Elvis talk.

“Thank you for that. It’s been a weird day,” Elvis says, running a hand through his hair as he reties his robe.

“Yeah, Y/N figured you either need some kind words or some kind actions. She’s good at that sort of thing,” Steve chuckles.

“About what you said earlier, about me needing to say something,” Elvis furrows his eyebrows in thought, “It reminded me of something someone told me once.”

Steve and Elvis converse further as you finish getting redressed. You study your reflection in the mirror, wiping at the smeared makeup under your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you let it out before walking over to where your boyfriend was.

“Hey baby,” Steve tucks you into his side, “E.P. and I are going to head back to the booth to work on something. Do you feel up to joining us?”

“Of course,” you smile, “What are you guys working on?”

“A song,” Elvis returns your smile, “A song the world needs to hear right now.”

“Then let’s get it out there.”

taglist: @cozacorner @onxlymnsn @anangelwhodidntfall @butlersluvbot @jolovesfandoms @austinbutler17 @slutforblueeyes @mamaspresley @mirandastuckinthe80s @bobbykennedyfan @sodonebruh @lizzymizzy-blogg @defnotreadingfanfics12 @izzvoid @homebodybirkin2003 @thatonemoviefan @kittenlittle24 @tubble-wubble @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @csmt-m @apparently-sunshine-deactivated @amiets2 @emchickynuggies @mrs-butler @satninbeaulieu @ari-nicole @xmusse @austin-butlers-gf @feral4austinbutler @inlovewithchrisevans @shynovelist @mommy-maia @jessieeisenburg @karamelcoveredolicity @thtguyovrthere @starry-night-20 @coldonexx @hangmanswhore @shelbysbitchh @mavericksicybabe @sassy-ahsoka-tano @coco-bitch

210 notes · View notes

the-ravenist · 3 months

Text

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~."

#steve binder x reader #black!reader #black reader #steve binder x black!reader #x reader #x black!reader #x black reader #x black!fem!reader #x black fem reader #black writer #darce montgomery #darce montgomery x reader

55 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

hello there! idk if you’re taking requests but if you are i was wondering if you could please write a steve harrington x reader that takes place during his king steve era? the reader is popular and has shallow cheerleaders as friends (she doesn’t like them but wants to fit in) and they make a bet where she has to make king steve fall in love with her. reader agrees bc she wants to please her friends and also bc she heard steve is a douche and wants him to experience the hurt he’s caused other ppl. steve has had a crush on the reader for a while. during the bet, reader begins to learn more about steve and his parents and why he began his king steve persona. he’s more vulnerable with her and she realizes that deep inside he’s a good guy. then steve finds out about the bet during a dance or something and gets really angry and feels used. reader has to find a way to apologize and also dumps her friends in the process. basically lots of angst but with a happy ending of course, thank you!!

AN | Buckle up because this one hurts before it gets better. But there is a happy ending!🥺

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 4.5k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Truth or dare?” you hated this. Hated being at this stupid party and hated playing this stupid game and hated these people. But that was a worry for a different day. You put on a big smile and happy face before mulling over your options. Truth was fine enough, but it was boring. Dare would probably just be mild enough to be slightly interesting. You doubted that any of these dimwitted jocks and cheerleaders could think up anything that daring.

“Dare,” you sighed lightly, wanting nothing more than to get this down and over with, “make it good.”

“I dare you to make King Steve fall in love with you.”

“Easy,” you agreed, thinking nothing more of it, “this will be so easy. Next time, make it a real challenge.”

“And then humiliate him in front of everyone when you dump him.”

“Consider it done.”

Little did you know that single dare would lead to both the best and worst moments of your life.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You spotted him at his locker, putting away his books and binders for the day. For once there wasn’t a huge group of people around him, praising him and practically desperate for his attention. You figured you might as well make your move now and get the show on the round.

You experienced a slight moment of hesitation when you thought about what you were planning on doing to him. It really didn’t make you any better than the cheerleaders and popular kids that were your friends - allegedly. Oh well. For once in his life, he deserved to be pushed down a peg and experience some humility.

You tightened your ponytail, making sure it was high and bouncy before walking over to him. You made sure to sway your hips just a touch more as you approached him, and luckily, it had your desired effect. Steve’s eyes snapped to you, a small smile tugging up the corners of his mouth as he looked you over, “h-hey.”

“Hi Steve,” say his name sweetly and offer him your best doe eyes. That should do the trick. You even decided to be extra and batted your lashes, wondering if it was doing anything for him or if it just made you look like a bigger fool, “how’s it going?”

“G-good,” he almost choked on the singular word. It wasn’t exactly shocking that you were talking to him, you ran in the same circles after all. But you’d never really gone out of your way to talk to him or get to know him individually, “what’s up?”

“Well,” you rocked back and forth on your heel sweetly, “I was wondering if you wanted to go and see a movie this weekend, maybe get dinner too.”

“Like a date?” he asked, pretty brown eyes lighting up with excitement. Your heart fluttered excitedly for a moment at his response before you nodded.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, “like a date. Whaddaya say, Steve?”

“Yes,” he sounded so excited that for a moment you almost forgot that this was all part of a bigger, grander, scheme, “I’d love to.”

“Cool,” you reached into your backpack and quickly ripped out a piece of paper and grabbed a pen, scribbling down your phone number in pretty pink ink, “call me later, ‘kay?”

“I will,” he took the piece of paper from your hand and held onto it tightly. Just to top things off, you pressed a kiss to his cheek before walking away. Maybe it was over the top, but you really wanted to sell it. You didn’t know why it even mattered to you to do this….was it because you wanted the thrill? Or because you wanted the approval of your fake friends? You weren’t sure yet, but whatever happened wouldn’t be that bad; you were just having a little fun, “s-see you.”

“Bye Stevie,” you waved at him on your way out, a smile on your face until you turned around and let it drop into a frown.

Part one was completed - score a date with Steve Harrington.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next part was going to be the hardest. The act of making Steve fall in love with you.

Your first date went well, and you actually had a good time with him. He picked a good movie, took you to a decent restaurant for dinner and was a complete gentleman. He’d put his arm around your shoulders during the movie, held your hand on the walk to the restaurant, and when he dropped you off at home, he hadn’t even tried to kiss you- you’d taken the initiative and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He called the next day, not bothering to worry about whether or not he should wait. He asked you on another and then another, and then some more. Eventually you shared that first kiss, the one that led to many others, he asked you to be his girlfriend, you had sex for the first time, and eventually settled into what seemed like a happy relationship.

There were times when you almost forgot that this wasn’t real. Well, it might have been real for Steve, but it wasn’t for you. That was something you constantly had to remind yourself of. It was easy to get lost in the fantasy of being his girlfriend; for all that he was, King Steve turned out to be a pretty amazing boyfriend.

You found yourself standing outside his door, waiting for him to answer while you looked around the yard. His parents were gone again; come to think of it, you’d never met or even seen his parents. Hmm. It was nearing Christmas and most houses had some sort of decoration or lights up. But not the Harringtons’.

“Hey angel,” Steve had opened the door, interrupting your thoughts and offering you a dazzling smile. You grinned back at him, letting him pull you in for a warm hug, “you look really pretty.”

“Steve,” he felt so warm and smelled so good that it became all consuming. You hung on for just a little bit longer than you normally would have, wanting his comforting touch, “you don’t look so bad yourself.”

You gently put a hand on his face, brushing your thumb over the apple of his cheek before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. Admittedly, Steve was a great kisser and it was easy to give into him and get lost in him forever. But, deep down, you knew that this wasn’t going to be forever and shouldn’t push it too much. You still planned on dumping him and making it a scene, you should slowly start letting him down. But not tonight, you just couldn’t…

“You’re just in time,” he took your hand, leaving his fingers through yours and led you inside, “I just finished dinner!”

“Wow,” it smelled delicious in the house, which caused your stomach to growl loudly. You grinned sheepishly as he chuckled, leading you into the kitchen, “it all smells delicious, Steve. A-are your parents going to be here?”

“Umm…no,” his face fell slightly and you regretted asking. You reached up and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “they are, ugh, out of town on business again. They’re not around much.”

“Oh,” you hadn’t known that, but it suddenly made sense why you hadn’t met them. Steve seemed like the type of guy that would introduce you to his parents, given the opportunity. It explained why nothing was decorated for the holidays either, “I’m sorry to hear that, Steve.”

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged it off, but you could see that it bothered him nonetheless. He pulled out a chair for you, “it’s something you get used to. They haven’t been around much since I was a kid. But let’s not talk about that, but something happy. How was your day?”

“Umm,” you really, really, just wanted to pull him into your arms and make the pout on his pretty lips go away. Instead you pulled yourself together and reminded yourself that these were not the types of feelings you should have been having. It was all supposed to be shallow and surface level - the trouble was that you were already far past that, “it was okay. Classes were the same as always - boring - and cheer practice was fine. This is definitely the highlight of my day though, getting to see you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” a smile found its way back onto his pretty face and you relaxed, “can I get you something to drink?”

“Coke please,” you’d noticed that he often seemed to keep some at this place these days. You wondered if he’d always kept some, or if it had been a habit he’d adopted when you’d started dating, “wait - new coke please.”

“Not happening,” you heard him laughing as he pulled a can from the fridge. He cracked it open and poured it into a glass with just the right amount of ice that you liked. Steve brought it over and playfully popped a bendy straw in the glass for you. He paused for a moment to kiss your cheek before pulling away, “new coke is terrible and I will continue to shame you for liking it.”

“Ahh, and here I was, thinking you loved me,” you teased, taking a long sip of your drink. It took a moment for you to realize what you had said, but when you did your eyes went wide as you turned to him, “I-I just meant….it was a joke?”

“I love you,” he replied in the most fond voice ever that caused you to exhale nervously, smiling softly as a pretty pastel pink flush colored his cheeks. Oh no, “I just think that you have terrible taste in soda and I refuse to allow you to make such bad decisions.”

“My hero,” you almost choked on your coke as you tried not to lose your mind at what he had just said. He’d said it so casually, so sweetly, and without hesitation that you knew he wasn’t joking, “thank you, Stevie.”

Part two was complete - Steve Harrington was in love with you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Part three was publicly breaking up with Steve and humbling him in front of everyone.

This turned out to be the hardest part of all. You thought it would have been so easy, but it turned out that Steve Harrington wasn’t what you had expected him to be. When you got down to the root of it all, you came to learn that Steve was a good guy. King Steve was not who he was at all; it was a façade put up to protect himself; no one else had ever done that for him. He’d been torn down and constantly reminded that he was not good enough from an early age by his parents; and then never told otherwise. Deep down he was still just that small boy crying out for love.

And you found yourself wanting to be the person that gave him that love. Yeah. That definitely was not part of the plan. Which left you in a very confused position.

By day, your group of friends, if they could even be called as such, asked for updates and wanted to know when you were finally going to dump him. It had been decided that you would do it at the winter formal; most of the students would be attending and it would surely create the spectacle you originally desired. But even the mere idea of it made a pit form in your stomach.

“I hate cheerleading,” it blurted out of your mouth before you could even think about it. Steve grabbed the remote and paused the movie before turning his attention onto you. The two of you were curled up on his couch, cuddling under a blanket but your mind wouldn’t quiet down, and wouldn’t let you enjoy anything. So…it just sort of came out.

“What?” he asked softly, unsure if he’d heard you correctly. Judging by the upset look on your face he could tell that you weren’t joking, “what do you mean, angel?”

“I…I hate it,” you confessed softly; it felt right to tell him this, it felt right that out of all the people in the world to trust with this, it would be Steve, “I never even wanted to do it…I just sort of got shoved into it. And I never stopped. But I’ve come to understand just how very much I don’t want to do it.”

“Well,” he reached over and gently stroked your cheek, “then you should stop. If it’s not making you happy, you don’t have to do it.”

“I…it’s not that simple,” you shrugged. Years of building up a reputation and it could all so easily disappear. If they knew you, the real you, the one that loved all sorts of nerdy things and was a dork underneath it all, they wouldn’t hesitate to make you a social outcast. You’d basically be the new Eddie Munson, which really didn’t seem so bad at the end of the day, “you know it’s not. Besides, we’re almost done with school. What’s another year or so?”

“You shouldn’t have to just put up with it,” he insisted, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, “you should do what you want, what makes you happy.”

“Steve…” you could have easily told him, you could have confessed it all and gotten it all out in the open. You could have told him that it started as a joke, but then you actually fell in love with him. It couldn’t have easily ended tonight, but as you stared at his pretty brown eyes, you weren’t able to, “you’re right. I-I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” he kissed your forehead before pulling you into lap. It had already become your favorite spot in the world, “I’ll be with you, whatever you choose to do, angel.”

Of course he would. He had a good, kind heart. The man that you thought was just King Steve was anything but; he was amazing, thrust into his little persona around a few people but that wasn’t him. You knew that now; you didn’t end up hating him...if you you ended up falling in love with him. Fuck.

The last phase of the plan sucked. But you knew you’d have to make a decision soon.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Winter Formal turned out not to be as bad as you’d expected but then again, that was most likely because your date was Steve. He looked so outrageously handsome in his suit, and it felt like it made you fall for him all over again. But as always, he insisted that you were the beautiful one and he definitely looked at you as though you had hung all the stars in the night sky.

You’d made a decision about him, finally, and just in time. You wanted to stay with him, you wanted Steve, and you wanted to be with him and see where this went. All you had to do now was tell your little squad that the dare was off and while you were at it, that you were quitting cheerleading. You had this whole brilliant plan in your head, positive that nothing could go wrong.

Well, you were wrong on that count.

“I’m gonna run to the restroom, I’ll be right back,” you had to shout in his ear over the crowd of people and loud music. He gave your hand a squeeze to acknowledge that he heard you. You quickly ran off, weaving and winding your way through the crowd of hot, sweaty bodies.

Steve decided that now was a good time to refresh your drinks, and walked over to the table covered with different drinks. He spotted a group of girls that he knew were your friends, or rather faux friends as you had confessed but thought nothing of it. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, it was only natural. He listened in as he started to ladle punch for the two of you.

“Can you believe she’s actually going to dump him tonight?”

“She’s going to do it in front of everyone! He’ll be so humiliated.”

“King Steve is going to be no more. What a shame, he’s pretty hot.”

“I can’t believe she actually played him for so long! It’s probably gonna break his little heart.”

“Come on - if anyone deserves to be humbled it’s Steve Harrington.”

“The King is dead, long live the Queen!”

Yeah - Steve definitely wasn’t meant to hear any of that. He managed to overfill the red plastic cups and got punch all over the table. His heart was pounding and he could hear the blood rushing in in his ears. He didn’t want to believe what he had heard…but it made sense. You were no better than them - you were just like the people you claimed to hate.

He abandoned the cups and rushed out of the gym, pushing his way through people without explanation. His whole head was spinning. You happened to be leaving the restroom at the same time and noticed him rushing past you.

“Steve?” you called after him but he didn’t stop, either not having heard you or he was ignoring you. You took off after him, concerned at what had suddenly changed to cause this, “Steve!”

He finally stopped when he was outside near the parking lot in the cold night air. You held up your hands and looked at him in concern. The first thing you noticed was that there were tears glistening in his eyes. Oh no. That might have been the worst thing you’d ever seen.

“Stevie-”

“This whole time,” his voice cracked and he sounded so hurt, “this whole it was all just a lie?”

“W-what are you talking about?” your heart was beating so quickly that you were surprised it burst through your ribcage and out of your chest. He shook his head and some of his tears ran down his cheeks.

“Don’t act like you don’t know! I heard your friends talking about me,” he angrily wiped away the tears as your face fell, “you were going to dump me? Humiliate me? For what?! Was this all just a game to you?”

“Steve, let me explain-”

“You’re not even denying it,” he sniffled and you just wanted to wrap him in your arms and make it all better, “I was an idiot this whole time. I let you in, I fell in love with you and now I know that none of it was ever real. It was fake this whole time.”

“Please, just listen for one moment,” you were crying now too, although you didn’t deserve too. This was all your fault.

“You used me,” he shook his head, “for what? Your own sick pleasure. I know this was all some huge joke to you, but this was real to me. Every word I said to you, everything, all of it was real! I thought that maybe for once, someone actually liked me for me, as I am, but I was wrong. I should have known better.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” you stepped closer to him and reached for his hand but he flinched out of your touch, “please, don’t do this, give me a chance to explain…”

“Why?” he asked quietly, “so you can break my heart more? You know, you say you don’t like those girls, that they’re not your friends, but you know what? You’re just fucking like them. You’re no better than they are.”

“I-I’m not,” you pleaded with him, but he just shook his head, “please - don’t go.”

“I’m done,” he inhaled deeply before exhaling shakily, “I am so done with you. I can’t believe you’d do this…I thought you were different. I thought…I thought you were the one.”

“Steve-”

“Turns out the joke really was me the entire time,” he shook his head before turning around, “you got what you wanted - humiliated and heartbroken. Sorry there was no one around to see.”

You watched him walk away, unable to go after him, rooted to the ground. Everything had just completely fallen apart. You might have just lost the best thing in your life. All because you were a stupid mean girl, just like all the others.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.�� .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But you were about to just give up. Not that easily - Steve was worth fighting for.

You left him alone for a few days, but decided that you couldn’t take it anymore. You were going to go and explain everything, and the rest was up to him. At the very least you owed him the honest truth, even if he still hated you.

When you showed up on his doorstep, you were surprised that he opened the door to you. Honestly, he hadn’t even bothered to look through the peephole before opening the door. He was too drained for any of that.

“What are you doing here?” his face was surprisingly neutral for a man you were sure hated you. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the right words to convey how you felt about him.

“I came to explain,” you admitted nervously, “I just want you to hear it all straight from me. And if you still hate me at the end of it, that’s okay. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but you deserve the truth.”

He exhaled deeply but ended up giving you a nod and motioning for you to follow him inside. You followed him into the kitchen and you were half tempted to make a joke about wanting a coke. But that was for a different time, “go ahead. Talk.”

“It all started out at this stupid party,” you grimaced even recalling that night, “we were playing truth or dare and truth seemed so boring so I picked dare. They…dared me to ask you out, make you fall for me, and then publicly dump you.”

His face twisted into a grimace as he looked away, “and you just went with it.”

“Honestly? I did at first,” you swallowed thickly, “I was just so tired of them and it seemed like something interesting to do and I realize how completely fucked up that sounds…because it was.”

“Yeah.”

“Then I asked you out and you said yes, and it just felt so…right?” you caught his eye and he raised his eyebrows, “going out with you felt so right. You were so kind, so nice, and I had such a good time with you. And then we kept going out and somewhere, early into it all, it wasn’t fake anymore. It didn’t feel like a joke - it wasn’t a joke.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me sooner?” he asked softly, “it would have been…we could have…I dunno.”

“I wanted to, so many times,” you promised, “but I got scared and couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to break your heart - which seems stupid now because look at what I did. But Steve, I…I got to you know and I started falling for you and it was so easy. You are such a good, kind, loving person. I felt so alive with you, like I could be myself and never had to worry. I realized…that I’d fallen in love with you.”

“But you were-”

“I wasn’t,” you shook your head fervently, “at the dance…I was going to tell them that it was over, that it was stupid and this little dare was done. I wasn’t going to dump you, that was not my intention at all. I was going to go and find them after I used the restroom but…you beat me to it.”

“You weren’t going to?”

“No, Steve,” you sighed as you stared at your feet, “I feel so fucking stupid. The worst thing was that I hurt you. I-I never wanted to hurt you, not since the moment you said yes when I asked you out. I got to know you and…it wasn’t hard to fall for you. You made it so easy, so wonderful and I’ve never felt about anyone else the way I feel about you. I-I meant it when I said I didn’t want to do cheerleading and that I didn’t like any of them. But you were right, I’m not better than them. I should have told you about this stupid dare at the very beginning; I-I should have stopped it. But I didn’t and that was wrong of me and I ended up hurting you. That was the last thing I ever wanted to happen.”

“Do you mean it?” your eyes shifted from the floor and up to his eyes. He was hard to read but, to your surprise, you didn’t see any anger or hate, “did you mean it when you said that you…fell in love with me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, the corners of your mouth tugging up into a small, tentative little smile, “I mean it. Truly - no joke, no dare.”

“Okay,” he nodded lightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I’m not going to pretend that finding out that this started off as a joke didn’t hurt me. But I also know that it took a lot for you to come here and explain everything to me.”

“Well, you deserve the truth,” you whispered, “I’m sorry, Steve. Truly. But thank you for giving me the chance to explain it all.”

A moment of silence fell over the two of you, not uncomfortable but not as easy as it used to be. You cleared your throat before turning to leave, deciding that you’d said your peace and it was time to go.

But you didn’t make it to the front door; instead you felt his long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist. A small sound of surprise escaped your lips as you turned back, “Steve?”

He pulled you closer, leaving just a small bit of distance between your bodies. You were both breathing rapidly, staring into each other’s eyes, “do you still mean it?”

“Yes,” that was all that he needed to hear before he crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you like he’d never done before. This kiss was filled with emotion, but still so saccharine and soft; you could have stayed like that for hours. When you reluctantly came apart for a breath of air, you were grinning at each other, “Steve…I don’t…why?”

“Because I love you,” he pressed his forehead against yours, “this started out unconventional, but what we have is real. And that’s worth fighting for.”

“Oh Steve,” he could feel you smiling against his lips which made his heart relax, “I love you so much.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #joe keery #joe keery x you #joe keery x reader

582 notes · View notes

venus-haze · 2 years

Text

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Gif credit to @karamelcoveredolicity

Summary: You’ve been Elvis’ personal assistant since his Comeback Special in ‘68. Your work leaves you little time for a social life, but you don’t mind, you get to work for Elvis Presley, after all. When Priscilla leaves him and he finds out the truth about the Colonel, your relationship with him shifts drastically. And not for the better.

Notes: Reader is a woman, but there are no other specific descriptors. Obviously I don’t condone the behavior in this fic in real life. Please read and consider the warnings before reading this fic. All content that could be considered disturbing is under the cut. Let me know if warnings need to be updated or added. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail, obsessive and manipulative behavior, and abuse of power, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Some sexual content that involves coercion, but nothing overtly explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Prequel | Part 2 | Part 3

You were fresh out of college when you snagged a job at NBC’s studio in Los Angeles as a production assistant. The first year or so was mostly getting coffee and answering phones, only doing real work on sets every so often. You ended up getting on the good side of one of the executives when you managed to find a pilot script that had gone missing. From there, you were working directly on sets, brushing shoulders with stars you could have only dreamed of meeting.

The highlight of your career as a production assistant came along when you were assigned to work Elvis Presley’s upcoming Christmas special. You thought it sounded a little corny, but at least you’d get to be in the same room as Elvis, the man whose face adorned the walls of your teenage bedroom.

The "Christmas special" became a covert operation to actually film Elvis’ musical comeback with as little interference from his odd and overbearing manager as possible. You felt like you were part of a team, something bigger than yourself, especially when Steve Binder had asked you to personally assist Elvis throughout production, spiriting him away when needed to avoid the Colonel.

"Me? Steve, I don’t know if I’m qualified to do that. I mean, he’s Elvis Presley," you’d argued.

"Y/N, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t trust you. EP needs someone reliable in the network right now," he said.

That was more than enough convincing for you, although when you formally met Elvis, you were shaking like a leaf. He was kind, taking the time out of what you knew was his busy schedule just to talk to you. Your professional relationship developed, and he began asking your opinions on aspects of his career unrelated to the special.

You were surprised when he had approached you before production was even over, offering you a position as his personal assistant going forward. Without hesitation, you accepted, giving NBC your notice as soon as shooting for the special had wrapped up. Your friends balked at the decision, but you had the last laugh when the special finally aired that December and set Elvis’ career trajectory skyrocketing again.

He had told you about his plans to tour the world, finally be able to go to Europe, and even Japan. He’d need extra help for such an ambitious undertaking, and you nearly cried when he said he saw something in you that made him know you’d be the perfect fit. The prospect of traveling internationally was especially appealing; there were so many places you wanted to visit, but couldn’t afford to go.

As time went on, these dreams of foreign cities were replaced by sold out residencies in Las Vegas and adrenaline-filled tours throughout the United States, but you didn’t mind that much. Elvis had become a close friend to you, and you’d spent many hours just chatting with him in his suite or dressing room. It didn’t even feel like work sometimes.

You didn’t know what you’d be without him, probably still clawing your way up the ranks at NBC or another studio. You were his shoulder to cry on when Priscilla divorced him. Not that you necessarily blamed her, Elvis was by no means perfect, but he was your friend. Your heart broke further when he informed you of the Colonel’s lies and how much debt he’d put Elvis and his family in to fuel his own greed and gambling addictions.

You developed a habit of checking on Elvis in his dressing room after his Vegas shows, it was when he seemed to be most troubled, most vulnerable. The door was closed, so you knocked, making Elvis aware of your presence. You could hear a muffled "Come in," and entered.

Elvis’ dressing room was always in some state of mess despite the International’s housekeeping staff, with plates of hastily eaten meals and various glasses of half drunk alcohol strewn about the room. His elaborate costumes were either hanging on a clothing rack, or styled on mannequins.

He sat on the crushed velvet couch, his head in his hands. You noticed the empty whiskey bottle on top of the vanity and frowned. It wasn’t good for him, not with all the pills and potions Dr. Nick passed out like candy.

"You put on a great show tonight! Like you always do," you exclaimed as you approached him.

He lifted his head. "Y/N, you can’t leave me," he said, the desperation in his voice startling you. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he’d been crying. You couldn’t tell whether it was tears or sweat dripping down his face.

"Elvis, what are you talking about? Why would I leave?"

"Everyone else has. You see the news, I’m washed-up. No one cares about me anymore."

"I care about you. You’re so important to me," you said earnestly, sitting next to him and putting your arm around his shoulders. "I mean, since we first met, we’ve hardly spent a day apart."

That did make you feel guilty. You liked Priscilla, she was always kind to you, but you knew the distance must have taken a toll on their relationship. The drugs too, which you tried to curtail his use of to the best of your ability. For better or worse, you felt an obligation to take care of Elvis, especially now when he seemed more alone than ever.

Caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the change in the way he was looking at you, as if seeing a completely different woman from his personal assistant of nearly three years.

He engulfed you in a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You returned the gesture and swore you must have imagined feeling his lips press against your skin. Rubbing comforting circles into his back, you held him for what felt like hours.

"Maybe you should head up for the night," you suggested. "Take a shower and try to get some rest."

He lifted his head, opening his mouth as if to respond to you, but instead he nodded, getting up from the couch and walking over to the door. You followed, taking his hand in yours as the two of you stood in the hallway.

"If you need anything, you let me know, okay? I’m not going anywhere," you said, hoping your smile would reassure him.

"Thanks, darlin’. You gave me a lot to think about," he said.

His gaze was intense as he brought your hand up to his lips, giving it a kiss. You felt your face heat up at the gesture. He’d given you quick kisses on the cheek before, but this seemed more intimate.

Someone called for him, and he dropped your hand, clearly annoyed by the interruption. You used this as your opportunity to bow out for the night, letting him know you’d be returning to your own room in the hotel.

You took the elevator up to the floor just below the penthouse, where you and almost everyone else in Elvis’ entourage resided. Of course, your room wasn’t nearly as big as his suite, but it was nicer than any apartment you’d rented in LA. Elvis wouldn’t let you pay for anything yourself, from room service to use of the hotel’s many amenities, claiming it was part of your benefits as a Presley Family Enterprises employee. You could definitely see how his generosity played a role in landing him in debt to the Colonel’s "management company," so you decided not to overdo it.

Just as you were starting to get comfortable and wind down for the night, you heard your room’s phone ring over the sound of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” playing on the TV. You sighed, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up.

"Hey, Y/N," Jerry said.

"What’s up, Jerry?"

"EP wants to see ya."

"Oh, why didn’t he just call me?"

"Who knows. He just told me to tell you," he said. "I’m headin’ down to the casino."

"Alright, don’t have too much fun," you said as you hung up.

It was odd, Elvis knew your room’s phone number. You supposed he was busy with something else, and Jerry was the closest person around. You put your dress from the day back on, sliding into your shoes before leaving to go up to the penthouse and see what Elvis needed you for.

You were the only other person who had a key to Elvis’ suite at the International. When he’d given it to you, the two of you alone in his dressing room after one of his shows a little over a year ago, you accepted it with pride that he trusted you so much. Still, you never exploited the privilege, even knocking beforehand as a courtesy.

"Elvis? Jerry said you needed me?" you called out as you unlocked the door to his suite.

The room was dark, only illuminated by the televisions on the wall. You noticed Elvis sitting on the couch in his silk robe, with little else on that you could notice.

You gasped, turning away from him. "Oh—my, I’m so sorry, I’ll—"

"C’mere," he said, voice deep and smooth. He was still sweaty from the show earlier that night, his jet black hair messy and sticking to his forehead. He had a bottle of some kind of alcohol in his hand, which he placed on the coffee table in front of him.

You stood frozen in place.

"Don’t make me ask twice, darlin’. And lock the door behind you," he demanded.

With a ragged breath, you did as he said, hearing a pleased hum rumble from his chest when he heard the door lock. A commoner entering a throne room, you approached him cautiously, his eyes blazing as they followed your every move. You felt ten inches tall, and for the first time since you met, you were truly intimidated by him.

He let out an amused scoff when you sat on the far edge of the couch. "Closer, baby."

You got up, hesitantly sitting down next to him. He put his hand on your thigh, sliding the hem of your dress up higher and higher, until you placed your hand over his.

"Elvis, this isn’t appropriate," you protested.

He gave you a sly grin, his eyes hooded as he leaned over you, effectively trapping you on the couch. "I’m just tryin’ to make my best girl feel good. Don’t you think you deserve that for how hard you work? How good you are to me?"

"I don’t need anything. Just making you happy is enough for me," you said, hoping to quell whatever was bringing on this change in his behavior.

"It’d make me real happy if you just lay back and let me take care of you for once, huh?"

Unsure of what else to do or say, you nodded. Not so long ago, you wouldn’t have hesitated. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before, especially when you first met him, in awe of how impossibly handsome he was in person. You’d actually felt bad about your fantasies when you got to know the man behind the star, charming and kind, who seemed to take a genuine interest in you despite your having no status in the entertainment industry. Maybe he really was trying to take care of you, recognize your devotion despite everything falling apart.

You gasped when his fingers brushed over your panties. The cool metal of his rings on your thighs made you feel all the more sensitive.

Softly, slowly, the way the serpent must have spoken to Eve in the garden, he whispered, "Tell me you love me, and I’ll give you everything."

"I love you. I love you, Elvis," you whimpered.

The worst part was that it was true. You did love him, to a fault, you’d now come to realize, but you never wanted things to end up like this. There was no romance, no passion. It all seemed so desperate and dirty.

"I love you too, Y/N. It’s you and me now. Just us, baby," he panted, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders as he stripped you of your clothes. He shed his robe, and as you had expected earlier, wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. Your head was spinning as he kept muttering ‘I love you’ while he kissed and groped you, his hands warming your skin as it made contact with the cool air in his suite.

You weren’t sure when you’d ended up on his bed, but at some point when he had nearly suffocated you in a kiss, he must have grabbed you by the hips and guided you over. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you grabbed for a sheet to cover yourself, but he caught your wrist in his hand.

He clicked his tongue. "I don’t think so, darlin’. I wanna see what’s mine."

Everything was a blur from there, and when you woke up that afternoon, you felt sore all over. You remembered you were in his bed, and tried getting up, only to be kept in place by his arms snaked around your middle, holding you against him. Grabbing one of his arms, you pulled it off of you, and then the other. Just as you were about to get out of his bed and as far away from him as possible, he stirred awake.

"Where do you think you’re goin’?" Elvis asked, his normally bright blue eyes, stormy and dark.

Your eyes widened, not expecting to be put on the spot like that. "Bathroom."

He nodded. "Alright, come back to bed when you’re done in there."

You grabbed your bra and panties that had been discarded on the couch, sighing when you noticed the zipper on your dress was now broken. Continuing into the ornate bathroom, you locked the door before you even turned the light on.

As the room was illuminated, your hand flew to your mouth in horror when you saw yourself in the mirror. Your neck and collarbone were littered with dark hickies, your waist and hips with finger-shaped bruises that almost looked like stripes on your skin.

With shaking hands, you reached for a cup, filling it with water from the sink and taking small, slow sips. You didn’t want to go back and have to face him, and decided to try to drag it out as long as you could. You slowly redressed, taking care of how sensitive your skin was. A few minutes had gone by, and you hoped he’d fallen back asleep so you could get the hell out of there.

Your heart dropped when you opened the bathroom door, seeing Elvis speaking on his bedside phone. He looked at you, a smile spreading across his face. Hastily, he ended the call and beckoned you back over to the bed.

"I ordered room service, should be here in a few minutes," he said. "I got your favorite."

"Thank you," you said. What else was there to say? ‘Hey, what the fuck was last night?’ You situated yourself in his bed, pulling the covers up over your chest.

With a gentleness he failed to display last night, he moved your head to give you a tender kiss on the lips. You kissed him back, but pulled away with a hiss when he placed his other hand on your bruised shoulder.

"Oh, baby, I went too hard on you last night, huh?" he cooed, caressing your cheek. "I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I’ll be more gentle next time."

"Next time?"

He didn’t notice you squeak out the question as room service had knocked. He got up from the bed, throwing on his robe as he made his way to the door. The room service staff entered the suite with their cart of food and drinks, but you kept your gaze cast downward, too embarrassed to even attempt to make eye contact.

He sat down to eat, but you hadn’t left his bed yet.

"Eat up, Y/N, before it gets cold," he said.

"Can I have something to wear? My dress broke," you said.

He seemed amused. "‘Course, darlin’. I’ll buy you a new one."

Elvis handed you one of his robes to put on, and you wrapped it tightly around yourself, wanting to keep your body as covered as possible. His hand was on the small of your back as he walked you over to the table where the dishes were laid out. Your favorite dish was placed next to where he was sitting. Did the International’s kitchen even make that?

The two of you ate in silence, which you were thankful for. Despite the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, you hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite. Eating your comfort food improved your mood a bit, and you allowed yourself to sneak glances at Elvis when you thought he wasn’t looking.

You were so confused, about what had happened that night and your own feelings about him. You weren’t sure you could bring yourself to hate him, not when he caught you staring and gave you a boyish smile. He’d never acted the way he did last night before, and you couldn’t think of any time he indicated he was attracted to you, at least not that you noticed. You knew you needed time on your own to think.

"I think I’m going to head back to my room to shower," you announced when you finished eating.

"Why? There’s a perfectly good shower in here," he said.

"I need my shampoo."

"Just be down for the soundcheck at 6, alright?"

"Okay."

"I love you, baby," he said.

"I love you too."

You gave him a kiss and fled the suite, wasting no time in running to the elevator. You frantically pressed the button to your floor, and as soon as the doors opened, sprinted to your room.

Shedding the robe he had given you, you threw it across the room, along with your bra and panties. When you showered, you had scrubbed your body as much as you reasonably could, as if it would undo what had just occurred the previous night.

You couldn’t bring yourself to do more than stare at the wall, exhaustion washing over you. You were dreading the soundcheck, only three hours away, but you couldn’t claim illness. Elvis had just seen that you were fine, and you didn’t want any of Dr. Nick’s "medical care." You caked concealer and foundation over any visible hickies, and threw on a scarf for good measure, hoping to avoid any potential questions about where you’d gotten them if anyone noticed.

To your surprise, the soundcheck and next few days went smoothly, as if the encounter in his suite never happened. The only thing that changed was he’d kiss you in front of others, and introduced you as ‘his girl.’ The congratulations were sweet, but the claims from his band and the Memphis Mafia that they ‘knew it would happen sooner or later’ shocked you. Were you that oblivious to Elvis’ feelings toward you before?

On an afternoon before yet another Vegas show, he asked you to meet him in his suite. It sent a wave of anxiety through you, but you agreed, figuring what had happened a few nights ago was a one-off incident, the result of whatever had been injected into his veins before the show and the overwhelming feelings of loneliness he’d been struggling with.

You cautiously entered the suite, relieved to find the lights on, curtains open, and Elvis fully clothed, playing a tune on his piano. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he crossed the threshold to meet you.

"There you are," Elvis said, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips.

"Did I keep you waiting too long?"

"Y/N, darlin’, I had the best idea," he said, smiling the way you hadn’t seen in a long time, enthusiastic and full of life. You’d hoped the past few days had been a fluke, and he was back to his old self again.

"What is it?"

"You and me get married. Whattya say?"

Your face fell. Though he and Priscilla had been separated for a while, the ink was hardly dry on the freshly served divorce papers. It definitely wouldn’t look great publicly, but he was in no state to get remarried so soon, especially not to you. "I’m not sure that’d be a good idea."

"Why not?" he looked hurt, as if it had never crossed his mind you would answer with anything but an enthusiastic ‘yes’.

"I know you’re still hurting from Priscilla leaving, but—"

"But I have you. And if I don’t have you anymore then I—I’ll—" He stormed over to the glass case that housed his gun collection, which had only grown as of late.

You immediately rushed over, hugging him from behind in an attempt to restrain his arms. "I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you, Elvis. Okay?"

You panicked when you felt one of his arms pulling from your grasp, so you held him closer, pressing your face against his back.

"Why’re ya cryin’?" he asked, voice emotionless as he felt your wet tears bleed through his shirt.

"Because I’m so happy," you lied. Lied straight through your teeth.

You loved him, cared about him, but you were terrified and had no one to turn to. Everyone had either checked out or were content turning a blind eye to his increasingly troubling behavior. You supposed you played some role in letting things come to this.

Had you really been so engrossed in the glamour and chaos of it all to not notice? Whenever the topic of relationships came up, you’d joke that you were married to your job. Thinking about it more deeply, perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence that your job was an all-consuming entity which overtook your life. You’d lost touch with your LA friends, mostly socializing with Elvis’ supporting band, backup singers and the Memphis Mafia. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d spoken to your family besides a quick phone conversation, and spending holidays at Graceland became a given. Your whole life revolved around him.

When you felt Elvis’ hand over yours, you resisted the urge to pull away. Instead, you relaxed your arms, allowing him to turn around and take your face in his hands. He wiped away your still-flowing tears with his thumbs.

"I knew you’d make the right choice, baby. You’re always so good to me," he said, his delusional joy evident on his face.

You nodded, hiccuping as you tried not to hyperventilate. You were trapped. Trapped like he was. He knew how horrible it felt, and yet he dragged you down with him. Misery loves company.

“I’m gonna call the hotel manager, let ‘em know to bring your stuff from your room up here,” he said.

“Okay,” you whispered. “That sounds great.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind as you watched your life being brought up, piece by piece in his–now your–suite. He went on about the wedding, and you silently wondered when he’d even have the time in his busy schedule. Your eyes drifted to the glass case that had just become the bane of your existence. Shotgun. It’d probably be quick, devoid of any ritual or intimacy; a witness, two signatures and a ceremonial kiss. That was all you’d get.

Later that night, when Elvis had his next show, you stood off to the side of the stage, as usual. He was captivating as ever, and you hated that you still smiled when he sang your favorite songs and cracked jokes to the audience. He had the charisma to match his looks, and you mourned the dream man you had crafted in your mind before his true colors came into view.

“Now, before I leave tonight, there’s someone I want y’all to meet. She’s real special to me,” he began.

You felt like you were going to throw up. He wouldn’t. He never brought Priscilla on stage, and would only mention her during the shows she was actually present at. Then, to your horror he did just that, calling you by name and waving you to join him on stage with him. Frozen in shock, you stood firmly in your spot side stage, not missing the glare he shot you when it seemed like you were taking too long.

“Go on, girl!” one of the stagehands urged you with an oblivious smile.

You walked onto the stage, feeling dizzy and then dizzier. Hundreds of people’s eyes were on you, but none of them felt like they were piercing your soul like his were. You didn’t know what to expect from this new power play until Elvis got down on one knee, presenting you with a glittering diamond ring.

“Y/N, darlin’, will you be my wife?” he asked, with a lovestruck sincerity that almost made you say ‘yes’ without hesitation.

Still, you looked out to the crowd, hoping at least one of them would sense your discomfort. Instead, they broke out into taunting laughter when he said, “She’s just got a little stage fright.”

That was it. Say ‘no’ and look like a bitch while still having to marry him, or say ‘yes’ in front of hundreds of people, effectively killing any chance at arguing that he made you do it. Eyes watering, for the second time that day, you agreed to marry him. The crowd erupted in applause, and he kissed you, passionately like you’d always wanted. Like he really loved you. You almost fell for that act too, until he pulled you close, his lips barely brushing your ear.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he whispered, echoing the words of reassurance you had told him just a few days before.

With that, you collapsed in his arms, blissfully unaware of the still roaring crowd and pleased smirk that had spread across his face.

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis #yandere elvis

1K notes · View notes

alcalystrasz · 3 months

Text

(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!

#stranger things #finn wolfhard #byler #love #noah schnapp #byler is canon #byler tumblr #mike wheeler #will byers #byler is endgame #byler nation #byler proof #byler parallels

48 notes · View notes

ace-of-gay · 2 years

Text

Theyre all so perfect

Steve rogers x little reader

1,263 words

Warnings: age regression, paci, crayons, self doubt but fluff comfort aswell.

Little names like lovebug, little one, baby etc. The title daddy for steve as the caregiver.

Dont like it dont read it.

No pronouns weight or skin color mentioned reader is able bodied enough to walk even just a little bit (i will work on making fics for readers who need mobility aids and such aswell, i understand yall cause i need em aswell)

Edited to the best of my ability

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

It had been a stressful week, you had fought your brain to stay up as late as possible waiting for Stevie to come home last night.

After making dinner cleaning yourself up and waiting so very patiently, when he finally came in the front door kicking his shoes off and tossing his keys onto the table he found you half awake on the couch.

You greeted him with a big drowsy smile, "hello my love" he calls crossing the room when your stomach grumbled, "well i guess that answers the question i was going to ask, lets go eat dinner and cuddle up for bed"

And so you did, saving the dishes for tomorrow you had fallen asleep quickly.

The night had gone quickly filled with cozy warm dreams wrapped up in Steve’s arms held close to his chest, eventually you were woken up by the small cast of sunlight making itself known through the stormy clouds and closed curtains, wrapping yourself up in one of the throw blankets you wander through the hall to find Stevie, your little headspace taking its place.

Walking into the kitchen to find him making breakfast, "good morning cuddle bug, were having French toast this morning" he mentions as you hug him, he turns to you picking you up and placing you sitting on the cold marble counter making you squeal as he goes back to cooking, "daddyyy its coold" you giggle out realy letting yourself slip into your headspace, "I’m sorry love bug i didn't realize" he chuckles as he puts the breakfast treat on two plates adding your favorite type of syrup on top and fruit on the side.

He decided that today could be a calm day, going easy on the routine he lets you sit at the coffee table and eat your French toast and fresh fruit while watching cartoons.

Once done he takes both of your plates and goes to finally do the dishes. You run off to go get changed for the day, picking out a soft pair of dungarees and a matching sweater, picking out a paci for the day, grabbing your stuffy, and your crayons you go off to the kitchen, dropping your crayons off at the table.

Unable to find your drawing book you go off to the kitchen "daddy can i have paper?"

You request as he’s finishing up.

"Of course love bug" he returns going and getting some blank printer paper from the office and bringing it to you at the table.

"Fank you daddy" you chirp behind your paci

Getting to work on your ideas.

It was great being in a house with another artist, there was always projects going on and you could always ask for their perspective and get feedback on where something needs extra attention, all the walls practically covered in canvas paintings and graphite pieces that took weeks if not months, but never your little drawings, those always got put in a binder and put in the office, a few on the fridge and some in your little room but nothing more than that.

The drawing you were trying so very hard to get right just wasn’t coming out and you’ve used both sides of each page you had trying to get it right but to no avail.

You were determined to make such a special piece for your daddy, one that would go on the wall.

A couple tears slip your eyes and hit the table buy you quickly wipe your eyes before anymore come falling, you get up going over to where your daddy sits on the couch reading to ask for more paper which he agrees to.

Once again seated at the table drawing in an absolute trance, you’ve gone through three more pages front and back, it just wouldn't come out right, crumpling it and moving on to a new piece, it had to be perfect.

You had no idea your face was scrunched in anger so when Stevie came over to see you and ask what was wrong you huffed, not in anger but frustration, covering your paper.

" 's not done yet, im tryin daddy" you mutter out glancing at him.

He’s never seen you so upset over a drawing but you wouldn't let him see until its done, "alrighty love, i wont look yet but i promise all your drawings are amazing so i know you’re doin a very good job"

Giving you a kiss on the forehead he goes off to read or draw in the next room to give you space.

This was the best one yet, it finally looked good enough, you even put in an attempt at shading and highlights but crayons aren’t the best at layering but you finally finished it, signing it and putting away your crayons, you go to show Stevie your drawing.

You walk into the room a little hesitant but very hopeful, he sees you and pipes up, "hey bug did you finish your drawing?" Nodding you give it to him and all he does is stare at it, face unchanging, your eyes begin to well "n-never min' i don like it anymore, i-im sorry" you go to take it back when he pulls it back, "baby this is the best drawing ive ever seen"

He takes your hand pulling you to his side.

"But you not gonna put it on- on the wall like the other drawins, yous always put em in a binder an hide em" you sniffle.

He frowns, setting the drawing down and pulling you into his lap, "lovebug im not hiding them, i love those ones so much im keeping them safe, in a place where i can look at them while working and remind myself that you made them for me while little, those ones like all your big headspace drawing are so very special"

Giving you a hug to help embed his words deeper into your mind, he helps you up, grabbing the drawing he leads you to the office where he keeps the binder.

He opens the binder flipping through all of your drawings he had put in clear paper-liners with sticky notes onto the clear plastic of each one describing the days they were all made.

He flips to an empty liner and puts the new one away, grabbing his wallet off the desk and handing it to you, "open it up and look in the cash pocket" you look at him confused but do what he said, pulling out a piece of paper folded into sixths, it had been folded and unfolded so many times that the paper was wearing thin on the creases, opening it up its one of your drawings.

Still confused you look at him tilting your head to the side.

"Its the first drawing you gave to me with you regressed, i keep it in my wallet because it makes me so proud of you, so happy, it makes me feel so special and trusted"

You lurch forward hugging him, he reciprocates your hug and emphasizes it with scattered kisses on your cheeks nose and forehead.

"Ill let you in on a secret of mine, all the drawings on our walls are photo copies, it would hurt me too much to frame the original and something happen to it, i have a separate binder for all your big you drawings in a safe at work" now that is special, its magical its so very comforting, he thinks you, both big and little are an amazing artist beyond what you thought of yourself, because you are.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

Its the last day of October, i find the day of Halloween itself traumatizing from something that happend several several years ago do it affects my bpd quite strangely, hence no proper Halloween fic today although i thought this was cute to finally post as its been sitting in my drafts for about two weeks.

560 notes · View notes

ronearoundblindly · 1 year

Text

Threadbare (2)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Two: Strain Curve (see previous or series)

IMPORTANT: I forgot to mention and link that this started with an anon ask, so I should give them credit for the idea. Here's where this all started! Additionally, Richard Fisk is an actual Marvel character and the son of Kingpin. All that is straight out of the comics (and animated shows), down to the horrible color choices.

Summary: Steve shelters you from Fisk while attempting to hide the truth from Tony. He's not a great liar...but how much of this is really fake?

Warnings for fluffy fluff of the 21st-fluffery with a teeny bit of angst, 100% idiots in love! Also a quick disclaimer about me knowing exactly diddlysquat about fashion design. I binged 'Next In Fashion' and so this is the best I got lol... WC 4066

You watch Steve blush at your attempted smile. He paws at the back of his head before gathering another confession.

“Actually, I do have—I mean, yes, I wanted to see you, but uh—“ he rushes over to fetch a paper bag he must have stashed as he snuck in behind the cops “—I did have a reason to come.”

In the bag, you find three shirts, and your smile turns more genuine.

“Of course, you did. How romantic.”

You’re still awash with adrenaline; there’s no filter to keep your teasing at bay. You can barely pick up that you said anything anyway.

Steve shrugs, looking down to take back the shirts as Abby returns with a glass of water for you. “Not my best move.”

You chug the water, loudly, unable to regulate how desperately you need it. Abby gently pries Steve’s shirts from his tense arms.

“Right.” Steve rolls his shoulders out, straightening and clearly falling into Captain mode. “We need to get you somewhere safe. I just have to make a few calls and—“

“Don’t tell Stark,” you blurt, hand instinctively grabbing the wrist that holds his phone ready. “I’m sorry. That sounded like an order, just…please don’t tell Mr. Stark.” Tony can’t know that Fisk has been using you as a tailor as well. He can’t.

Alarm and curiosity flicker behind Steve’s blue eyes, but he hides it well immediately. “Ok. I’ll—” he makes no move to take his arm back “—think of something.”

“And I have three clients left…for the day.”

Abby tsks you from behind though it’s the truth. The empty glass rattles on the tabletop with your faint tremor.

Steve thinks for a prolonged, squinting moment. “After work then. I’ll pick you up.”

You run off adrenaline and butterflies the rest of the day, and yes, whatever liquids or snacks Abby and Dominica (when she returns from her errand) put into your hand along the way, but mostly it’s the fluttering anticipation of Steve that floats you through.

And then he’s back and it’s already dark outside.

“Oh shit,” you burst, politely showing Mr. Chen out while Steve waits his turn to get in the door. He says nothing, but Captain America lowers his head in disapproval at your curse. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. Let me grab some things.”

You race up the stairs to the apartment over the shop. Your clientele and brand used to be small enough that you could keep those two sides of life separate, but slowly, your work has crept into your living space. Now you survive from a dresser, a hanging rack, and a Murphy bed that doubles as a small desk when it’s upright against the wall.

Not much of an existence, but it’s very practical.

You’re shuffling around with an overnight bag and a dump tote to grab mostly work things and two changes of clothes. One of your assistants can bring you more stuff if/when necessary, but it feels presumptive to think you’ll live out of a safe house for long.

“So…working to live or living to work?”

You jump at Steve’s deep voice from the open doorway. He looks around at the hodgepodge of work benches and mannequins lining the walls.

“It’s a fluid and evolving situation,” you admit, sweeping several binders of fabric swatches and sketch pads into the tote. You eye a work-in-progress on one of the dummies and decide against trying to take it. Too bulky.

In order not to keep Steve waiting, you hand over the tote and head to the car, texting Abby and Dominica instructions the whole drive. Steve assures you that you’ll still have wifi and freedom to communicate, so you don’t have to clear fittings and consults off the books. It simply won’t be wise to invite welcome clients into where you’re staying.

Admittedly, that’s very generous considering you could have been looking at a blackout, witness-protection level of hiding.

You’re still on your phone when Steve opens your car door, and you shuffle with your duffel, his feet at the edge of your periphery to follow. It doesn’t register that you walk down a long hall. It doesn’t register that there’s an elevator ride and another voice. It doesn’t register that you’re looking at a kind of hostel-esque apartment inside another building until you ask if there’s a space you’ll be able to spread out for work.

Steve glows with pride that he thought of that and walks you to a conference room…surrounded by glass…overlooking a 30-story high view of the city.

You’re in the Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower.

“Wait, he’s not supposed to know.”

Steve gets your confusion right away. “Tony doesn’t, but without filing paperwork stating the reason you need a safe house, this was the best—“

“Sheers!” the booming voice of one Tony Stark reverberates across 360 degrees of windows. “I thought it might be you.”

“Might be me for what?” you ask as innocently as possible.

“As Capsicles’ first, of course.”

Steve hangs his head while his pal claps him on the back.

“First use of his guest pass that is. Granted, I’ve been saying for years we need an in-house tailor, but no takers…” Stark fake-punches Steve’s shoulder. “Way to break the ice, buddy. I’m proud of you. What happened? You noticed you’re both workaholics and needed your girl…closer to get closer, did you? Good call.”

Steve shoots wary eyes your way, silently praying you ignore that remark or maybe checking you’re okay with the implication. The way Stark says ‘your girl’ as if he’s heard it several times before though…

“Something like that,” you shrug.

“At least he finally asked you. I kept telling him to shit or get off the pot.”

“Language,” you hiss quietly.

The men look a little shocked for a split second before slowly turning to each other, a silent conversation passed in the empty space over your head. Whatever just happened seems to have really convinced Tony because a wry smile flickers beneath his sinking, pale sunglasses. Yes, of course, Tony Stark is wearing sunglasses at night, just as, of course, Captain America is willingly deceiving Stark to be your fake boyfriend.

“Romeo,” the building’s namesake coos. “Training them young, I see.”

Steve’s jaw and neck tighten, a raging flush creeping up his pale skin, but he doesn’t argue. Stark buys the ploy, which is great, but in reality, Steve doesn’t even have your personal number.

Tony lifts his hands in surrender and starts retreating to the door. “Look, I hate to take credit—“

“No, you don’t.”

Incredulous, sagging eyebrows dip below his frames. “—but I am very, very good.” He points a finger back and forth between you and Steve. “You’re welcome.”

He tries to peek under a pile of sketches atop your work tote, and you rush to slap your hand down. Stark might see the other designs you’re working on, and just like he can’t know about Fisk, he can’t know about those.

“Fine.” Tony puts his hands up again. “I’m going.”

Steve steps to your side, apology loud in his eyes, and asks if he can make you tea or something stronger, ya know, because Tony has that effect on people.

“Yeah—“ you stare off toward the elevators where Stark remains lurking “—he’s still there,” you whisper.

Steve huffs a laugh and shifts to bridge the mere inches left between you, his hand gently landing on your upper arm and planting a kiss on your forehead like a breeze.

“Better make it look good then.”

Turns out you need tea and food.

You’d been so reliant on your assistants for nourishment that you forgot dinner. Steve sees; he has it covered. Instead of winding down after a trying day, however, you get a rush of energy, and you can’t squander the chance to make crucial adjustments. Every minute counts in the lead-up to Fashion Week.

“May I join you?” Steve asks, ready to walk away with his meal in hand should you prefer. “I won’t take up much space.” He looks down at his shoes and up the two inches above his head to the top of the doorframe. “Ok, much more space,” he corrects.

“You wanted to leave me alone?”

He bites back a smile and shakes his head, settling into the least cluttered corner.

He chats excitedly as you both eat, but after failing to pry some answers about Fisk from you,—‘are you often threatened by clients?’ and ‘can you steer him in another designer’s direction?’—Steve slips away to grab his own art supplies.

You’ve barely looked up until you get a surge of inspiration and search for your colored pencils under the pile of templates. How did they get all the way over there? Since when are red and grey so worn down? Weren’t you needing to replace both blues soon?

“Those in your way? I can move them?”

Steve stops sketching, holding a yellow pencil, the only color missing from the tin. That’s when you realize. He uses the same brand of pencils you do—tools made of quality materials but nothing overly fancy.

“No need,” you marvel. “I just mistook them for my own.”

Steve sweeps a large hand out in offering. “Mistake away.”

You can’t help it. You chew your lip to calm your grin. He’s simply a very giving man who enjoys simple things. It’s refreshing.

“Or we could trade? We seem to use the opposite colors the most.”

“Right,” Steve laughs, “I went on a tear trying for Sam’s suit in-flight. Never turned out.” Shaking his head dislodges a lock of hair, so he runs his fingers through the strategic coif.

“Hmm,” you hum absently, engrossed by his picturesque appearance, “my drawings are more like guidelines for my imagination. No need to be precise.”

“A sentiment I’ve heard many times before.” He slides the tin closer to the midway point between you. “I just want to do beauty justice, which sounds pretentious but…

“Point is—“ Steve lifts his gaze to you with a soft shrug “—use whatever you like.”

You thought your work habits were grueling, but poor Steve flits around at all hours of the day and night with workouts, training, meetings, and missions. He mostly gets to do drive-by waves of ‘hello’ as he travels the building past your glass bubble, always with a smile, always with a tinge of something else. He’s an easy man to read: you can tell when he’s fatigued (in spirit though, not body), you can tell when he’s irritated from stress, and you can tell when he wants to linger but has to go.

It’s incredibly cute. Steve Rogers is just so damn cute.

You continue with business as usual as best you can, video calling during consults and the most critical fittings. Clients aren’t exactly happy with your absence, but they don’t dare complain when the alternative is waiting another month for you to schedule in person. Besides, there are oftentimes you step away from routine appointments to focus on creating new lines.

Dominica is allowed to walk right in with any of your requested supplies since she’s delivered to Stark several times before. She stays for a few hours to touch base. She assures you that Tarik is no longer unnerved by the police car that sits at the curb outside the atélier’s front door. Apparently, Abby takes the cops coffee a couple times a day.

All in all, it’s going well.

One day, you think Steve is showing up for one of your ‘sketch sessions’—where he sits in his own chair somewhere around the huge oval table and quietly works alongside you—but not today.

“They…it’s…” Steve plants his feet on the carpet across from you and looks behind him nervously. Anytime other people are near the room, he walks right over to you to kiss your cheek, a show to keep up the appearance of actually being a couple, but it’s late enough that no one is around. “We do movie night—we’re doing movie ni—we’re watching a movie if you’d like to join?”

You’re tempted to tease him, ask ‘where’s my kiss’ or something that makes that fiery blush creep up Steve’s face, but you grin back. “Sure. I could use the break.”

Honestly, no, you should be hammering out some details for the lapels of this blazer, but ehh, you’re also tired of staring at the same damn jacket.

Of course, this means the lot of them save you and Steve seats beside each other on a couch. You two have only ever sat in chairs in front of or separated by a table, so figuring out how to curl up next to the man you are not dating is an adventure in micro-expressions. You share a look that lasts about two seconds but contains a forty-five-minute discussion of how far is okay to take this and agree that you want to keep up the charade.

Thus, Steve lifts his arm to drape across your shoulders, and you lean into his chest.

It’s a good fit, good enough that you wake up two hours later not knowing what the movie was about and starting to sweat from being so close to his very warm body.

Maybe it’s the eye convo or maybe napping directly on him tells Steve how comfortable you are with him, but either way, he changes to giving a kiss on the cheek or forehead every instance he sees you, no exceptions.

After a week of remaining on the same floor of the same skyscraper and doing nothing but working, sleeping, and movie-sleeping, you’re at your wit’s end, longingly staring out the window at the city below.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asks as he enters the conference room. Forehead kiss this time. His lips feel soft and warm as they ghost over your skin.

“Stuck,” you mutter.

His hand smooths across your back. “Well, how do you normally get unstuck?”

“I go for a walk through the park.” You know you can’t go outside, but it’s difficult to wrangle every bit of bitterness at your captivity. You appreciate all Steve is doing to make it so Fisk can’t get to you, but you need fresh air.

Steve sighs like he’s mad at himself before spinning around the room. “Right.” He grabs your hand. “Come with me.”

In the elevator, Steve explains that in keeping with the eco-friendly intent of the new clean energy tower, Tony made half of the rooftop a greenhouse and the other half a garden. The walking paths are all moss-covered, but there are no benches. Just outside the elevator doors are folding chairs, and Steve grabs two.

On separate chairs with no table in sight, you two watch the sunset on the other side of the building from your work room. You take in a big breath of the chilly air and shiver, completely content to experience freedom away from climate control, but Steve rushes back into the greenhouse to retrieve a blanket from the stack beside the chairs.

“Here ya go,” he stumbles, leaning to tuck the fabric around you. “I should have brought us tea or something,” but when he makes to leave this time, you take his hand.

“You’ll miss it.” He’s probably seen the view from here a million times before, but you don’t want him to go. “Stay,” you say in a whisper.

Steve visibly softens, shoulders dropping, eyes alight. “Yeah?” He sits again and looks at the nearly cloudless sky. “Yeah.” He slouches to get comfy in the small and unsupportive chair, but he looks so at home bathed in the warm pink light. “Each time’s a bit different but—“ he turns to you, smiling “—this one’s better.”

Since the sunset sit-down, Steve makes a point to pry you away from the work area when he has time to hang out with you. The couch isn’t actually far away from the conference room, but it does mean you get to sit together, your feet in his lap while he reads a book, listening to his commentary on the author’s points or sketching aimlessly for fun.

The whole thing feels like a bizarre vacation, some alternate reality where your home life intersects with superheroes. Tony Stark may have been a sometimes-client, but he never let you attempt anything more custom than a three-piece suit.

You’re not complaining; it’s just weird that Captain America is so average when his uniform comes off. He sinks his face into his palm when he’s sleepy. His yawn is outrageously adorable for how big the man is. He absently holds your ankles steady in his lap when he shifts on the cushions. His eyelids droop, and he repeats paragraphs when he can no longer keep his place on the page.

Steve Rogers could not be more normal, and for this reason, you find him extraordinary.

He gets dressed every morning while you’re there, no sweatpants, no workout wear—or, what did Sam call it? Athleisure? That’s not a word, right?—except for when Steve is actively working out. He thinks it’s too on-the-nose to wear your designs in front of you for days on end, but that limits his options significantly, considering how much of his wardrobe sports a Tovarich label. Good jeans and a black sweater will have to do because today he’s playing model.

It seems the mannequin Dominica hauled in for you isn’t close to the right proportions for your client so Steve volunteered, rewarded immediately with a gorgeous, toothy smile that made his heart thump against his ribcage.

Steve’s chatty but can’t help it.

There was one conversation a few days ago that unlocked so many memories he thought he’d lost.

While he peeked at a few of your sketches, you asked him about clothing in the 40s, and he took your notepad to doodle a bit. Steve drew a common dress from memory to show you girls he grew up with, the pleats and cinches in their exact spots because—now that he has your full and rapt attention—he thinks it’s important.

He’s had to recall maps, battle maneuvers, building layouts, and evil plans more times than he can count; no one’s ever asked him how his mother styled her hair or which shoes she wore to work at the hospital.

They’re just shoes, but Steve sat misty-eyed describing how Ma tied her laces a very specific way, the way she taught him to, the way he still ties them to this very day. He hadn’t thought of why in so long, and ever since, little details keep flooding back.

“Buck used to never tuck in his shirts,” Steve laughs as you nudge his arms higher to check his range of motion in the shoulders. “He’d fix the front half and leave a tail out in the back.”

You chuckle at that. “Unacceptable for proper ol’ Stevie,” you muse.

“No, it was not—“ he drops his head in shame “—and I’d remind him every time.” Steve spins, prompted by the pull of your hands at his waist. His face is on fire, but he promised to help you. He just has to ’suffer’ through your touch, he supposes.

How horrible…

“Sharp dresser, were you? Not a hair out of place?”

“Yes, ma’am, or…at least for my size I was.”

You’re deep in thought, pulling the bottom hem to check how it lays at his hips, checking the lining before buttoning him up. “These might be too flashy,” you mumble. “Gosh, I hope he likes this color.”

“Why not? It’s stunning,” Steve jumps too eagerly at the chance to praise the barely purple fabric. It’s that kind of illusion hue that might look black, navy, or its true shade in different lights.

“And the buttons?” you prod.

He tilts one of the stamped, dark nickel rounds to see the embellishment. “I’d consider that a signature touch of the Tovarich brand,” he beams.

Your elation is contagious until an ear-splitting alarm sounds overhead. You’re so startled you spring backward into a rolling chair and topple to the floor.

Steve scrambles to help you right yourself while the wailing screech continues, but he knows that noise.

Emergency.

He has to go.

You’re holding your elbow, flashing him a thumbs up, and Steve feels terrible yelling to ensure you’re okay.

Agents race past the glass walls, and he really has to run so off he goes, jacket still on.

An incredibly long seventeen hours later, Steve is returning to his room only to notice you’ve fallen asleep at the conference table. He’s pleased there is no bandage on your elbow, so the fall was no worse than bruising, but he refuses to leave you there.

Slowly peeling your face and hands from your drafting paper, Steve wrestles your flopping arms and limp legs into a solid hold to carry you to your own room.

You don’t wake up, not fully, only enough to grip the shoulder strap of his shield harness as he gently lowers you onto the unmade bed. Luckily, your MO is to kick off your shoes when concentrating on work, so once you release the leather attached to him, he pulls the covers over you.

He kisses your temple. “Night, Button,” he whispers like a secret, and for now, it is.

You simply sigh and turn deeper into the pillow.

Steve purposefully finds you at breakfast to ask if you’d want to get lunch with him. Yes, it would just be in the cafeteria on the lower levels, and yes, you two have already shared many meals, but in his mind, this is the actual ask, the question of ‘will you go out with me’ instead of just ‘are you hungry at this reasonable time and may I be hungry in your vicinity.’

It’s stupid, he knows. He’s anxious for your answer anyway.

Steve has a very love/hate relationship with having you essentially trapped in the Tower. On the one hand, you’re starved for interaction and the choice of your surroundings. On the other hand, he gets you all to himself. He’s ashamed of how much he enjoys that perk. Somewhere deep inside, he hopes whatever Fisk is after is never resolved, but that’s wishful—and terribly selfish—thinking.

Just in case going on a deliberate date with him isn’t offer enough, Steve can return your client’s jacket. He hung it in his locker when changing into the tactical suit. It’s safe, but he’ll get it after his debrief. That’s a good excuse. That’ll work.

You’re happy and excited, only making him more nervous, but it’s progress. He’s done ‘round noon after the long meeting scheduled to start in, yikes, fifteen minutes, and you quickly agree. Steve floats on cloud nine, bouncing his foot until dismissed so he can rush back up to you.

He isn’t expecting to see Tony in your bubble.

“You don’t know me, Stark. How dare you!” Your face twists in fury. “Screw this,” you shout, frantic in grabbing your essentials from the table. “I don’t answer to you. I don't need this. Someone else will get my things.”

Steve doesn’t understand why you won’t meet his eye or speak to him as you barrel past. He’s too stunned to follow you to the elevator, it feels imposing to race down and corner you in the lobby, but he marches up to Tony with wide eyes.

“What the hell happened?”

Tony waves him off, cagy and dismissive, rushing off upstairs to his lab, and Steve almost asks if this is about Fisk. If it’s not and he blabs, then you’ll definitely be angry at him. If he grills Tony too much, there might be something that gives away that Steve lied about having a significant other as his guest for two weeks. If Steve admits that he doesn’t even have your number, the jig is 100% up.

But he knows you have his number, he knows he still has a jacket you’ll want back, and he knows one thing he’s incredibly good at.

So Steve waits, ready to apologize, ready to grovel, ready to yell at Tony for whatever. He is just ready and waiting.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @darsynia

[Next Part]

[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #fashion designer!reader #threadbare #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff

224 notes · View notes