#bodyguard!steve

[luveline]

let’s play doctor with bodyguard!steve 👀

join luveline's halloween party

ty for ur req anon! cw smut mdni (p in v, unprotected closet sex, praise, good girl, breeding ?) ♡ bodyguard!steve x fem!reader [2k]

"Relax," Steve pleads.

You take another shallow breath and look at him through your lashes, trying not to show how fucking tightly wound you are even though he clearly knows.

"I'm okay," you say.

Steve's hand traces a maddening path, knuckles dragging up the valley of your chest to your neck, fingers stretching out as he cups your throat very, very gently, thumb along the right side of your jaw and index finger the left.

Any other time you'd be putty in his hands. His touches, his hand against your windpipe, it would've sent you into a tizzy.

Too bad you're already in a tizzy. Steve's hand, his other, dominant hand, pushes against the fabric of your dark tights, fingers stuffed snugly into your tight cunt. Your breath hitches as he spreads them wide, a familiar and numbing feeling.

Your grasp on his muscled bicep slackens as he curves them inward, two thick fingers prodding at your swollen soft spot again and again. You tighten around him and he groans right there into your neck, hair damp with sweat as it tickles your face.

"Fuck. You alright?"

"Faster," you whisper.

"Whatever you want, pretty girl."

You keen as his rhythm recalibrates and the pad of his thumb pushes into your clit, practiced circles drawn into the sensitive skin over and over and over. Each full turn has you limp. Steve has to abandon your neck entirely to keep you upright, holding your back away from the shelves behind you.

"Easy," he says, mouth hot and open as he searches for that little slice of skin under your ear that's gonna make you cry. He kisses you in time with his thrusts, lips a gentle brush compared to the thud-thud-thud of his index and pinky finger slapping into your sticky cunt. "Easy, baby."

The sound of his voice is a tether if nothing else, a reminder to calm down and keep quiet. You nibble your lip raw as the tightness in your core coils. Like he can tell —like he knows from the feel of you on his fingers alone — his thrusting slows. Turns gentle. He presses his hand flat to your skin whilst the other pulls you in, pushing you down onto his stilled fingers enough to make you whimper.

He pauses his hickeying to check your face.

Held tight to his chest like this in the near-dark with only your upturned phone to light his face, he has the deepest brown eyes you've ever seen. His lips are pink with blood bitten to the surface and slick with spit, so so soft that you can't help but lean down.

He pulls his wet hand from your cunt and presses it to your hip, holding you steady as he lifts his chin for a kiss. He's receptive — it's like you're in sync. You wade and he ebbs, breath hot and mismatched and ragged.

"You're okay," he says. A firm sterness. "Tell me."

He doesn't mean, Tell me you're okay. He means, Tell me how you feel. Tell me if this is too much for you.

Tell me if it's not enough.

You rub your thighs together as you pull down your tights, nylon at your knees as you guide Steve's hand back to your cunt.

"Please, Stevie," you say under your breath, chest heaving so hard it kisses his black polo. "Need you."

Your breathlessness has Steve's pupils turned to dimes.

He pulls you back toward him and kisses your neck ardently, forcing your head up and back so you can't see his wandering hands. One eases under the material of your shirt to spread wide across your lower back, hot as the heart of a star, and the other falls to his zipper. Your heart pounds with how much you want him, and it skips with every sound. The metallic shuddering of a zipper being pulled down, the light plink of his elastic waistband.

His teeth scrape your skin as he encourages your panties down to join your tights, the fabric ruined by his ministrations already. He gives your neck two quick kisses like apologies and then pulls away, his face shining with perspiration.

He spits into his hand. "Sorry," he says, eyes travelling down. You follow.

"S'hardly-" You gasp at his fingers against your slit, gaze thrown to the ceiling on impulse. "Hardly the worst thing I've seen you do, Stevie. Can you-" You hiss at the sudden return of his fingers, not hurt in any capacity but definitely not expecting it as he works you open. "Oh my god."

"Can I what, sweetheart?" he asks.

You pant. There's no other word for it, your lips part into a small 'o' and you struggle to catch your breath as he fills you up to the last knuckle.

It's a necessary step. Steve's shoulders aren't the only wide thing about him.

"Princess."

You come back into yourself. "Fuck," you say, desperate in the worst way when you see the way he's pumping his cock. Erratic, no rhyme or reason, mushroom tip leaking pearly precum. He slides his fingers up the shaft and pinches it between his fingers.

It ribbons as they come apart, as he strokes down his length and squeezes the heavy sack hidden at the base by a thicket of dark curls.

Impatient, you think. But no, not impatient.

Waiting for you.

"Fuck me," you say weakly. "Please."

"Come here."

Come here. How much closer can you get? Steve leans back and his arm wraps around your back as he pulls you up, forcing you on tiptoes. There's a mess of slick and fabrics between you, the two of you uncoordinated in your hurry, and he yanks your skirt out of the way so hard you hear the stitching stretch.

"There you go," he murmurs, hand guiding the tip of his cock to your hole, a sobbing wetness creeping down the inside of your thigh. He wipes it like he can read your mind, and then your clinging to him as you sink down. "Fuck, there you are. Good girl." His eyes shutter closed. His breath trembles. "Good fucking girl."

Your turn for kisses. You wrap you arms around his neck likely too tightly, a hand scraping back his pretty silky hair so you have a clear view of the side of his throat. You kiss him much nicer than he'd kissed you, attemps to hickey him all dismantled as he rocks you down onto his cock.

"Baby," he says, he praises, hand grabbing at your thigh to hold it up against his hip. You groan as he pulls out enough to fuck back in, doubly when he ruts his hips up and fills you completely.

An ache spreads all the way to your hips. Steve gives pause, kisses the side of your face, whatever skin he can reach as you hiccup into his neck. "Ah- Ah- Steve."

Wiry curls rub against your clit as he starts to move, slow, tentative movements.

"Harder," you mouth against his neck. "It's okay. I'm not gonna break." You're surprised he can hear you.

"I'm not trying to break you." His attempt at whispering is lackluster, voice heady with lust. "M'trying to make you feel good."

"I feel good," you reassure. You're all beggy and you know Steve can't withstand it, not while he's fucking into your heat like he is, not with your mix of slick on his hands.

His pace hastens after that. His arms grow tight around you as his cock kisses your sweet spot, pleasure heightened by the chesty sound of his breathing in your ear. You can't do much beside hang onto him, lips closing urgently over his skin until it burns with bruises. You're wet enough that every thrust is easy and loud, the closet you've found yourself in a vestibule of sex. You moan into his skin pleadingly, no clue what you're asking for as he fucks you dizzy.

Steve can't keep quiet either. His high approaches, his breathing wavers, his rugged panting suddenly coloured with a deep groan. You shiver at the sound, amazed at how close his moans sound to his laugh.

"Fuck-" he says, pained. "Fuck, baby- shit- so fucking wet." Too far gone to tease or mock you, Steve's fallen straight to praise. "Always so wet, pretty thing. Pretty cunt fucking sobbing on me."

It's like he's telling you a secret, the way he confesses.

His pace loosens. Sporadic, your hip aches as he pulls your leg higher and fucks into whatever new depth he can find.

You card your hand into his hair and tug gently.

His breathing hitches and you tug again, startled but not quite surprised as he whines. "Shit, shit, where can I-"

"Inside," you say immediately, "it's okay."

He groans as he cums, each sound loud and intoxicating, cock sliding up into your gummy walls until he's spent and panting into your hair, arms clinging to you as you'd been to him. He stays inside and you try not to move, knowing he's too sensitive.

"Steve," you whisper eventually, "leg's hurting."

He helps you get your foot on the floor, wincing at the shift but quickly recovering. His eyes light up and he smiles sweet as anything, chest rising like he's just run a mile.

"Baby," he says, always like it's more a praise than a pet name. His hands rub up your back soothingly. "Got you all twisted up, huh? I'm sorry," and he means it, kissing your jawline gently. "Sorry," he repeats, lips skipping over you skin. "How about you turn around for me, okay? No more gymnastics. Take care of my girl."

You nod speechlessly and Steve turns you around, the heat and wet of cum dripping down the inside of your thigh.

"Hold your skirt up for me, okay?" He chuckles, a laugh all to himself. "There you go. Thank you."

Steve pushes in and drags your hips up against his own, hand wrapping around your lap to rub over the bump of your cunt. Mess is everywhere and his fingers fight for purchase, three hot fingertips to your clit.

"Make some more mess," he murmurs, shifting his hips slow in time with his circles as he warms up again. You mewl as the speed increases and he gets a little deeper, circles timed with his thrusts, bringing your hand to his yo make him go faster. You're pleased to tears when he understands and fucks in as deep as he can. Tight tight circles and quick thrusts.

You bounce against his hips and it doesn't take much for you to cum, your breath hiked and panicked as the coil snaps. Steve murmurs encouragements, fucks you just that little bit longer to keep it going. You moan his name without thinking, a teary-eyed gasp that has him covering your mouth.

"Shhh, baby... Fuck. Best feeling in the world," Steve says quietly into your ear, almost indecipherable over the sound of you fighting for air. His hands squeeze and relax in time with your tightening cunt. Air hisses from between his teeth and tickles your neck.

He waits for you to catch your breath before he pulls out, the both of you sticky and sweaty and aching. He guides you into his side and gives his softening cock a few sadistic tugs.

You reach across yourself to tuck him back into his pants. He pulls your panties and tights up in turn. You stare at each other, and then you burst into contagious giggles.

"Think it's obvious?" Steve asks, fingers braceleting your wrists so he can wipe your wet palms down the front of his shirt before he zips up his jacket.

It's definitely obvious. You both look like sex, and now you're done the sounds from outside seem quieter than before.

You shift from foot to foot, thighs sliding against each other.

"I'm slimy," you complain good-naturedly. It would take a freight train of problems to dampen your happiness.

He brings your damp hands to his mouth and kisses your curled fingers.

"Sorry," he says to each one. "It's my fault. Couldn't wait."

Your legs tremble, your knees are weak. You feel languid and glowing as you hide your face into his neck, completely in love with how swiftly his lean arms needle over your shoulders. One hand behind your head, one between your shoulders. Protective.

"Should be," you mumble, your smile audible.

"I'll make it up to you."

"Not in this closet, you won't."

#luveline's halloween party #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #bodyguard!steve harrington #bodyguard!au #bodyguard!steve #fem!reader

[ddejavvu]

Okay so I had a hybrid idea-

But imagine you’ve just recently got your first apartment right, and its the first time you’re fully alone so its liberating, yet terrifying all at once. Maybe the place you moved into isn’t all that great either, so theres concern about being hurt in one way or another. So, you’re in the market for a guard dog!

In comes Stevieeeeee~ Maybe he was suggested when you were looking around, or you happen to come across him, but somehow you end up meeting! He’s so sweet to you, and already low key protective the second you show an interest in him, so he’s perfect!

I dunno, hybrid bodyguard hits two AUs in my mind in the best of ways, and I think it could be fun to try it with Steve XD

THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS 🫶🫶🫶 Steve would be such a good guard dog!!! He hears you mumbling something about protection to the receptionist, sounding rather embarrassed as you do, and she considers for a second before her face lights up and she ushers you over to Steve’s space. She unlocks the door and welcomes him out with a soft pat to the head, which he leans into with a grateful smile. He checks you out, nose brushing your thigh as he sniffs around your side, then burrowing into your wrist when you hold out a hand in greeting. He lets you stroke his soft furry ears (I’m thinking German shepherd!!!!) and leans his cheek against your leg, soaking in your sweet touches. But you soon ask to take him out for the day, see if you get along with him by taking him to a little cafe for a snack or the park for a run. When your request is granted he stands from where he’d been huddled by your feet, placing himself between you and the row of hybrids on your left while the attendant walks on your right. They’re not dangerous, you know that, but there’s something endearing about the way Steve already blocks you from people you don’t know, and stands tall beside you. You’re absolutely enamored with him, he’s all smiles and tail wags at the cafe and he thanks you profusely for the cookie you buy him, his arms winding tight around your waist when you tell him it’s okay for him to hug you (he’d been staring at you adoringly and fiddling with his hands so you had to take the first step because he didn’t want to push your boundaries :’) )

It’s when you’re on your way back to the shelter near sundown that someone decides you’re due for an ass-slap, and no sooner does the sound echo across the buildings around you than Steve is on the attack, lunging in front of you as you spin to face the man. You grab Steve’s (massive) hand before he can bite the guy, pulling him back towards you so as not to cause a scene, but the guy is effectively scared by the deep, throat-ripping growl that has Steve’s ears flat on his head. You manage to slip your arms around his waist and rub gently at his tummy from over his shirt, your face against his back as you croon at him that you’re okay, and that he did a fantastic job protecting you, but that he doesn’t need to bite anyone, not this time. He doesn’t fully relax until the man is out of sight, but he turns in your grasp and hugs you twice as tight.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, face tucked against your own, “I didn’t- I didn’t see him until it was too late, I’m so sorry. I- I know you need someone to protect you and- and that I don’t look good for the job right now but I swear I’ll do better, I’ll be more alert and- and I’ll stay behind you, I promise-”

And you cut him off with a hand to his cheek, a soft smile on your face as you bump your nose to his, “Steve, it’s okay. You’re plenty fit for the job, just because bad things happen doesn’t mean that you’re not good at what you do. I’m alright, I wasn’t injured, it wasn’t pleasant but everything is okay. You’re perfect for me,” you croon, “Would you like to come home with me?”

#might write a fic on this 🤭 #hybrid au #dog hybrid!steve #puppy!steve #let’s talk about puppy!steve !! #bodyguard!steve #Steve Harrington x reader

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

oh this was supposed to be just be rambling out a thought and then it ended up as a blurb/thought hybrid....enjoy.

bodyguard!steve x rockstar!eddie

i'm watching the bodyguard and now i'm having rockstar!eddie thoughts and bodyguard!steve...and i know it's been done a thousand times. but steve being hard on himself because of previous assignment that didn't go well even though he wasn't there and swearing to himself that it's not going to happen to eddie..steve's got a reputation to uphold. steve has a fucking CHIP on his shoulder and eddie's well, eddie.

he sees how much steve is running himself into the ground to protect eddie and like, dude, the worst we're going to get a trampled by platforms...but it matters because eddie starts getting concerning letters in the mail and steve's for damn sure not finna let anything slip on his watch.....the crowds get rowdy and steve loses his mind nearly every night watching as the crowds push and push the stage until one night someone manages to rush the stage and steve's bolting before he can think.

more and more people try rushing the stage--a few are successful. Steve's literally shielding eddie's body off the stage and then he goes back to help Jeff and Gareth off and Eddie's trying to hide how badly he's shaking. the crowd settles the band's debating if they should go back out there. Steve's of course against it and in the end Eddie's vote is left to decide and he's shaking. so bad.

"you don't have to do anything you don't want," steve says. he knows it's his job to protect eddie. but it's also eddie's job to entertain people, to put on the show.

"i-i don't know," eddie says voice cracking on the confession. "i don't want them to get rowdier. but i can't--those letters." the letters got graphics--only three of them in total before they started putting safe guards in place to have someone read through the mail before getting it to the band. steve knows there's more but eddie doesn't and that's what matters.

"i'm here. i'm always going to be here, man. whatever you want," steve whispers. and it's just meant to comfort eddie. to let him know that steve's not going to be mad with the choice. management wants to shut the show down, save out from anything worse happening.

in the end, corroded coffin only performs half of their set in total but they end it. another wave of rowdiness is what does this show in. one person rushes the stage and steve's sprinting for a second time in the same night to get eddie off stage. steve doesn't go back out for other people instead he stays with eddie. he stays the night in eddie's room. he plans on sitting in the chair, a cup of awful coffee keeping him company. but eddie after his shower ends up staying up with steve. they chat shit the entire night.

by the crack of dawn, both of them are exhausted but it's fine. they have a flight that's going to give them some sleep but eddie can't help the flutter in his chest when steve gives eddie a quick hand squeeze. they'd joked that eddie's band wasn't steve's taste but before steve slips into the shower before they head down to the lobby, steve squeezes eddie's hand. "i must say going back out to try and perform a second time is pretty metal even if you're upset with yourself and i guess you could also say the songs have grown on me so i do look forward to seeing you all perform each night."

eddie knows as he listens to the rush of the shower that he shouldn't be sitting on the edge of the bed kicking his feet and he knows it means he's fucked but GOOD GOD DAMN steve's proud of him.

meanwhile the creepy fan letters are still being tracked down and it winds up coming forward that two letters were sent as pranks by some teens. but the other letters--the ones that got really SPECIFIC and graphic--is coming from the same person. the person makes some mistakes early on, licking the stamp himself and it gives just enough to track him down.

steve's relieved the person's caught and tells eddie they got the guy. eddie falls into his chest, relieved and exhausted. since the rushed stage incident eddie's been asking steve to spend the night. it's fine by steve. he enjoys the conversation. he finds himself growing fond of them really. but there's a moment after the show where steve's so used to eddie giving him the look--a glance, eyes widen, almost pleading-- that steve has to brace for that look not coming his way. but eddie still looks over as they're falling into the van, eyes widen, almost pleading and steve nods. he nods so fast and so hard he's sure his own hair is going to fall out. but this time they're heading to the airport and as they get coralled into the airport and onto the plane. eddie reaches out for steve's hand and leads him to the very back of the private jet.

steve falls into the seat next to eddie on the outside near the aisle. eddie keeps his hands in steve's and steve knows he should be more aware and mindful of the action, how it could be perceived, but he only cares to take in the way the calluses brush over his palm. steve knows his hands aren't all the soft either, years of fights and training have toughened and scared his hands.

"i like you," eddie says. "i know it's like a conflict of interest and shit. but i really fucking like you and i don't want things to get weird or to end. i know protecting me is a job, but you can't tell me over the last five months it hasn't meant more to you."

steve's aghast. when had eddie known? what was the moment that gave steve away? but steve's no good with words sometimes. they can bubble over or he says things when it doesn't mean them the way they came out so he just leans in, free hand taking eddie's cheek and his lips press into eddie's. there's no confusion with an action, steve thinks.

"i like you too. but it's--i can't do my job with feelings in the way," steve whispers. "i won't have my head on straight if we develop this more and i want to. i want more, but..."

"i can't lose you, steve." eddie's already lost too much. he's never had much to begin with if he's honest and he's lost out on his youth. he feels young and free with steve. "please don't go."

"but i can't stay, eds. not now. not with my feelings."

eddie squeezes steve's hand, pulling him for another kiss. "i'll do whatever is necessary. i'll hire someone else. i'll make you a head consultant, but i need you to stay."

steve can't say no to eddie. it's impossible. "i'll stay until the end of this leg." they've got five more weeks in north america for they get three weeks off and then do a four and half long stint the UK and EU. "it's just...maybe we beef up the entire security team. i think that'll make me feel better."

eddie grins against his lips. "you're already a natural in the consultant role."

"i take your safety very seriously."

"please tell me you take something else seriously too." it's too easy to flirt.

steve laughs, cupping eddie's chin. there's just a prickle of stubble on his face that steve enjoys feeling when they kiss. "only you, eds. only you. but trust me when i say i take everything about you seriously."

it's clear in the tabloids and by the snaps that eddie and steve have grown closer. but they are clearly happy. by the end of the north american leg, steve does like he says, he officially hands in his resignation for personal bodyguard and management hands him official documents for consultant until steve can get on his feet for something else. the new security team has been vetted and tried by steve harrington thoroughly but by the time the UK/EU leg starts up it gives steve a sense of peace that the band is in the second best set of hands. the first being his hands of course.

but his hands are full of eddie's hands and there's nothing better to be occupied by.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steddie blurb #steddie imagine #bodyguard!AU #h writes #stranger things #rockstar!eddie #bodyguard!steve

[steddieficrec]

flight risk by Ayes, itskleo

(16/16 I 81,321 I Explicit I Steddie)

Eddie Munson is famous for giving his bodyguards the slip. Enter Steve Harrington. Has this bratty rock star finally met a babysitter that can keep up with him?

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #musician!eddie #bodyguard!steve #au #oh god the art #so beautiful

[velvetcloxds]

Hey Monique, what about this one, please? Thank you 😊❤️

"Where do you think you're going," Steve questioned, not even needing to look up from the book he was reading to know what you were trying to do. "You know the rules, doll, no night parties until your father is back," he reminded you and you sighed, dropping your shoes onto the floor before plumping down onto the couch beside him.

"The rules are shit," you informed him with a pout, peaking over to see what he was reading.

"They keep you alive, hmm, so they can't be that bad. Besides..." he paused, stealing a glance at his watch before closing his book and placing it between you. "Our show is starting soon."

"Boo," you protested and he offered you a fake gasp, hoping it would cheer you up, but you weren't really upset, more so just wishing for a change of scenery. "I can't stand being in this house anymore, Steve."

"Then let's go," he suggested, smiling when you sat up straight. "Nowhere crowded and just the two of us, but if you want to leave then l-" you interrupted him, jumping into his arms in a way that would give your father a heart attack but you couldn't care less, sinking into his hold as he laughed lightly.

#bodyguard!steve #steve rogers #marvel dialogues #monique's dialogue days #monique's event days #jacky the ray of sunshine

[gxrlcinema]

YES TO ROYAL BODYGUARD STEVE YES YES YES I LOVED WHAT YOU WROTE

with no pressure at all i’d like to ask if there will be more

I genuinely wrote it in like, half an hour before class this morning and didn't anticipate anyone becoming invested in it. @writing-for-marvel has a habit of sending me pictures of Chris Evans that I turn into little AU drabble things. I have more ideas around Royal Bodyguard! Steve but I have no plans to turn it into a full fledged fic at the moment.

I don't really know what "more" means here. Is "more" more drabble-y snippet type things? Or is "more" like, a multi chap? I mean, what about it did people even attach to it was like, 500 words long?

Anyways, this was a really sweet message. The answer is that I don't have any plans for more right now but I'm open to the idea.

#ilanswers #bodyguard!steve

[buckyalpine]

18 + That is your warning so stop reading. Imagine being an absolute slut for your bodyguard Bucky even though your very much so dating Steve.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you" Steve snarled, picking up his pace while you hiccupped, "You filthy fuckin' slut, you worked up and down on his cock didn't you, I'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this"

“But I love riding his dick daddy” You wailed while bouncing on Steve's cock, biting you lip, your eyes rolling back thinking about how Bucky stretched you open like a whore, splitting you in half. "I wan Bucky's cock" You sobbed, sounding needier than ever and it made Steve leak.

"Fuck sugar, that right? You're that much of a desperate slut, you want my best friends cock?"

"Uh-huh" you nodded, nearly going cross eyed, making an utter mess all over the dark blond curls at the base of Steve's cock. He didn't stop his harsh thrusts as the door clicked open, your body guard striding into the office, his cock already rock hard.

"Hey pretty girl" Bucky cooed, smirking at how cockdrunk you were while he rounded he corner of the desk to where you were splayed across Steve's lap where he sat in his office chair. He traced your pouty bottom lip before slipping his thumb into your mouth, humming in satisfaction at the way you sucked it, moaning around the metal digit.

"Go on, finish what I started" Steve nodded while you squeaked as Bucky picked up you up effortlessly off of Steve's cock, and tossing you over his shoulder.

"Need my cock, huh Bambi, that all?" Bucky's wide palm rubbed your sore ass where Steve had spanked you, turning over to place a quick kiss onto the hot skin before laying you down on the table. You let out a needy moan at the sound of his belt hitting the floor, so deep in subby space, spreading your legs extra wide as he pulled his pants down just enough to free his cock.

"Look at that, such a good girl, spreading her legs for me" Bucky leaned over to take a good look at you, your dazed expression and wiggling hips making his balls impossibly heavy. "Wanna show Steve how well you take my cock baby? Show him how I make you moan and cum, n'how I play with that cute little button between your legs?"

"Mph, Bucky please" You whined, pouting at the disappointed tsk Bucky made.

"That's not what you call me Bambi, c'mon, whose cock do you want, say it"

"Fuck me, Sergeant-OH-MY-GODD" You cried out as Bucky slammed into you, setting in a brutal pace without waring, your body bouncing against the desk as he gripped onto your hips.

"That's-it-good girl-good. fucking. girl" Bucky snarled through gritted teeth, slamming your body down onto his cock, his head thrown back, moving one hand to wrap around your neck. He was too enamored with you to notice the way Steve's hand was wrapped around his cock, working his swollen, silky tip, watching his pretty princess take his best friend like her life depended on it.

Bucky spat right onto your clit, rubbing tight circles around you with a feral look on his face feeling you squeeze around him, bending your thighs up till they hit your chest, hitting a deeper angle.

"Feel that? M'so deep in your pussy baby, s'fuckin' deep, can feel your little clit throbbing, it's all swollen huh Bambi, you're soaking my cock, make a mess all over it princess, it's all yours"

"Sergeant-gonna-I-" You couldn't forumalte words, tears streaming down your face and falling onto the desk under you, the band in your belly ready to snap-

"You gonna cum for my best friend babygirl?" Steve's focus was locked in at where Bucky was connected to you, watching his cock slam in and out of your tight cunt, stretching you wide open, his own cock growing impossibly harder, "Fuck, you're a dirty slut, I'm gonna-fuck m'cumming" Steve's voice was breathless, his chest heaving as he worked his cock faster, eyes rolling back as white streams of cream decorated his black shirt, nearly shooting to his beard. "Holy shit"

"BUCKY M'CU-UMINGG" You wailed, your back arching off the table, screaming with every muscle in your body pulled taught. You couldn't tell where your orgasm began or where it ended, unending waves of pleasure drowning you while Bucky began to chase his own.

"Cum for your Sergeant baby, that's it, such a good girl, you make my cock so hard Bambi, y'feel so good, not gonna last, shittt-HNG" Bucky let out a guttural moan, not giving a fuck that Steve was right there, pumping you full of his cum until his balls were empty and his cock was soft. He tucked himself back in his pants before removing his shirt to wipe you down and picking you up, letting you wrap yourself around him like a koala. Your boyfriend followed closely behind, smirking at the needy noise you made, checking to see that Steve was also coming for some post sex naps, sighing contently when you saw him following near by.

"Off to bed, Bambi"

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel smut #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x freader #mob bucky x freader #bucky x f reader #bucky x female yn #bucky x f!reader #bodyguard bucky barnes #bucky barnes bodyguard au #bodyguard!buckybarnes #mob bucky #mob steve rogers #mob steve

[hornedqueenofhell]

#thebardsbodyguard

“Hello and welcome back, we just got to hear a sample of the new single 'We Don’t Have to Dance' from Grammy winning group Corroded Coffin and we have here the lead singer and guitarist, Edward Munson.”

Eddie waves from his spot on the couch with a shy smile, he’s still getting used to all the interviews and stuff that come with the rockstar gig.

“Thank you for joining us, we are so excited to have you here.”

“That’s sweet, thank you. I’m not used to hearing my full name, made me think I was in trouble for a second.” Eddie chuckles and so do the others on the couch as well as the audience.

“I know right, everytime I hear my full name I just-” Chris Pine straightens and looks around like he’s waiting for a parent or teacher to jump out and Eddie laughs because it’s true. The couch also has Stephanie Hsu who Eddie met briefly during the break when she asked what kind of music he did. Overall it feels less stressful than other interviews, he just has to remember that even if a joke doesn’t sit well with him to just smile and nod or Jeff will strangle him.

“So Eddie, you and your band just wrapped your second tour a few months ago and you’re already putting out a new album soon. How do you find the time to just churn out music like that?”

“Well, every member of the band pitches in to write our songs. So everytime we’re home with our friends or families we always have stuff going on, things to experience or draw on to make music. And we’re very close so we’re always meeting up to bounce ideas off each other.”

“That’s right I hear you guys all play Dungeons & Dragons togethers and you have since-”

“Since high school, yeah. I had to repeat my senior twice before I found out I had ADHD and there were days where those games were the only things that kept me going.”

Graham turns to Chris and Eddie is grateful for a moment to take a sip of his drink and fix his sleeve which is just a smidge too tight. “Chris I know you didn’t play before but have you started since being in the Dungeons & Dragons movies.”

“We did a one shot…,” he trails off and glances at Eddie who nods in confirmation, “One shot to promote the second one with John running it and it was fun but there’s just so much to memorize.”

“And you Stephanie, did you do anything like that?” 

She shakes her head with a beautiful smile, “No, I heard about D&D growing up and it’s become so popular now. I tend to be outdoors- I’m still outdoors a lot, handling the farm and the gardens and such.”

“More power to you,” Eddie offers her a cheers with his glass, “I grew up in farm country but I’m terrible at keeping plants alive.” No, that honor goes to Steve who loves growing things in their apartment. 

“Before we go, Eddie I have one more question for you. I know you’re not on social media much but the internet is just dying to know about that gorgeous bodyguard of yours-”

“Bodyguard? What bodyguard?” Eddie interrupts as Graham pulls out his tablet and presses a button to pull up several images from social media. In them is Eddie and a very handsome brunette man holding open the door of a cafe and walking with him into a venue with a hand on Eddie’s back. The same brunette is pictured picking up Eddie after a speaker tipped over and caused Eddie to twist an ankle during a show. All of the images are tagged #thebardsbodyguard or some similar iteration. Eddie frowns and points at the screen, at the gorgeous man he knows like the back of his hand,

“Wait, you mean my husband?”

Twitter goes down for three hours after. Eddie and Steve are trending on Tumblr for days. People scrounge up photos of them from high school, pictures of Steve from the swim team and Eddie from Hellfire club surface and float around the internet. The length of their romance is speculated on as well as when they got married. Some clever fan notes the ring Eddie wears on the same chain as his guitar pick around his neck and the bat wing tattoo on his ring finger that appeared around the same time. The only thing no one finds is the wedding. It had been a close friends and family only event and none of their people would ever share Steve and Eddie’s personal lives like that.

Eddie does eventually give a single interview about his relationship with Steve but after that refuses any others with a request for privacy. He does however post a single photo of he and Steve in their wedding tuxes on Halloween that year. The two of them smiling side by side, foreheads tipped together, eyes closed. Steve is laying on Eddie’s chest when he posts it, having given final approval on the selected photo, while they share a slice of cheesecake for their anniversary. 

“Love you Stevie.”

“Love you too, my bard.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #modern au #rockstar eddie munson #people think Steve is Eddies bodyguard #secret relationship #married steddie #steddiefic chronicles

[buckets-and-trees]

Eva! You wicked little thing!

But this just feels like a sweet, stoic, protector bodyguard Steve, doesn't it? You've fallen for him, hard - how could you not? And you've maybe only just within the last few days stopped dancing around each other and pretending you don't have feelings for each other. You've kissed, you've slept together, but there's still just a little bit of that brand-new-ness of the relationship where you're a tiny bit hesitant, and Steve - aside from trying to be professional - has that bit of shyness, but that sexual tension is thick. His driving you is the first time you've been alone in a couple of days for more than a few minutes during the day.

He reaches over to adjust the dial on the radio, and you just can't help yourself.

You nudge your knees up, and he growls your name in warning,

"Steve," your tone is thick with want, a hint of whine on the edge of it.

And when you see his eyes dart down to your bare knees, you tempt him further by rucking up your skirt.

"We shouldn't..." he tries to convince himself.

You part your thighs. "But you said you would always take care of me. I want you to take care of me now, Steve."

And once his fingers are on your smooth, pliant skin, even though part of his brain is trying to be sensible, his body takes over, and those fingers quickly skim down your thighs and eagerly slip right under the gusset of your panties, and he can't help but hum in approval. "So wet for me, sweet thing?"

"Yes, daddy."

He arches a brow. "Daddy?"

It slipped out before you could think.

"I-"

"I like it," he assures you. "Be sure to call me daddy when I have you begging here soon."

You gasp at this new element he's put on the table, but also because he's slipped two fingers deep into your cunt at once.

And he's going to only slowly shift them in and out, and curl them up against that spongy spot that makes you lose your mind, and edge you for the next few miles of the highway.

He really will edge you until you're begging with tears spilling down your cheeks before pulling over and fucking you over the hood of the car down a secluded side road.

#bodyguard steve #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans characters #steve rogers smut #askpen #eva #such a menace #aspen wrote something #female reader

[writing-for-marvel]

At Your Service (2)

Bodyguard!Steve Rogers x Diplomats Daughter!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: True to his word, Steve makes up for leaving you high and dry the night before.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, semi public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, panties as a gag, dynamic where Steve is meant to be protecting reader and they catch feelings

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: as the winner of this poll, here is part 2 of my beloved bodyguard!Steve! A big thank you to both @flordeamatista who helped me come up with plot ideas for this second part and to @seitmai who provided the inspiration for me to continue with these two 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“You need to stop looking at me like that.”

You actually quite enjoy the desire filled gaze Steve hasn’t been able to break away from you all morning, but the introductory speech for your father you’re giving at tonight’s gala is getting the better of your nerves and any conversation with Steve always seems to lift the weight of the world off your chest, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment you get alone together.

Plus, you’ve been looking for an indirect, yet natural way to bring up the relations performed in his hotel room late last night since you were reunited with your bodyguard this morning.

“Like what?” He smiles at you cheekily in the mirror you’re getting ready in front of and your stomach somersaults in response - he knows exactly how he’s staring at you, but he’s baiting you to say it aloud.

“Like you’ve seen me swallow your cum.”

There’s more affection suspended in his baby blues than simply the carnal lust of having watched you perform the explicit act, but you’re not sure you’re ready to admit the implication of that to express the notion out loud.

Steve merely chuckles in his signature hearty way, that’s dangerously contagious and which makes you fight the corners of your mouth from upturning, not wanting to divulge the effect he has on you.

With those long legs of his, Steve takes a couple of slow, meaningful strides and he’s by your side, right where he belongs, eyes still boring into yours, but with him this close you can now see what you can only describe as a soft familiarity in them which you’ve never noticed before.

“But it was such a beautiful sight, how could I possibly think of anything else when I look at you?” He asks, maintaining eye contact through the mirror with a defiant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that makes you want to kiss him.

You want to tell him that attraction is not one sided, that if he hadn't been tasked with your security and wasn't being paid by your father to keep watch over you every minute of the day, you would have made a move on him much sooner. But a nagging disquiet prickles in your stomach and the words die at the back of your throat.

What if sexual attraction is all he feels? What if you’re misinterpreting these soft glances and his he doesn’t reciprocate the desperate yearning carving a hole in your chest you’ve spent the past month trying to convince yourself isn’t the feeling of falling in love with him?

The thought cracks the barricade you’re attempting to build around your heart, crumbling like an old stone castle wall.

To distract yourself from the uneasy pause in conversation, and the intense stare of those ocean blue eyes you have become accustomed to following your every move, but now feel are appraising your reaction, you break eye contact to locate your mothers locket on the vanity in front of you.

You fiddle with the latch under his gaze, unable to steady your hands sufficiently to exert your fine motor skills, which Steve seems to take notice of as he slowly extracts the delicate chain from your hands and fastens the clasp around your neck. His fingers brush the sensitive skin of the nape of your neck causing the small hairs to stand on end and a shiver to run down your spine. You watch in the mirror as he leans down and places a gentle kiss to where your neck curves into your shoulder, a buoyant, burning desire floats in your chest at the velvety feeling of his soft lips.

“Thank you.” You whisper hoarsely, mentally condemning yourself, you swear ‘thank you’ are the only two words you can say to the man who ensures your protection and unknowingly owns your heart.

Thank you for opening the door for me.

Thank you for protecting me with your life.

Thank you for fucking my throat last night.

You both turn to look at each other in the reflection of the mirror and a smile blooms on his face as soon as your eyes meet each others again.

“You’re welcome.” Steve imitates the low volume of your voice. The thought of his full, plump lips pressed on yours, being held by the two arms that have kept you safe for the past few months, as you were for a brief moment last night, distracts you from the sound of someone opening the door to the dressing room without notice.

“Ma’am, they’re ready for you.” One of the event organisers pokes her head in to hurry you along. Within a blink of an eye Steve has returned to his position by the far wall, standing tall, stoic and poised. The heat drawing up your back at his kiss is the only indication he had moments ago been standing so close.

Less than five minutes later you’re walking beside your father into a grand hall, a large crystal chandelier hanging from the centre of a 40 foot ceiling is complemented by stark white walls embellished with gold trim and framed paintings of major historical moments.

An ambassador from a small European country greets you before you have any further chance to look around. As typical, you’re treated like the naive, young daughter who has grown up so much since they’ve seen you last, even though you’re well into your twenties and hold multiple degrees in political science, economics and global studies.

A pawn in your fathers game.

Look pretty. Smile sweetly. And don’t open your mouth to debate politics which contradict policies he’s looking to implement.

You’re as useful as a decoration.

Steve’s job is to live a couple of steps behind you, but it’s too far. You want him close enough that you can feel body heat radiating from him. You want him next to you so you can reach for his hand. Close enough for him to kiss your neck again like he did in the dressing room.

He’s the one person who never fails to make you feel seen, as if you’re just as important, if not more so, than all the other diplomats and embassy officials in the room. But you suppose that’s just him doing his job, and you shouldn’t misconstrue his lust filled gaze and him being paid to keep you safe with valuing you more than for what you did for him in his bedroom last night.

You sense Steve’s broad presence behind you as you make your way onto the stage, hands uncontrollably shaking and chest tightening as you take in the crowded room of people whose attention is now solely focussed on you.

With a cough clearing the lump forming in your throat, and a quick glance to Steve who’s wearing an encouraging smile, you plaster on your best well rehearsed, feigned grin and begin your speech by telling the tale about how when you were five years old, your father would serenade you to sleep every night, no matter how busy he was or what international incident he was dealing with that day.

Your task is to make him appear as the doting father and formidable diplomat, even if it isn’t the truth. By now, you’ve practised this story enough to recite it word for word.

Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.

Steve offers you his calloused hand as you descend the steps off the stage, as you breathe a sigh of relief your involvement in the evening is over. Goosebumps race up your bare arm at his touch, a reaction Steve seems to take notice of, causing a small grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Your stomach flips at being the reason for that smile, even if only in an accidental way.

The buffet table is your usual choice of post at events such as this, especially at the end of the evening when the decadent desserts are served. Your mother did used to say you had a sweet tooth.

You also always sneak a few servings to Steve too, even though he’s not meant to consume any of the food set out for the guests. Having smuggled enough sweets to him during his service, you know his favourites are the rich chocolate brownies and sour lemon meringues.

However, as all eyes in the room turn to your father as he takes over as speaker, rolling off an opening joke you’ve heard too many times to even consider feigning a laugh to, you instead make your way into the adjoining, wide hallway and bracing yourself against a wall.

No matter how many times you stand in front of an audience of that size, it never fails to make you want to throw up the entire contents of your stomach.

“You did a really great job.” Steve comments as he leans against the same wall you’re resting on. His typically stoic, brooding features soften when he gazes at you, the compliment exchanging the nauseated twisting of your stomach with nervous butterflies. “I couldn’t make a speech in front of that many people.”

The distance between you is agonising, he’s close enough that you can see the patterns in his blue irises, but not close enough to touch. Your fingers itch to feel any contact with him as you had the brief pleasure of as you walked off stage, but you refrain from doing so in public for fear of getting caught.

“Thank you.” Is all your brain can come up with to say when your stomach is fluttering at how soft his gaze is, how he seems to genuinely mean the accolade unlike when your father commends you a job well done.

You’ll have to resign yourself to those being the only two words you’ll ever be able to utter in his presence.

Steve’s eyes dart to the bathroom sign across the hallway, and with a smirk on his face, grabs your hand unexpectedly and pulls you towards it. You don’t even have a moment to savour the feel of his large hand engulfing yours, and how your fingers slot perfectly between his for once you’re inside the bathroom his hands move to cup your face and his lips crash onto yours.

Your mind is dizzy as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, rough hands pushing your dress up to find the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up onto the vanity beside the sink, your back pressed against the firm, smooth mirror.

“You’re so cute when you get all shy on me, even though you were gagging on my cock yesterday.” He mumbles as his lips trail down the column of your throat. “Want to finish what we started last night?” You respond with a shy smile and an enthusiastic nod.

Steve pushes the ends of your dress higher to reveal your black, lacy panties and smirks mischievously as he drops to his knees. The sight alone has you dripping.

He presses slow kisses along the inside of your thigh, starting at your knee and progressing higher each time - repayment for the similar, teasing action you subjected him to the night prior.

A whine falls from your lips as he places his next kiss on your covered pussy, humming at the feel of the soaking wet patch that’s formed from just a few kisses. Pulling your panties to the side, he repeats the action, a gasp leaving your lips as a new flood of wetness drips from your core at the sensation.

Steve’s strong hands force your legs to stay open as he dives in, tongue licking between your folds, lapping up your arousal, the taste of which only spurs him on. He starts out like a man starving, fueled by a complete fixation on needing to taste more of you, something he’s been dreaming about for months.

He alternates between suckling on your clit and finding a rhythm of swirling around your core. Just when his patterns become predictable, he changes his angle or position, finding new nerve endings to stimulate you didn’t even realise existed. When he rotates back to his plump lips suctioning around your clit, he unexpectedly slips a thick finger inside you, watching your face intently for your reaction.

“Fuck, Stevie!” You cry, head pulling back and thudding against the mirror, but you’re not concerned with the dull ache when what Steve is doing between your legs has pleasure shivering up your spine and winding tightly in the pit of your stomach.

“Princess, you need to keep quiet for me. Don’t want anyone out in the hall hearing.” Steve growls, torturously taking pause for a moment to pull your panties off completely. He circles your lips with his arousal coated finger, before allowing you to suck your sweetness off it. He kisses the remaining fluid from your lips, then, with a smirk, instructs you to open wide and improvises a gag by stuffing your panties in your mouth.

As his lips wrap around your clit again, constellations of stars flash behind your eyes, and the coil in your lower stomach winding ever tighter, ready to snap at any second. You can’t prevent the muffled moan resounding from your lips through the lace material of your panties and your fingers from gripping at Steve’s hair in an effort to ground yourself from floating off on a cloud of bliss.

“So sweet.” He hums, breath warm against your centre, the sound vibrating through your entire body. His tongue darts around your folds, learning which are your most sensitive areas, what motions cause you to keen and ensuring to replicate them.

When his fingers begin to trace your opening, gathering your slick, you know you’re teetering on the edge, pussy clenching around nothing, needing to be filled.

Your earth shattering end comes as soon as he thrusts those two fingers inside you while his lips tug on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs clasp around his head and toes curl as your thighs begin to quiver with pleasure surging up your spine, your moans quenched by the garment in your mouth.

Steve doesn’t abate licking up every drop you provide him, even though you're trembling through your prolonged orgasm, his grip on your thighs still bruisingly strong as you continue to mess his hair with your hold.

He smiles triumphantly at your blissed out form when you’re over the other side of your high, the bottom half of his face gleaming with a mixture of his saliva and your arousal.

“Told you I’d make it up to you for leaving last night.” Steve whispers, resting his forehead against yours as you catch your breath, slipping your panties discreetly into his jacket pocket. His smile turns soft as his large hands soothingly rub your bare thighs, squeezing slightly when he notices you enjoying the gesture.

You mentally note to take in how delicious he smells, like warm honey and mixed spices, and how his hot skin feels against your own, sending sparks shooting through you wherever his hands chose to rest, knowing at his usual distance you don’t get to appreciate either of these qualities.

His eyes look at you expectantly, as if he can’t quite find the strength to break away from you and he’s looking at you for any sign you want to push him away. It reminds you of how he looked at you when he asked you to stay in his bed last night, in that way that takes away all your air because of how much fondness is suspended in his eyes, and the words he proclaimed: you mean a lot more to me than just a quick fuck.

“As much as I want to stay here where it’s just you and me…” You reluctantly pose, and your heart squeezes at the look of disappointment which flashes over Steve’s features. “I think we should head back in there before someone starts asking questions.”

Steve steps out of the bathroom first, to look less suspicious, keeping a watchful eye outside while you readjust your dress, fix your hair and touch up your makeup the best you can after having mascara smudge underneath your eyes.

Walking back into the gala side by side, Steve’s fingers fiddle apprehensively with your own, as if to silently ask permission, before slotting perfectly into your hand. You glance up at him to find him already looking at you with that fondness which makes dormant butterflies come to life in your stomach and your cheeks burn as hot as the sun.

He holds on for as long as socially acceptable, while no one can see you, only letting go just prior to making your reappearance in the grand hall, falling into a step behind you, but ensuring to give your hand an affectionate squeeze first.

To be tagged in any potential additional instalments of this AU, please add yourself to the taglist here

At Your Service [Bodyguard!Steve Rogers] Taglist: @daemonslittlebitch @valhalla-kristin @crispysublimecupcake @wifeofbarnes @priya212 @highlyintelligentblonde @buckyseddie @erynnnn @nefelibatansoul @albinotigerpython @goldenharrysworld @supersanelyromantic @gothkitteh @misshale21 @happeevacationday @readreblogfics @ashenc-blog @redbarn1995 @missvelvetsstuff @broadwaybabe18 @calirindo @crazyunsexycool @alluringsirensworld @cevansswhore @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky @almosttoopizza @karla0506 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @nats-whore @barnesboo1967 @musicissmylife @acatwriteshere @buckets-and-trees @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @desert-fern @janineb86 @doasyoudesireandlive @kayden666 @razor-blayde @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @pointless-girl @otomefromtheheart @rebeccapineapple @aya-fay @ozwriterchick @deandreamernp @itvy5601 @marvelxlevram @fandomtrash5092 @corruptedcoffin

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #bodyguard!steve rogers #bodyguard au #chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #captain america x reader #captain america fanfic #captain america oneshot #marvel #marvel fanfic #em writes

[noxarcanaart]

a bit delayed on cross posting to tumblr since holidays and con prep had me busy but! flight risk chapter 14: finally i saw you, waves reflecting me art 🌕🌊

#kleo does art #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #flight risk #steddie bodyguard au

[jqmunson]

This is what bodyguard boyfriend Steve has to deal with... Rockstar Eddie's antics. 😛

Ever read Flight Risk by Ayes?

#stranger things #eddie munson #edit #my edit #eddie munson edit #eddie the banished #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson fan art #eddie munson fan edit #steve harrington #flight risk inspired #steve harrington art #steve harrington edit #steve the babysitter #steve and eddie #eddie stranger things #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #rockstar eddie munson #bodyguard steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie edit #steddie

[morganbritton132]

Re: the privacy issue

At any point does Eddie start to think about a bodyguard?

When Eddie’s touring, he has a bodyguard.

It was a stipulation that the label had when signing the band because at that point, they were pretty infamous for being run out of town. It turns out that the people with the loudest opinions about devil music are often the ones holding rocks, and they aren’t much swayed by Eddie’s dropped charges or his governor issued public apology.

“The label is investing with you,” CC’s first manager, Pete, used to say, “It’s about time you boys start investin’ in ya’selves and don’t get killed.”

So, they got a bodyguard.

His name was Daniel. He was the biggest guy Eddie’s ever seen, could take a punch like a champ, and never once realized in the two national tours and one world tour that half the band was queer. Corroded Coffin’s main hobby was seeing how quick they could ditch him.

Eddie has only brought getting a bodyguard off-tour a few times and each and every one of those times has ended in a fight.

Eddie brought up getting a bodyguard after he impulsively decided to come out publicly during an acceptance speech at the MTV music awards and paparazzi camped outside of their building. He brought it up when an overzealous fan pushed their way into Eddie’s orbit and nearly knocked Steve into the road.

He mentioned it after they got a letter in the mail with a picture of their apartment’s front door and a threat. He even suggested it after their move to the suburbs was met with the word MURDERER spraypainted across the front of their house, and it’s a fight. It’s an argument.

Eddie brings it up and Steve shuts it down. He is scrubbing red paint off the front of their new house and he tells Eddie, “If that’s what you need to feel safe than I think you should get one, but that’s not why you’re bring it up.”

“I still live here when I’m not here,” Eddie says back, spraying at the slur written on the sidewalk with the water hose. “Someone could come here looking for me and find you. Then what? Is it a crime to want to know that you’re safe when I’m gone?”

“What exactly do you think you’re going to do if you are here?” Steve asks and rolls his eyes when Eddie shoots him a look. “It’s not a crime, but I’m not being a prisoner in my own home to make you comfortable, Ed.”

It’s not said but Eddie knows the undertone in Steve’s voice. Steve doesn’t want a babysitter and Eddie’s never been able to make a good case of why a bodyguard is not that. The conversation tends to tip into an argument so he doesn’t press it further than that, he just cleans Chrissy’s name off their front steps.

Steve bumps his shoulder a few minutes later and tells him, “We have a friend that can explode someone’s head with her mind. If I need help, I’ll call El.”

“Or Nance.”

“Or Nance.”

Eddie hasn’t brought up getting a bodyguard in years but after the video at the neurologist, he thinks that there may be a case. Not for protection, but privacy. Steve laughs at him. He actually laughs and he asks, “So, what? We’re entitled assholes that smash people’s phones at the grocery store now?”

“When they’re taking a video of you crying.”

“Of course they’re going to take videos, Eddie. It’s going to be me, you, the dog, and Jim, the eight-foot bodybuilder buying a frozen pizza when you have munchies. That’s just more reason for people to be looking at us.”

#the image of Eddie standing next to a huge bodyguard and people still being more afraid of him is a funny one #I’m slow this week with replying but work is kicking my ass #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

[luveline]

wait, wait, wait, wait. ahhh. a bodyguard!james x reader, where reader's been having a bad day and she's been holding in the urge to cry out her frustrations, but when it suddenly starts raining while she's outside, it's what makes her finally crack? and then sweet bodyguard!james is there, waiting for her, with an umbrella & and idk want a james ; - ;

ty for your request! ♥︎ fem!reader

"James, can I go out in the garden?" you ask. 

James is on his laptop, an unfamiliar sight. He looks up at you and tries to type at the same time. "Uh, is Donovan on duty?" 

You peer through the patio doors. "Not sure." You really need some air. "James, please?" 

"Yeah, yeah," he says, eyes on his screen. "Two seconds, I-" 

You miss the rest of what he's saying, pushing open the door and taking a few steps into the dry grass. You turn your face up to the sky, a miserable, sad white colour that reflects how you feel.

Today has been stupidly hard, and lately you've been struggling with unhappy feelings. You aren't unhappy, truly, but you feel sort of trapped. Going outside makes you feel better. James hasn't mentioned your sudden keenness for the outdoors, and he hasn't tried to stop you either, he only insists someone be out there with you. 

What life is this? Where you can't can't out into your own back garden by yourself? Where every choice you make is either scrutinised or not your own to begin with? 

You cover your eyes with both hands and take a deep breath. It doesn't feel very deep. You take another, and another, and soon your breaths don't sound like breaths at all but pathetic, struggling sighs. 

The first raindrop is a surprise. The second, expected. The downpour opens quick and fast and you could turn around and hide from it but you don't. You stand in the rain and your breath turns to a sob. 

"Fuck," you say. 

You swallow it down. You don't manage to stop the tears all together, but you don't cry out. The rain seeps into your hair, kissing your scalp, and it's warm enough to tickle your neck as it leeches downward. 

The rain stops suddenly. You look up, startled, but the rain has carried on, the sound like a rushing river. 

A black umbrella has been opened over your head. 

James stands silently beside you. You're waiting for a chastening. You should've waited for me. You should head back inside. You should, you should, you should. 

It doesn't come. You rub your cheek unkindly. 

James is looking at you with a mixture of patience and worry. "You okay?" 

You nod. His question has a lump growing in your throat, and it burns when you swallow around it. 

"You want my jacket?" 

"No, James," you say. "I don't want your jacket." 

"Let me know if you get cold." 

You stare out across the garden. The water fountain has started to fill, and all the furnishings and furniture has darkened, wet. "You're not going to make me go inside?" 

James takes a step closer to you. "I just want you to feel better. I don't think making you go back in will help. Do you?" 

"No, it won't." 

The rain turns to a hammering. "How about a hug?" 

You smile at him weakly. "Yeah," you say with a sniffle, "that could work." 

He hugs you with one arm. The other is wet from the rain. 

"Umbrella's only big enough for one a half of us," he explains.

You tighten your arms around his waist. He's the only thing keeping you sane. 

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #marauders era #marauders #the marauders #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfic #james potter x fem!reader #its bodyguard steve! #bodyguard!james potter

[natrogersfics]

So It Goes... - A Romanogers Oneshot

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3 Never compromise your client. If there was ever a golden rule in private security that should not be bent, it’s this one. When it comes to the person you’re assigned to serve and protect, you are not to touch. You are not to get too close. And you are definitely not to wonder what her cherry-lacquered lips taste like.

Those are the rules, and the point of rules is to follow them. It’s a value that was instilled in Steve during his time in the Army, and it’s this same value he’s founded his company upon – a company he’s not only proud of, but also one that’s responsible for the livelihoods of dozens of employees. If only for that reason alone, he knows that he must remain steadfast. A professional.

As he enters the elevator, though, every reason he’s just ruminated on becomes that much more difficult to remember. Next to him, Natasha stands silently, looking every bit the sight that she is in a black silk dress and a crisp white coat draped over her shoulders. The doors whizz shut, and as the car begins to ascend to her penthouse, the familiar scent of her lavender perfume fills his senses, and he has to clench both his hands into fists to fight off every urge he has to reach out to her.

Natasha Romanoff is his job. Ensuring she’s safe and that she remains safe is his mission, and because of that, he can’t be thinking of her this way. And, more saliently, he can’t take any of the events this evening personally.

Only problem is, everything about this job has felt personal from the outset. He couldn’t explain it, but from the moment her parents had approached him, seeking his company’s services to protect their daughter from the stalker who had already evaded security once, deftly slipping past them to hold Natasha at knifepoint in the very elevator bank they were just standing in, all he’s ever thought about is never again. Never again would someone get the opportunity to harm her. Not if he had anything to do about it.

Then he met her. Just as he had done for every new client, he had done his research. As one of the children adopted by Alexei and Melina Shostakov, she was one of the heirs to Red Guardian Realty, the largest real estate conglomerate in the country. It didn’t come as a surprise that she had attended the most prestigious schools, graduating top of her class at university and adding accomplished ballerina on top of an already impressive resume. In his experience, when it came to dealing with society’s upper echelon, that merely came with the territory. What did catch his attention, though, was the fact that he couldn’t find much else. Unlike the rest of her siblings whose faces were plastered across the tabloids every week, details about Natasha’s personal life remained elusive. He had seen pictures of her, of course, mostly next to her parents at official events, but none of those quite did her justice – none of them quite capturing how captivating her smile actually is or how her presence could command the attention of an entire room despite her petite frame. And that’s not to mention her eyes, verdant as the forest in the Summer and bright as day. He wishes he could say it was something as rudimentary as instant attraction, but even that didn’t feel encompassing enough to describe the need he felt to protect her the second his eyes met hers.

And it’s what he’s done for the last three hundred and eighty-nine days since. For more than a year, he’s been by her side, getting to know her. Keeping her out of harm’s way. Uncovering the various layers of Natasha Romanoff – the woman, who despite growing up in extreme privilege and largesse, has never treated anyone as anything but her equal. Who would go out of her way in a heartbeat to take care of those she cared about.

The more he got to know her, the more personal his mission became. And as much as he hates to admit it, she’s become more than just his job. At the very least, he had come to see her as a friend. A confidant. He convinces himself that that’s why the events of tonight have felt so personal, the ire from what he had seen unfold slowly but surely clawing its way under his skin. That’s the thing about being by Natasha’s side as often as he is. It’s like getting a front row seat to everything that happens to her. Sometimes it’s as joyous as the children at the orphanage she frequents running into her arms the second she drops by for a visit. Other times, like tonight, it’s watching the unfair way she’s treated, and hearing the vile things spewed her way.

His thoughts are interrupted by a touch as light as a feather. He stills, looking forward at the reflection on the brushed metals doors to see that Natasha’s stepped closer to him, her fingers working to unclench his fist.

“Natasha,” he whispers, but whether it’s in warning or relief, he’s unsure. Luckily, he doesn’t have to linger on the question for too long as the elevator dings, signaling their arrival on her floor. He gestures to the doors as they slide open. “After you.”

This isn’t her. The thought rushes through Natasha as she leads Steve down the hall and to her suite. If there is one thing she didn’t do, it’s get involved with the people on her payroll. And that’s what Steve Rogers is – a person paid to keep her safe.

If only that were the whole truth.

In reality, he’s also the person she’s spent the most time with in the last year, his ever looming presence giving her the peace of mind she’s had to go without for longer than she cares to admit. Gone were the days of her looking over her shoulder, of her stomach feeling unsettled over the idea that there were unwanted eyes on her. Not that the scrutiny ever went away, of course. For as long as she can recall, that’s been part of her life. The unintended consequence of her privilege. Now, though, she could rest easy knowing that she also had Steve’s eyes, his sharp, watchful gaze looking out for her.

But it’s not only Steve’s presence that’s allowed her to revel in safety. She was still reeling from her brush with her stalker when her parents had hired Steve, and even with him shadowing her, she knew that if she was ever going to live without fear ever again, she needed to learn to defend herself. To never feel the helplessness she felt that night as that mad man pressed a blade to her skin. Her parents were less than thrilled with the idea (let Steve do his job, her mother had insisted), but much to her surprise, Steve was very much all in. And so began their weekly ritual. Every Wednesday after work, Steve would train her to fight, teaching her all the ways she could protect herself.

If she had to think of the moment she felt her relationship with Steve begin to shift, it was here. Maybe it was the late hour or the exhaustion from the day, but she found that Steve was more willing to let his guard down after those sessions. It’s as they were sitting on the mats, trying to catch their breath between sets at the gym, that she learned all the details about him that she’s grown to admire, like how big an influence his father was in his choice to join the Army. How much he missed his mom. What a little shit he could be with a quip.

Before she really knew it, Steve had become more than just her bodyguard. He had become her sounding board, and she trusted him implicitly – which was more than she could say about some people she called family.

Families were complicated, but hers was a little more so. Their parents had loved them fiercely, of that there was no doubt. But she and her siblings were all cut from different cloths, and after that fateful car crash that had suddenly taken their parents, the very glue that held them together, that couldn’t be more apparent. Those differences were on full display tonight at the first board meeting since their parents’ passing. Weeks of anticipation had ended with the board announcing that they had selected her to be the next CEO, her father’s successor. Her sisters were practically apathetic – Yelena shrugged, and while Antonia rolled her eyes, she said nothing more. Her brothers, though, were incandescent. Helmut had branded her a manipulative snake. But it was John who had the most to say, all but accusing her of sleeping her way into the position. Not that she was the least bit surprised. Of all her siblings, their relationship had always had the most friction. They had been adopted practically at the same time, at the same age, and knowingly or not, were pitted against each other for the same things. So when he had the audacity to level such accusations at her tonight, it hadn’t come as a shock.

What did come as a shock was Steve’s reaction. He was standing by the door of the conference room, but from her periphery, she caught the way his entire demeanor went rigid the second her brothers had voiced their outrage. On the car ride back to her building, he remained silent, only speaking into his ear piece to alert the rest of his team of their impending arrival. Otherwise, he gazed out the windshield pensively, his jaw set. The tension that had found its way to his shoulders had never subsided either, and she’s certain if she looked back at him now, she could still find it in his stance.

She couldn’t lie. The idea of this man, who she had come to know as the very epitome of composure and level-headedness, getting incensed on her behalf… it did things to her. While she prided herself in being a consummate professional, with Steve, she found that to be an arduous task. As anyone with a pulse and a pair of eyes could deduce, with his broad shoulders, strong arms, and blue eyes so intense it made you feel as though you were being swallowed whole by the ocean, Steve Rogers was a specimen. Couple that with the fact that she has never felt safer in someone’s presence than when she’s around his, and well. It’s no wonder that this man has been the star of her filthiest dreams for months.

As they near her door, she reaches for her keys in her coat pocket, letting her mind wander back to Steve’s reaction to her touch in the elevator mere moments ago. She bites her lip as she recalls the way he had said her name, as though he was at odds with himself, trying to keep himself together. She wonders how quick he would be to keep his composure if he knew every which way she has thought of his lips on hers, of his hands on her body, and his weight holding her down.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t realize that her keys have slipped from her grasp until she sees a flash of movement as Steve reaches out in front of her, catching them in his palm. Not that she’s surprised. His eyes are never not on her, watching her, and though she knows he’s just doing his job, secretly, she savors it. When she finally looks up at him, the concern that’s been pooling in his eyes all night has somehow intensified, and she finds herself holding in a breath at their sudden proximity. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, but the tightness in his expression tells her he doesn’t quite believe her. She mumbles a thanks as she takes her keys back from him, and as they make it to her door, she waits. If all the nights he’s walked her to this very spot were anything to go by, this is where he leaves her. But as she pushes the key into the lock, he remains rooted in place, and a rush of excitement fills her chest as she opens the door to her suite.

He should turn around now. The idea gnaws away at him even as he nods at Bucky at the opposite end of the hall, officially passing the night shift onto his colleague. But even so, like a moth to a flame, he finds himself following Natasha inside.

“Thank you,” she says as they cross the threshold and he helps her shrug out of her coat. He nods in acknowledgement, stowing it away. “Can I pour you a drink?”

He looks to see that she’s made her way to the living room, glancing at him from over her shoulder as she stands by the credenza, one hand already on the decanter. “I’m still on the clock.”

“That’s what you always say,” she says cheekily, turning her attention back to the crystal before her. It could end here, he tells himself. He could bid her goodnight, turn around, and make his way back home the way he’s done every night. Instead, he pads forward still. “Besides, I saw James out there. As far as I’m concerned, you’re off duty.”

“Is that an order?” he asks as he comes to stand next to her, eyeing the two tumblers she now has in her hands.

The corner of her lips turns up in a sly grin. “It could be.”

He shakes his head, biting back a groan. “Natasha-”

“Please?”

The way she’s looking at him from underneath the fan of her darkened lashes is just not fair. The spark in her eyes is Goliath, and his self-restraint, what little remains of it anyway, is merely David. He sighs in concession. “One drink.”

“One drink,” she parrots, her expression lighting up in victory as she extends the other drink towards him. It wasn’t a secret to him that she’s fond of winning. What is novel is the effervescent feeling that rushes through him knowing he’s letting her, and it’s one he finds he could dangerously get addicted to. They clink glasses before taking a sip, and he relishes the familiar burn of liquor down his throat. “Besides,” she says a beat later, “if a nearly hundred year old scotch can’t turn that frown upside down, what will?” His lips press into a hard line at that, and he watches the way she tilts her head to the side. “Want to tell me what that’s about?”

He wants to. God knows the words have been hanging on the tip of his tongue the entire night, begging to be said. He so desperately wants to tell her that her brothers are low lives. That she deserves better. That it kills him that he couldn’t say or do anything in her defense because not only does she not need him to fight her battles, but also it’s simply not his place. This isn’t a discussion a bodyguard has with his client, which is why he settles for, “Your brothers are a piece of work.”

She hums in agreement. “You knew that, though.”

He did. Her brothers may have never had the audacity to speak to her the way they did tonight when their parents were still around, but the animosity has always been palpable from their backhanded comments to the outright callousness with which they viewed the situation with her stalker, practically ridiculing Natasha for needing round-the-clock security. The latter makes his blood boil – the idea that they think their sister’s safety is something to trivialize, and this time, he isn’t able to hold back. “I should’ve beat John to a pulp.”

The regret sets in the second the words leave his mouth, and he admonishes himself internally. His lips part to apologize, but before he can, Natasha chuckles. “Believe me, he isn’t worth the bruised knuckles or the assault charge.”

“Maybe I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“Such a man,” she says teasingly, taking another sip of her drink.

For the first time since they entered the conference room this evening, he feels his lips lifting into a little smile. If Natasha could find levity in the situation, shrug it off, surely he could, too. And perhaps it’s the liquid courage giving him the audacity to do so, but before he lets the subject go completely, he finds himself finally asking the one question that’s been eating away at him all night. “Natasha, why didn’t you say anything?”

She’s silent for a while, her eyes studying his face. What she’s searching for, he’s unsure. Nevertheless, he holds her gaze, waiting, because none of the events tonight made sense to him. He’s been with her in countless meetings this year, some of which have bordered on incendiary, and while she’s not one to be prone to an outburst, she also doesn’t turn the other cheek the way she did in front of her family tonight.

Eventually, Natasha shrugs. “Because there’s no point.”

“No point?” he asks. “Natasha, I don’t understand.” He’s overstepping now, he knows, but the words slip from his lips just the same. “They shouldn’t be able to speak about you that way! None of what they said is true. The board chose you because you earned it. You submitted the best proposal to take the company forward, not them! And they have the audacity-”

“What choice do I have, Steve?” Natasha interrupts, and for a moment, he can only stand there, frozen, taken aback by her question. As she stares at him, the playful mood she’s been intent on upholding dissipates, and she sighs. “I know none of what my brothers say or think about me is true, but what choice do I have but to take it?”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Natasha, you’re allowed to defend yourself.”

“I wish that were true,” she says, smiling ruefully. “I want this job because I care about continuing my parents’ legacy. But the board?” The resentment in her tone is clear as day she adds, “all they care about is making it seem like there was a clear succession plan so our stock price doesn’t dip.” Her shoulders lift as she scoffs. “If I react… If I so much as show them that my brothers get under my skin, I’m too emotional. Too soft to run this company. But if I respond in kind… I’m a bitch that’ll run it to the ground out of spite.” She shakes her head. “Much as I’d like to wipe that smug look off John’s face, I have to play the long game.”

“Natasha…” he says, placing his drink down on the credenza. He’s been so lost in his anger tonight that he forgot, momentarily, that the stakes are, and have always been, different for her. It wasn’t fair, but the bar for her has always been higher, the fall from the top always steeper. It’s why she’s careful to keep as much of her private life out of the press. Why she meticulously plans her every move, demanding perfection of herself even as her siblings – her brothers, especially – are given seemingly endless leeway for their transgressions. He steps closer to her, putting a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be.”

Her eyes go from the hand he has on her arm to his face. “It is,” she says, agreeing to the sentiment without any specifics. Somehow, that pulls even more at his heart strings. Because it’s all of it, all the time, he realizes.

He sighs. “I wish-”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought as she pushes on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips to his. The kiss is soft, sweet, tender. She pulls away a moment too soon, but not soon enough for him not to catch a taste of the heady mix that’s her lipstick, the scotch, and something uniquely Natasha.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says a beat later when the silence between them lingers. “I thought-”

A growl rips from the back of his throat, and before he can stop himself, his hands come up to cup her face as he pulls her into a searing kiss. The tumbler in hand falls from her grasp, hitting the ground and shattering into a million pieces by their feet, but neither of them pay it any mind as he backs them towards the nearest wall.

“I want you,” he confesses, exhaling deeply as he leans his forehead against hers, “so much I can barely think straight. Barely breathe.”

Her hands wrap around him, pulling him closer. “It’s the same for me.”

“Fuck,” the curse falls unbidden from his lips as he hears her confirm their mutual longing. As absurd as it seems at this moment, he could still put a stop to all this. They’re both toeing the line, but with one step back, he still could pull them away from it. Go back to what they were, what they ought to be. Client and bodyguard. Business associates. Friends. He could tell himself that what they’re doing is wrong, verboten. But as he looks down at her, he finds that he can’t. He doesn’t want to. Because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that feels wrong about having Natasha Romanoff in his arms. Whatever line there is, he’s sprinting well and truly past it.

“What do you want me to do, Nat?” There’s a part of him that already knows the answer. Even so, he wants – needs – to hear her say it.

Her eyes twinkle, and her response is the gush of wind that sends the house of cards that’s his restraint crumbling. “Kiss me.”

With that, he finds her lips again, kissing her passionately as if one kiss could make up for months and months of not having her. He doesn’t hold back, and based on the way she gasps, her hands finding purchase on his arms, squeezing tightly, he suspects that she doesn’t want him to. It’s when he takes her hands, pinning them above her head with his own as his lips find their way down to her neck that she cries out, voicing her approval when he pushes his pelvis flush against her, letting her feel the effect she has on him.

“Been wanting this for so long,” she says, and when he looks back up at her, her eyes are dazed as she tries to catch her breath.

He lowers one hand to her face, running his thumb over her cheek as he, too, forces air into his lungs. “Yeah?”

She nods, swallowing hard. “Every night when you go home, I keep thinking you’ll come back. Bring me to bed.”

His hands slide down to her waist, digging into the silk of her dress. “Then what do I do, Nat?”

“You take me hard and dirty,” she says without an ounce of hesitation. “So much that every time I move, all I can think about is you.”

He groans her name, stealing the breath right out of her lungs with another bruising kiss. “You’re all I think about when I come home, too.” He trails his lips up her jaw, to the shell of her ear to whisper, “I spread you out on my bed, kiss every inch of your skin until you’re begging me to let you come.” His words elicit a moan from her, and he feels her nails dig into his biceps through the material of his button up. “I’ll take you any way you want me to, Nat. Hard, dirty, rough… All you have to do is tell me.”

She shudders in his hold, and he pulls away just enough to see her expression drunk with unadulterated lust. There’s a mischievous glint in her eye as she contemplates the possibilities. “I don’t want to think. I just want to feel.” She brings her arms up, wrapping it around his neck. “Tell me how I want to be fucked, Steve.”

Months of wanting, months of wondering… They’ve all led to this very moment, and as she looks out into the expanse of the room, illuminated only by the glow of the skyline filtering in from the panel of floor-to-ceiling windows right across, she feels her heart race in anticipation.

“Quite the view you’ve chosen here,” she says, her voice sounding breathier than usual even to her own ears. She wasn’t sure where they were headed when Steve had scooped her up into his arms, and in all honesty, she didn’t quite care. But the second he had crossed the hall into her office, it’s as if a fresh wave of desire shot straight through her veins.

“Hadn’t noticed,” Steve says from where he stands behind her, crowding her against the desk. His hands find the thin straps of her dress, and she can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine when he pushes them off her shoulders.

“Why are we here, Steve?” she finds herself asking, sucking in a breath as he begins to pull on her zipper. As it reaches the end, the garment slinks down her body, the material shimmering in the dark in a pool by her feet. He mutters a curse under his breath, and feeling emboldened, she turns around. The first thing she notices is that he’s shed his suit jacket, draped it on the back of her chair, but she can only glance at it fleetingly because the second she looks at his face, her stomach flutters. His typically bright eyes have gone dark, the hunger evident in them as he takes in the sight of her standing before him in nothing but a lacy black thong and heels. “You know, if you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to start feeling a tad obscene.”

“You don’t stare at a work of art,” he counters. “You admire it.” Heat rushes to her cheeks, and inwardly, she marvels at the irony. Here she is, standing before this man in nearly nothing, and somehow, it’s his words that have her blushing. She bites back a smile, trying to busy herself by stepping out of her heels when she feels his fingers encircle her wrist. There’s a devious glint in his eyes when she looks up. “Leave them on.”

She arches a brow in intrigue, but doesn’t question the request. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

The grin that creeps onto his lips is trouble personified, and she finds herself holding her breath as he steps forward, erasing what little distance was left between them. “You told me to tell you how you want to be fucked,” he says, reaching for her waist and making her gasp as he hoists her up onto her desk as if she weighs nothing. He nudges her knees apart, standing between her legs and whispering down into her ear. “You want it hard, Nat.” She bites her lip, goosebumps prickling her skin as his breath dances across it, and she’s so entranced by his words that she doesn’t even realize he’s pulled on the pin of her bun until it comes loose at the base of her neck, her hair cascading down her back like a crimson waterfall. “You want it so rough you’ll feel me for days.” Her eyes fall shut when he leans down to press a kiss to her pulse, and as his other hand trails up, cupping her breast and making her nipple pebble underneath his ministrations, she can only throw her head back. “And I think you might even want it to hurt a little.”

He tugs on her nipple, making her gasp, and instantly, she feels herself grow wetter between her legs. “God, yes.”

“Is that what you want?”

She leans further into his touch. “That’s exactly what I want.”

He smiles against her skin. “And that’s what you’ll get,” he promises. “But first, I think you want me to spread you out on this desk…” He pulls away enough to look at her, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear with his free hand. The gesture is so tender, the complete and polar opposite of what he’s promising to do to her right now, that it makes her head spin. “Eat you out right where you spend your days telling people what to do, making all those important decisions… Tease you with my mouth until you’re out of your mind.” She sucks in a gasp. “How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” she manages to heave out. “That sounds perfect.”

“Then lean back, Nat.”

She does as commanded, moving her palms behind her and watching him take a step back, his eyes never once breaking contact with hers while unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt. As he rolls his sleeves up his forearms, it occurs to her that while she’s all but laid out bare before him, he’s still fully dressed. But even with this imbalance, something about the way his licentious gaze trails up her body, taking her in, makes her feel desired in a way she’s never felt before.

It’s when he slides a hand down the flat of her belly, reaching the lace of her thong and ripping the delicate material away with one flick of his wrist that she feels her sex pulse. “Oh, God.”

“Do you know what it does to me?” he asks as he settles down on her chair. “Knowing that I’ve seen you at this desk, taking all those meetings… Making all those calls.” He hikes her legs up, setting her heels at the edge of her desk and licking his lips at the sight of her arousal glistening between her thighs. “In these shoes.” When he dusts a kiss just above where the strap rests on her ankle, the soft hair of his beard brushing against her skin, she can only whimper knowing his mouth is so close yet still so far from where she’s aching to feel him. “And now here you are, so wet for me…” He brushes a finger teasingly at her entrance, her vision blurring when she hears him groan. “Aching to be touched.”

There’s a part of her that wishes he would tell her. Tell her every single detail of the effect she has on him, to know that he’s as desperate for her touch as she is for his. But then he’s pushing in, her body taking him without any resistance. “Steve,” she whines, her gaze falling between her legs, watching every movement of his hand. For a moment, it’s as though she can’t breathe, too lost in her own pleasure and too mesmerized by seeing everything as it happens to her. Her hips cant upwards when he adds another finger. “Oh.”

He looks up at her, and his voice is tight as he speaks, as though he’s feeling just as inebriated with desire as she is right now. “Good, baby?”

When she mewls out another yes, he dips his head between her legs, his lips grazing her heat, and with his hands and mouth working her in tandem, she falls back on the desk, her arms no longer able to hold her up. Her hands fly to his hair, pulling, needing something, anything, to keep her from drowning in this ecstasy. She’s so turned on beyond words, that when he licks a broad stripe up her center, all she can do is cry out his name. Of all the nights she had fantasized about this, none of them could hold a candle to the pleasure she feels right now. The way he teases her, licking tantalizingly at her folds and sucking at her bundle of nerves until she’s just there, only to pull away before she crests… It’s deliriously good, a high she’s fast becoming hooked on.

“You look so good like this, Nat,” Steve says, easing his mouth off her to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh even as he continues to work her with his fingers. “Look at you, just begging to fall apart.”

“Steve,” she begins to say, only for her words to be replaced by a moan when he nips at the flesh of her inner thigh, the little sting of pain making her back bow off the mahogany. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Come for me, Nat,” he says, bringing his mouth back to her center, his lips finding her bundle of nerves. She arches against his face, seeking out more contact, more everything, and as white-hot pleasure permeates throughout her every nerve ending, she finds exactly what she’s been craving. All of her worries, her laundry list of things to do… they all fade into nothing, and all she can think about is the heat unfurling low in her stomach, building. Rising.

“No!” She whimpers when Steve pulls his fingers out, tears nearly stinging her eyes as her walls flutter around nothing. Vaguely, she’s aware of him shushing her gently, of his hand moving lower, and then even lower still. “Oh, my God,” she gasps when she feels his finger at her other entrance, teasing. She tenses – unsure of how far he’ll take this, how far she’ll let him. But before she can give it more thought, her body answers for her, a long, needy moan escaping from her lips as his tongue flicks at her clit and his finger presses in. And then her body is trembling, her orgasm washing over her like waves crashing violently to shore.

She’s not sure how long she revels in bliss. Seconds, maybe, but with the intensity of the aftershocks, it feels like an eternity. It takes her a moment, but eventually, she recognizes the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled. Her eyes flutter open, and with what strength she still has, she sits up just as Steve brings a hand to his length, stroking.

Her mouth falls open, and despite the earth-shattering climax he’s just wringed out of her, she feels her nipples already tightening at the sight before her. She’s not entirely certain how her body could still crave more, but as she watches Steve’s hand shuttle up and down his hardness, his gaze trained on her and only her, it does. The scene playing out before her feels like a cut straight out of her dirtiest fantasy, and she couldn’t look away if she tried.

It’s when Steve’s hand slows at the head, his thumb gathering the bead of liquid, that their eyes meet. He’s always been adept at anticipating her needs, and when it comes to her base desires, it seems it’s no different. He brings his thumb to her mouth, slowly sliding his arousal over her lip, and as the salty taste of him hits her tongue, she moans, taking his hand between both of hers and drawing him all the way in.

“Christ, Nat,” Steve says, groaning when she nips at the skin of his thumb only to soothe it over with her tongue, sucking. She’s lost count of the number of nights she’s spent wondering what he tastes like, and now that she knows, she's ravenous with how much she wants more. With a pained groan, Steve pulls his hand away, his lips finding hers before she can so much as blink. The kiss is intoxicating – tasting of her, of him, of them. By the time they separate, she’s practically writhing, the heat between her legs once again unbearable. “Going to bend you over this desk now.”

With a smile, she slides off, stands, and turns. Behind her, she can hear the tearing of foil as he pulls out a condom and rolls it on, and then his hand is between her shoulder blades, pushing her down. She rests her cheek against the wood, and as he presses against her entrance, she cries out in need. In need of the rightness of this very moment. The covetousness. The tabooness of them, together, as Steve widens her stance, spreads her open, and sinks right into her in a single thrust. Her name falls from his lips, his tone gravelly. Intoxicated. She feels it just the same, her nails scratching at the wood as he bottoms out.

Steve curls his body over hers, and as he sets a rhythm with his hips that’s as delectable as it is punishing, she lets her eyes fall shut, the glow of Manhattan below them disappearing as she loses herself in the sensation. The sensation of finally having the man she’s been fantasizing over, of him buried deep inside of her, of him letting her indulge in her wildest desires right in her office, not a single soul knowing what they’re up to.

His lips pepper every inch of her skin that he can find, every kiss like another one of their dirty little secrets that she’ll keep. He’s not the least bit gentle, and when he slides his hands around her, cupping her breasts, she yelps when he pinches at her nipples.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, because even when he’s doing exactly as she’s asked, she knows him, knows he could never live with himself if he hurt her.

“It’s not,” she assures him, letting out another whimper when he repeats the motion and she basks in the sharp tingle that follows. “It’s so good. So fucking good.”

Her moans fall freely now, if not a little muffled by the desk, but she couldn't care less. As she tethers between pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain, the seesaw of sensations is like gasoline slowly but surely dripping into the fire of her lust.

“What do you need, Nat?” Steve asks not a moment too soon, sensing her longing before she does in that uncanny way only he can.

She wishes she knew. She can feel the pleasure coiling at her spine, threatening to burst over her, and yet it’s as though she’s searching for that little extra spark to set her ablaze – a spark that she hadn’t even known she wanted, much less needed, until Steve had shown her tonight. As the frustration of tethering on the edge begins to set in, she whimpers. “Steve,” she breathes out, moaning at a particularly delicious thrust of his hips. “More.”

In her haze, she doesn’t quite catch what Steve murmurs in response, feeling only the kiss he presses to her cheek as his hands let go of her breasts, traveling down her sides, until they’re past her waist.

“Ah!” she cries out when his palm collides with her backside, the sound reverberating across the room. The burn dissolves into pleasure, and she keens. “Again,” she says, hearing Steve growl in response, hips driving deeper into her as he raises his palm and swats her once more. “Oh, just like that.”

He obliges her request, once, twice. And then another time, until soon, all the sensations brew into one outrageous storm, and as Steve reaches around her and down to where they’re joined, circling her bundle of nerves, it breaks. With a litany of incoherent sounds falling from her mouth, she falls apart, taking Steve right down the edge with her.

Just once. That’s what he had told himself when he decided to throw caution to the wind and kiss Natasha senseless. When he slipped that dress off her body, hoisted her up on that desk. One time to get her out of his system. One time to make him stop wondering.

But now that he knows what it’s like to have her in his arms, knows what she sounds like just as she’s on the brink of falling apart, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough.

He should leave, put as much distance between him and the temptation that is Natasha Romanoff. But as he pulls his pants up and disposes of the condom, he finds that he can’t just yet. “Come on, gorgeous,” he says as he lifts her into his arms, mindful of her pinkened skin. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

A sated sigh slips from her lips as she settles against his chest. He pads out of her office, making his way to the other side of her suite enroute to her bedroom and right into the ensuite bathroom. When he reaches the large soaking tub, he sets her on the ledge, watching as she winces. He frowns. “I told you to tell me if it was too much.”

“It wasn’t,” she says firmly as he turns on the tap, adjusting the temperature. She leans forward, running her hand under the running water. A smile breaks out on her face. “Just how I like it.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to lie,” she says, yawning. “I think I might just doze off.”

“I’ll turn this off,” he says, already reaching to shut the water. “The last thing we want is for you to drown in your own tub.”

“No!” she says, her lower lip jutting out in a pout, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “You know I can’t turn down a good bubble bath.”

“That I also know,” he says softly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He shouldn’t feel such joy at knowing these things about her. In fact, he shouldn’t even have all these little details in his brain, like the fact that she loves daisies and that her guilty pleasure is watermelon-flavored Sour Patch Kids, so much so that she always keeps an emergency stash of them in the bottom drawer of her desk. Or the fact that she got her love of candy from her mom, who would always have a pack in her bag ready for them to share. It’s also why she makes sure to carry some with her when she goes to visit the kids, sneaking them treats even though she knows the staff at the orphanage frowns upon the sugary delights.

But that was Natasha. Ever caring, ever kind-hearted. Always trying to do good with the privilege bestowed upon her.

There isn’t a goddamn thing that he doesn’t like about this woman, he realizes. Mind, soul, and now body – it attracts him all.

Which is why he shouldn’t be privy to all these things about her. None of it has to do with him doing his job. With keeping her safe.

He has to leave.

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, and when he looks at her, he finds her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“All good,” he assures her. He wishes he could give her more than a few words, but he doesn’t trust himself not to crack open now, to confess to her that the absolute last thing he wants to do is leave.

“Well, then…” she begins, a sheepish expression suddenly painting her features. “Do you mind stepping out for a bit while I use the little girl’s room?” Despite his thoughts being at war, he finds that he can’t help but chuckle at her request. She gasps, shoving his arm even as she tries desperately not to crack a smile. “Don’t laugh! Everyone pees.”

“Really? I never knew,” he quips, prompting her to roll her eyes.

“You just fucked me into oblivion,” she adds. “Peeing is not optional.”

He arches a brow at her. “You’ll say things like that, but God forbid I watch you pee?”

“A little mystery never killed anybody.”

He shakes his head. “I can just go.”

“No,” she says, reaching out to catch his arm again. “I only need a minute.” She looks up at him, eyes wide. “Come back, please.”

He’s not sure if it’s the please she added at the end of her request or the vulnerability in her eyes as she said it, but either way, it renders any thoughts he had of walking out of her front door right now moot. With a nod, he makes his way out of her bathroom, leaving the door just ajar.

As he waits, he paces her bedroom, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He stops by her windowsill, looking out into the glimmering city. Below, he finds the crowds still bustling, going about their night, the image only serving to highlight his current solitude. Here he is, standing atop one of the tallest skyscrapers in town, alone in the bedroom of the woman he’s just slept with. A woman who also happens to be his client, his assignment. A woman he had no business touching, much less having.

He leans his forehead against the glass, sighing. It’s when he finds himself at a crossroads like this that he truly missed his mom the most. What he would give to be able to pick up the phone and give her a ring again. But even though that’s no longer a possibility, he still knows what she would tell him – the only answer she deemed right and universal to every predicament.

When in doubt, do the right thing.

Guilt washes over him from the top of his head down to his toes. If there’s one thing that’s crystallized for him tonight, it’s that being with Natasha impaired his judgment, and that’s just not something he could afford, given his job. The very same job that not only requires him to make decisions on the fly, but that also demands that he make the right ones. Mistakes didn’t come cheap in his field. At best, they led to injury. At worst, they were fatal. The last thought brings a chill down his spine, and he reminds himself of the file he has in his office, the very same file Alexei had brought to him way back when, filled with stolen pictures of Natasha that the maniac had coveted, and letters that he had written to her. The endless reports that detailed every which way that poor excuse of a human being used to subvert security. He reminds himself that if not for that one detective who had gotten there in time, he may never have gotten the chance to meet Natasha.

He implores himself to remember all of that. To sear into his memory what was at stake if he chooses to be selfish right now, and what the consequences could be. With that, he moves away from the window, rapping softly on the frame of the open door.

“All clear!”

Given the clearance, he walks in, and the sight that greets him has him cursing under his breath for the umpteenth time this evening. In the tub, Natasha sits surrounded by bubbles, her hair piled high up in a bun.

“Hi,” she says, her tone soft and her face all but glowing. She pats the space he had set her down on not long ago. “Come sit.” His only response is to nod, making his way over to her to perch on the marble ledge. “We should talk.”

“We should,” he says, resisting the urge to push the strands of hair that have fallen loose from her bun away from her face.

“I can tell you’re wound up, Steve,” she says.

His lips quirk up slightly. “Isn’t that what I usually tell you?”

She cracks a smile, but it lasts but a second as she reaches for his hand. “You regret this.”

“What? Natasha, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Never. Don’t you ever think that.”

She bites her lip. “Really?”

“Of course,” he says without skipping a beat, his hand reaching to cup her face. “Being with you was a dream come true.”

She sighs, relief washing over her face as she leans into his touch. “It was a dream come true for me, too.”

“It was incredible,” he adds, swallowing the tightness that’s suddenly formed in his throat. “I could never regret it.” He sighs, dreading his next words. But he has to say them. Has to be honest. “But, Nat, it can’t happen again.” The sadness that fills her eyes is a dagger straight to his heart, but he soldiers on. Do the right thing, he reminds himself. “My head isn’t clear when I’m with you, and I need it to be in order to do my job. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“You would never let anything happen to me.”

The way she says it, with so much trust and certainty, floors him. And it’s this, the amount of faith she has in him and in his ability to keep her out of harm’s way, that gives him the strength to remain steadfast. “And it’s going to stay that way,” he promises. “You haven’t a clue what it would do to me if something happened to you.”

“Tell me,” she says, eyes imploring.

He shakes his head, his mind refusing to entertain the possibility. “It’s not going to happen.”

She reaches for the hand he has on her face, clasping it between her own. “Having you by my side this last year… I’ve never felt safer.”

“Good,” he says, allowing his lips to pull up in a little smile. “I’m glad.”

Easily, if not a little too easily, they slip into conversation as if it’s the end of just another night for them at the gym. She talks about the plans she’s made for the upcoming bachelor party of her best friend, and they both laugh at how ridiculous some of the decorations she’s ordered are going to turn out. In turn, he gives her his assessment of what he thinks is blooming between the doorman and the receptionist in her building.

“You suspected there was something going on between those two and you’re only telling me now?” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. “You know I’ve been trying to play matchmaker for weeks!”

“I needed to make sure my intel was- hey!” he exclaims, barely dodging the water she splashes his way. As she sticks her tongue out at him, he glares at her witheringly.

“Serves you right for withholding information,” she says, only to gasp when he suddenly retaliates. “Rogers!”

The image of her cheek and shoulder marred by bubbles causes him to burst out in laughter. “I’m sorry!” he says, and despite her best effort, she too begins laughing. “Here, let me help you.”

“You better,” she mutters, and he rolls his lips to prevent another laugh from slipping.

He reaches forward, gingerly wiping away the suds from her cheek with the back of his hand, doing the same with the ones on her shoulder. “Your skin is so soft.”

“It’s all the bath oils,” she says, taking his hand. “You should try them sometime.” She scoops some water into her palm to pour it over his, massaging his fingers. “Or, better yet… you could come join me.”

As she looks at him, she bites her lip, and he can only groan. “You, Natasha Romanoff, are trouble.” Her only response is to shrug, and it takes every bit of restraint he has left in his body to not lean in and kiss that little smirk off her lips. Focus. “That… person. He could have easily harmed you, and all he got was a measly six months of jail time.”

“And he hasn’t sniffed this place since,” she points out. “You’re exceptional at your job, Steve. As is your team. I haven’t even gotten so much as a suspicious letter.”

“And that’s how it’s going to remain,” he says, adamant.

She huffs out a breath that’s long and winded. “You’re really not going to touch me again, are you?”

He shakes his head no, smiling sadly as his response elicits another disappointed sigh from her. He lifts their joined hands, bringing it up to press a kiss to the back of hers. “But know, in my dreams, I have you every night.” She throws her head back, groaning, and he chuckles. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” she says, tilting her head playfully to the side. “You keep saying that.”

He grins. “Can I get you a towel?”

“Please.”

He stands to retrieve a towel from the rack, grabbing the fluffiest one, and when he returns to her, he finds that smile playing on her lips again. “What?”

“Well, if you’re going to leave, I guess you better turn around.”

It shouldn’t be that hard to do. But when all he wants is to wrap this towel around her, pull her in, and carry her to bed, the effort feels Herculean. He chuckles, setting the cloth down by the ledge before making his way out. “Goodnight, Natasha.”

“Goodnight, Steve,” she says, and though he couldn’t see her face, the amusement in her tone is all the confirmation he needs to know that she hasn’t wiped that smirk off her face. “See you tomorrow.”

Read Part 2: Blinding Lights here

#Romanogers #So It Goes... #natrogers #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Bodyguard AU

[sunnysideprincess]

Last few days have been wild lol, had a cystectomy, finally met my cousin's husband and now people are asking me to get married and have a baby before "it's too late", so I wrote this instead of punching them

no actual cheating happens here

Steve Rogers is a respectable married man. But he's called in by Virginia Potts, told Tiberus Stone's husband needs a bodyguard and it's fine, he's fine. He can take the heat of a family known to sell weapons to death and destruction. Except the husband is Tony fucking Stark, a man who is so obviously trapped. A trophy for Tiberus like his mother was to his father. And while Stone gets to sleep around, Tony's kept on a chokehold by his own father, uncle and husband. He's a writhing chrysalis trying to evolve, trying to break free. And Steve is helplessly in love with those furious doe eyes looking at him with all the rage as he stops him from trying to sneak away. Again and again. But he is also in love with his husband for seven years. So there's nothing to be found here.

"It's for your own safety," he tries to tell Tony. But the man won't listen. He throws a punch, two. Accuses him for being his husband's spy. Steve assures him he's not. He tells him Miss Potts picked him. And that pulls Tony up short. Leeches the anger out and leaves sharp confusion instead.

"Pepper sent you?" And Steve is a respectable married man. But if those eyes don't stop looking at him with all the curious wonder of a predator, he doesn't know what would happen. All he knows is that he'll end up long buried.

There's a change. Where Tony's rage and struggle pulled Steve in like a depraved blackhole, his gentleness and wit tethers something inside Steve. Keeps him coming back. Tony is a genius. But he's not a psychopath like Stone, not a greedy bastard like Stane, not a businessman like his father. He has hopes and dreams that could save the world. He sees a future that's bright and green. And Steve is a respectable married man headed for ruin.

Steve tells Bucky he would be late. He tells him he's got priorities and his husband says nothing, just nods and kisses his cheek.

He should have known.

He finds Bucky beside James Rhodes, doned up in his Soldier regalia.

"I'm assigning Barnes to Tony's guard."

"We have Rogers."

"Well we've also got Ten Rings coming after him."

There's that. Even Howard Stark doesn't want his son dead. And though there's an ugly scowl on Stane's face he doesn't like, Steve is more worried about deciphering Bucky's blank stare and the gentle flex of his metal limb.

Things go differently this time around. Tony meets Bucky not with fury, but a gentle curiousity. Like he's trying to peek through the icy winds of a storm. He picks and prods at him like a cat sniffing a new scratch post. Asks about the arm. About the metal. About the joints. And the connectors. But never about how he lost the weighted piece of flesh in the first place.

Steve is torn between pulling them apart and asking Bucky to say something.

But Bucky has his back to him. And Tony's eyes are sharp as ever.

"You're lucky my Rhodeybear warned me about you. Or you would gotten the same treatment as him."

Steve can put it on paper. He won't even have to look to know Bucky's interest at that. He always loves it when someone shoves at Steve's immovable strength.

"I punched him. Twice," Tony explains, and like an automated machine Steve defends himself.

"It didn't hurt."

Bucky snorts, shakes his head and throws him a look which tucks the message home. We'll talk later.

"You came back all bruised like a peach."

"Oh," Tony breathes and then blushes. "Well, that's an image."

"I want him," he mourns to Bucky on the sparring mat. Once Bucky has beaten him senseless, gotten the rage of betrayal out of his system. Once Steve learns that he is a respectable married man. But he can learn to be not. "I want him for both of us."

It takes time. Bucky is wary. Skittish around this other guy.

There is Stane and his obvious displeasure. There is Ten Rings and their looming threat. There is Tony himself, pulling away, haunted by a sad, guilty shadow.

"I'm married. And so are you." There is that and more under. There is Stone and his pride. Bruises marking Tony's skin. There is rage boiling up inside Steve, checked by a cold press of Bucky's hand over his neck.

There is too much. And too little.

But when Bucky falls, Steve isn't there. He is trapped behind the rubble after someone blew up the building. He is trapped and worried about the old lady with him, calling for her son and her daughter, bleeding from her torso.

He isn't there. Yet when he gets home, Bucky is there with his fury and rage, his eyes dark and lips warm as he lunges at Steve.

"He's a fucking idiot," he snarls and Steve grins. "He's gonna get himself killed!"

After, Bucky tells him the story.

"He just fucking jumped in after the kid. Wearing a goddamn tom ford suit like it's armor. Ten Rings wanted him alive so of course they stopped shooting. Only saving grace is that I was there. Picked them off one by one."

"And now?"

"Fuck you, Rogers."

"You already did."

"Shut up. We gotta genius to save."

Now, Steve and Bucky are both respectable married men. But they are also known to be a little bit rotten on the inside.

#stuckony #stevetony #winteriron #stony #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #buckytony #deb writes in between #stucky #mcu #mafia au #sort of? #bodyguard au #fic #ficlet #ficlets #married stucky #don't mess with stucky's tony #emotional infidelity #hinted abuse between tony and Tiberus