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familyvideostevie · 3 months

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a kind of hunger | chapter 2

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

an offer from your employer sets your life on track and throws it into a new kind of chaos at the same time. where does joel miller fit into it all?

length: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, heavy petting, joel having a moment with r's tits, hand stuff, dirty talk, painful sex for a second, riding (p in v sex), like a really small smidge of breeding kink, emotional turmoil from r cause what else is she gonna do, some plot! wow! a/n: finally! another chapter. it’s short but i think we’re getting somewhere. Let me know what you think! huge thank you to @macfrog for your eyes and for keeping my sanity in check and @bageldaddy for teaching me how to use commas, letting me borrow your bar, and telling me to just “slutty hallmark it.” this is for you guys.

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

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Bill’s offer costs you one night of sleep and that’s all.

Taking over the bar goes against every rule you've had for yourself up until now, everything that’s kept you going and on your feet.

You lose when you stick around. You get hurt when you get attached. Always keep moving.

But your night with Joel seems to have shaken something loose. You’ve got a pit in your stomach, a hunger set alight by his eyes and his hands and his attention. It’s like he reminded you how to want, how to stop letting the world turn under your feet and dig in your heels instead.

And there’s what Bill said, the thing that won't leave you alone. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice.

It’s easy to lie to yourself about a lot of things: that you don’t mind this life, its constant movement and instability. That it’s made you crafty. That if you picked up and left right now, you’d be fine. No one would miss you, no one would notice. The names and faces you’ve learned would fade as soon as you found new ones somewhere else.

You’ve been a tight fist your whole life, only hanging onto what can fit into your rough and weathered palm, half-moon crescents bleeding that damn desperate hope you can never seem to scrub off. It means a whole lot of avoiding things that could matter so you can’t lose them, can’t let them slip through your fingers. A family who saw your need for space and control and turned it into isolation and disinterest, who drove you away as soon as you were able to leave. College was a bust. Relationships gone sour have taught you not to rely on anyone. Failed experiment after failed experiment, just looking for something to stick. It’s better to be alone, right?

That tight fist keeps anyone out, anyway. It’s carefully rolled bills in plastic bags in the toe of a pair of sneakers just in case. It’s talking just enough to get you a place to stay, a job, a ride, but not enough that anyone remembers your face, even if you wish they would.

It’s not one big thing. It’s a million small ones. And nothing ever lasts. You never last; always cutting and running before it can get real, before they can see the truth of you and find it lacking.

You’ve been looking for the missing piece for years now, the thing that will make you feel like you’ve finally made it somewhere where you’re needed enough to stick around. Where you can stop quitting, where you can put down roots. Where you can be wanted.

You just aren’t sure it’s possible. You’ve done so many things, seen so much, that you feel like it’s too late to be anything other than this.

It’s easy to believe all of that until someone like Joel sees through it – until someone like Bill tells you none of it is true.

Fuck it.

You call Bill the next morning and tell him you'll take over Frank's.

According to him, the turnaround will be quick. He'll have someone "official" draw up the paperwork. You tell him you won't change the name. You tell him you will make some repairs, fix the cracked vinyl booths, and give the floors a refinish, and –

"Do whatever the fuck you want," he grumbles over the phone. "It's your bar."

It sure is.

You own something, now. You belong somewhere – even if it’s just because you have payslips to sign and counters to clean. But maybe this time, if you try hard enough, you can get it right.

You have a meeting to tell the staff that you’re taking over. There are only five of you – two college kids from a town over, the guy who works part-time at the garage by the highway, and an old butch called Pat you find vaguely frightening who’s been working here longer than you care to ask.

It’s probably the first time all five of you have been in the same room. None of them seem disappointed in Bill’s retirement, and they’re on board with your plan for renovations. Especially after you assure them they’ll be paid even if you close for a bit to get it all done.

Joel doesn't come in. You notice, but don’t spare it too much thought. You can’t because the bar is a fucking nightmare all week.

The keg lines keep blocking, the jukebox dies a sudden staticky death, and some asshole scratches the pool table hard enough to tear up the felt. Everyone and everything is pissing you off. It’s an effort not to spend all of your breaks on that milk crate in the alley with your head in your hands.

It feels like Frank’s is hazing you. After all you’ve done for it, you feel a little betrayed.

“Why the hell do you think I’m retiring?” Bill says when you call to bitch about it. “This shit is a fuck ton of work.”

By Friday, you're at your wit's end.

The rush has come and gone, and now it’s slow. Slow enough that you might be worried, but Pat has told you before that this is just how it is in small towns, sometimes.

That, or maybe your bad mood scared everyone off. Maybe they're tired of the shitty atmosphere, of the cloudy glasses and squeaking stools, maybe they –

You pop an olive into your mouth.

“Chill the fuck out,” you mutter to yourself. No one is around to hear.

The only patrons left are some bikers at one of the back tables playing cards. Their laughter is too loud without the music going. The mats behind the bar are sticky under your boots, and your temple has started to throb. You feel like locking yourself in the office just for the silence.

The air shifts when Joel steps inside.

The hunger you feel is a familiar fire, coals that stoke themselves and never go out. Lust, infatuation as you take in his broad shoulders and grey-streaked hair. You’re strung out and a fuck might help.

But there’s also a weight in your chest at the sight of him, one you haven’t felt in a while. It sits heavy above that smoldering flame in your belly, a bruise you can’t stop yourself from pressing on.

Maybe part of you expected him to stop coming in after you fucked. Regardless of how it made you feel, you’re just some woman who serves him two fingers of liquor when he wants to run away from his life. Just someone who gave him one good night and nothing more.

But this weight – this big, thorny emotion that looks like affection and attachment and something real – you don’t know what to do with it.

It’s never been this way with a one-night stand. Yeah, you know the weight of him above you, inside you. You know the taste of his sweat on your tongue, the feel of his head between your thighs. That kind of shit usually doesn’t change anything with you, but Joel is…different.

Careful, that voice inside you says.

Joel peels off his jacket and tosses it on the otherwise empty bar, pushing up his sleeves to reveal his tanned forearms. The stool creaks under him and his gaze is heated as it travels over you. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s looking.

He shakes his head when you hold up the bottle of whiskey.

"Water's fine," he says.

You blink. If he’s not here to drink then what is he here for?

He seems like he always does. Relaxed, like the room was made to have him in it. But you look a little closer, now that you figure you can. The deep scar on the bridge of his nose stands out and his cheeks are a little pink. The temperature must have dropped once the sun went down. His jaw isn’t tense so much as set, determined. He rubs his chin with a flat palm as you fill a glass using the soda gun.

“Whatever you want,” you say.

He looks around the bar. You figure he's taking in the out-of-order signs on the beer pulls, the flickering light pointing to the restroom, maybe even the goddamn ruined pool table.

You pick up a rag and start to clean to keep your hands busy.

“Quiet for a Friday,” he says. "Things goin’ alright?”

You bristle at the implication. It’s been a shitty week, and you don’t need anyone reminding you that you’re probably not cut out for this.

“Fucking peachy,” you snap.

Joel raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t rise to it. "Seems like things are a little tense.”

You swallow a flash of genuine annoyance.

"All it takes is a roll in the sack and now you're a talker?"

Joel isn't phased. He takes a small sip of his drink, rolls the glass between his hands. Nice hands, you think. Hands that felt so good between your --

"Just makin’ conversation," he says lightly.

You’ve always thought you were hard to read – hell, you’ve been told that many times. One of your flaws, people always say, but it makes it easier to slide in and out of places without too much damage. And yet, Joel, a man who has been in your bed once and sits at your bar when it suits him, sees right through you.

Your shoulders slump.

“I’m just tired,” you tell him.

Joel rubs his beard with one wide palm. He moves his jaw back and forth like he's giving you the chance to shut him down, like he’s chewing on the silence.

"Heard somethin'," he says. "Wondered if it was true. Thought I'd ask."

"Are you asking?"

He eyes you, takes another sip of his water like it's a tumbler of amber liquid instead. Like anything you pour him is something to be savored.

"Guess so."

You set the glass down and put your hands on the wood, leaning towards him with your head cocked.

“Are you keeping tabs on me, Joel Miller?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flashing before they slide down to your lips. “Ran into Frank in the frozen aisle at the store.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. "Known him and Bill a long time."

That explains why he looks like he belongs here. He's probably been in this room more times than you have. All of the things you don't know about Joel hang in the air between you.

"Does Bill...?"

Does your buddy know you fucked me in the apartment I rent from him?

Joel shakes his head. "Frank told me Bill was giving the place to one of his employees. Figured it was you."

And that’s that. But it sounds like a compliment.

“Well, it’s me alright,” you sigh, slumping a bit. “And there's a lot of shit to do.”

Joel puts a hand on your forearm. It's a light touch, a quick one, but it sends sparks along your skin. A moth to a flame.

“Ain’t no small thing. Ownin’ a bar. Big deal, if you ask me.”

You roll your eyes but pride swells in your chest. He’s right. It is a big deal.

And here you are in your bar.

With Joel, who fits into all of this somehow. You just don’t know where yet.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you,” you say with a smirk.

You want to draw it out of him, make him flirt with you for the answers he seems to want. You want something to sink your teeth into after this week, something to play with.

Something to make you feel in control. And that’s what Joel gave you, last time you saw him. He pushed when you pulled, met your touches and your quips with attitude and hands of his own. You felt alive, you felt present. You felt wanted. And it was fun.

If you’re not careful, you might forget what sex was like without that – his attention, his touch. Your name in his mouth. But now that you’re giving staying here a shot, maybe it’s time to indulge. To reach out and take.

Joel snorts. He leans forward and raps his knuckles on the wood. “Should we toast to it?”

You laugh. “I don’t drink on the job.”

He raises his water glass.

“Alright,” you scoff. “Fine.”

You pour yourself some water and clink your glasses together. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, not when he takes a long sip, not when he sets the glass down. He keeps looking at you with that heavy, unshakable gaze.

It’s unnerving, the way he makes you feel. You’re still tired, still annoyed, but there's electricity at the base of your spine, the embers in your belly. You want to talk to him.

You clench your hands around your glass. You want to touch him, too.

“So,” you say. He’s wearing a henley this time, the buttons at the top undone just enough to give you a glimpse of a peak of chest hair. You swallow and flick your eyes back to his. He’s smirking.

“So,” Joel echoes. “Why’d you take it? The bar.”

You shrug. “Seemed like a good deal.”

“Bill ain’t in the habit of good deals,” he huffs. “He must like you.”

It’s an effort to squash your smile. “I don’t think Bill likes anyone much.”

“Real asshole, ain’t he?”

That gets a laugh out of you. “Well, he’s your friend.”

“Not much choice in a small town.”

You hum.

The noisy group from the back stumble their way to the door, waving at you as they file out into the night.

“Those idiots ruined my pool table on Tuesday,” you hiss, though you smile at them.

“Gotta be pretty fuckin’ bad at pool to do that.” He looks around and realizes he’s the last one in the bar. “You closin’?”

“It’s only eleven, Joel.”

His eyes rake up and down your body. Is he thinking about how he touched you, how you fell apart under him? Heat curls lazily in your belly. He runs his finger around the rim of his glass.

“Damn shame,” he says.

Normally you wouldn’t shut for a few hours, but it’s pretty dead for a Friday and…

And Joel is looking at you like that and you want to touch him.

You don’t mess around with regulars.

You’re already breaking your rules by taking over Frank’s. What’s one more?

The pulse between your legs agrees with you.

“Colin,” you call over your shoulder, stepping back from Joel’s hot gaze. The barback appears immediately.

“Yeah?”

“I’m shutting early. Go home. Tonight’s tips are yours.”

He sputters. “Are you sure?” His gaze flicks to the stacks of glasses behind the bar, the tables that still need wiping down.

“I’ll take care of it. See you next week.”

He just shrugs and turns on his heel. A minute later the back door slams and you know the kid is gone.

You lift the bridge and slide out from behind the bar. Your boots are loud on the shitty floors with no one in here and each step to the door feels longer than it should because of his damn stare. You feel Joel’s eyes on you as you lock the door and flick off the neon BAR sign that hangs outside.

When you turn around, his eyes are dark.

Joel stays on his stool, one foot on the ground so that his knees are spread wide, watching you. One hand rests on his thigh, thick fingers tapping to a tune only he hears. His other arm is on the wood of the bar, stretching his shirt across his broad chest.

When Joel looks at you, sometimes it feels like he’s the first person to ever see you.

“Gotta settle up,” he drawls.

“What, you gonna tip me for water?”

“Not exactly,” he says, words dragging in his mouth. “Got somethin’ else in mind.”

The air in the bar sparks and crackles like one of those long Texas summer days when a thunderstorm looms like a threat. The electricity of it crackles down your spine, turns it molten, turns you dangerous. It’s never felt like this before with someone you’ve slept with. Just being close to him is enough to kick your pulse into gear. You feel hyper aware of every part of your body as he looks at you like you’re offering him something better than what you can pour.

Which, you guess, you are.

“And what would that be?”

He hums.

“C’mere.”

You can see his cock straining against the front of his jeans.

“Bossy,” you say. “That for me?” You jerk your chin towards his lap and take your time walking back to him.

He smirks. “You wanna go upstairs?”

As soon as you step between his knees, the hand on his leg moves to your hip. Two fingers sneak under the waistband of your jeans to find bare skin. You brace yourself with one palm on his thigh, another on his neck, and thread his soft hair through your fingers.

“I don’t see why we have to,” you say slowly, watching him carefully. “No one’s here. And I know the owner. She won’t mind.”

The hand on your hip slides further back and his fingers press hard into the swell of your ass.

“Oh, that right?” he chuckles. “Well, as long as we ain’t breakin’ any rules.”

You’re not sure who moves first. You’ve got a few inches on him by being on your feet so you pull him towards you just as he surges up and your mouths meet sloppily, hungrily. Joel tugs you closer and you dig your fingers into his thigh as he swallows your giddy laugh, his beard scratching your skin deliciously.

You’re going to fuck him. In your bar.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, lips trailing over your jaw. He’s got both hands on you now, one on your ass and the other on your hip, holding you like he expects you to disappear.

“No, not really–” You cut yourself off with a gasp when he nips your pulse point. “Joel.”

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth. You remember the sounds he made in your apartment and tug on his hair. Joel’s moan is your reward. You press close and grind your hips against the hardness in his jeans and he growls.

“Hard as a rock the second I step in this damn place,” he says, holding you there. You pull back to see his lips spit-slick, his pupils blown. Seeing him undone like this by your touch is just as thrilling as it was last time. His teeth scrape down your neck and he unbuttons your jeans.

“Sounds like a – ah – you problem.”

Joel’s fingers drag through the curls above your cunt before he goes where you really want him. You gasp against his temple when he circles your clit.

“Seems to me I’m not the only one,” he rasps.

The fingertips on his thigh become nails digging in even harder when he slips one finger inside you.

“Gonna leave bruises, sweetheart,” Joel says. Your cunt clenches around him. “You like that? Markin’ me?”

“Maybe I do,” you groan. “You left some last time.”

The angle can’t be ideal but Joel fucks you as best as he can with one finger, then two. You drag his face back to yours and suck on his bottom lip, tugging his hair all the while. Every part of you feels like it’s on fire, like you’re burning up from the inside.

His other hand rucks up your shirt until you tug it all the way off. He pulls down the cup of your bra with one hand and rolls your nipple between his fingers.

You could come like this, Joel’s hands everywhere.

Gripping him through his clothes isn’t enough. You scramble to undo his belt and get your hand in his jeans, button popped and fly down.

He grunts your name when you spit into your palm and take him in hand, velvety soft and tip leaking.

“Careful,” he hisses. “Don’t want to stop this before it starts.”

“I’ll be gentle,” you say. He thumbs your clit in response and you gasp.

Time blurs with his fingers inside you. Your strokes are lazy but he hisses each time you drag your thumb over his tip. Is it going to be this, you two pawing at each other against the bar until someone bursts?

“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I want –”

He finally returns to your clit with a strained smirk. The veins in his neck are visible, telling you it’s getting to him, too.

“You remember what I said last time?”

Ask for what you want, you hear me? You ask and I'll do my damn best.

You could have him bend you over the bar. You imagine it, quick and dirty, the wood digging into your waist as he slams into you, flesh on flesh. It would be better than last time, you know it. But you want to see him.

You want Joel’s face in your neck, your hands in his hair as he fills you up. You want to watch him fall apart under you.

You dig your nails into him again and he hisses. You lean forward so your lips drag along the shell of his ear.

“I want to ride you, Joel,” you say.

His eyes flash. He kisses you hard, swirls your clit one more time, and pulls his hand from your cunt. Your knees feel a little weak so you keep your hands on his shoulders.

Joel brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Gotta get at least a taste,” he says. “Just as sweet as I remember.” You surge forward to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he groans into your mouth.

“Alright, baby,” he says, breath a little ragged. He thumbs your nipple again. “Where’re you gonna ride me?”

“Booth,” you manage. “Over there.” You jerk your head back towards the cracked vinyl seats he’s never once sat in since you met him. He pats your hips and you step back. The stool scrapes loudly on the floor as he stands.

He cups your cheek with one callused palm and just looks. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. And yet he’s looking at you like you’re the answer to all his problems.

“So damn pretty,” he says.

Somehow you make it to the booth, a tangle of lips and hands, shedding pieces of clothing as you go. Your bra, his shirt, his belt. Shoes toed off and left in a pile, Joel shoves the table between the vinyl benches to the other side so there’s enough room for him to sit, for him to drag down his jeans and boxers and take his cock in one hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of it. God, he’s thicker than you remember. One of these days you’re going to take him apart with your tongue.

You could just stand there and admire him but you’re so wet you think you’re going to drip onto the floor. His solid thighs, the dark hair gathered into curls at the base of him trailing up to his navel. If you were a painter you’d put him to a canvas.

Joel spreads his legs wide, and you run a hand down his bare chest before balancing on his shoulder as you step out of your bottoms. It’s almost funny – the two of you naked but for your socks, Joel’s pants around his ankles.

You want him too badly to spare a thought for laughter.

A condom comes from somewhere – his wallet, maybe, or his pocket, you don’t much care – and he slides it on with a hiss.

It’s different than last time. More desperate but in a fun way – and you know this won’t be the last time. You know each other’s bodies, now, and this can be quick, can be dirty, because you’ll be doing it again.

So you don’t waste any time straddling him. Joel lines his cock up with your entrance, his other hand on your hip.

“You ready?” he asks. You lean in to kiss him and sink down at the same time in response.

You moan in tandem as he fills you, the angle different from when you were on your back, so different. The stretch is deeper, and somehow you feel fuller than last time. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-consuming, it’s a little painful.

“Fuck,” Joel groans. “So tight. I ain’t gonna last long.”

It really is a tight fit, so tight you think maybe he was right to ask if you could take him without at least one orgasm to prepare you. The girth of him is splitting you in half, stretching you so much you whimper against his mouth.

Joel’s hands cup your face. “Y’okay?” he says, strained. “Hey, talk to me.”

Your eyes are shut tight, knees pressing hard into his solid thighs as you breathe.

“Need a sec,” you say. “It’s different like this, it’s –”

“I know, baby,” Joel murmurs. “Doin’ so good so far.”

He shifts his hold on you just a little and you whine. The vinyl cracks underneath his shifted weight as he whispers an apology into your shoulder.

The pain of the stretch dulls to an ache and you know what’s just on the other side. You roll your hips and the head of his cock presses exactly where you want it. It sends a shock wave of pleasure through you so intense that you fall forward a little, Joel’s face pressed to your chest.

He presses a kiss to your breastbone, so light you almost miss it as you start to ride him in earnest. Your knees press into the rough vinyl and Joel’s lips find your nipple.

“Didn’t give these ‘nough attention last time,” he says. “My mistake.”

His tongue laves at your breasts, one after the other as you swirl your hips over and over. You tug on his hair as your thighs start to burn but you keep going.

Joel’s teeth scrape against your nipples, the skin of your chest as he nips and soothes, nips and soothes. You’re going to be covered in marks tomorrow.

Maybe it’s the thrill of that, of just seeing him again, maybe it’s how bad you want him, who fucking knows – you’re already so close.

Everything fades away but this. Joel is everywhere, on you, around you, inside you…It’s just the two of you, limbs tangled and sweaty, panting each other’s name.

The smoldering in your belly is a fire climbing higher and higher and you’re going to explode with the heat of it.

Firm, rough-skinned hands hold you steady as you lift and sink, gasping every time he hits that spot inside you.

“Joel, I –”

His grip turns bruising as he starts to fuck you on his own, the wet smack of his balls filling the bar.

“I know, baby,” he pants. “I know. You hear that? You hear me fuckin’ you? You’re takin’ my cock so good.”

You plant your hands on his shoulders and try to meet his thrusts.

“Swear I dreamed ‘bout this,” he growls. “How wet you were. Those fuckin’ noises you make when I –” He circles your clit with his thumb and you keen. “There we go. Just like that.”

“Joel –

“Gonna ruin this booth,” he says with a rough chuckle. His forehead is tacky when you press yours against it.

“I – fuck – need new ones anyway, don’t I?”

Joel grins, all teeth as he pounds into you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, breath hot on your lips. “Soak my cock. Know you can, so tight and –”

Your orgasm rips through you, a broken litany of Joel and yes and god knows what else torn from your throat as he fucks you through it. His thrusts become erratic and you try to keep your seat as he finishes with a deep groan.

Joel presses more of those light kisses to your collarbones, the base of your throat, so like the one he left on the back of your hand that first night. You drag your fingers through his slightly sweaty hair.

“I’ll move in a second,” you say, catching your breath.

“Take your time,” he says. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

His grip on you is practically gentle, fingers lazily stroking patterns into your skin. You drag a hand up and down his chest.

It’s tender. It’s…something it maybe shouldn’t be. Something that doesn’t belong in whatever you’re doing.

You get out of his lap as carefully as you can and stand in front of him, naked. Fucking with a condom is smart and all, but you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping between your thighs.

He doesn’t hide his stare, though it’s not as charged as before. He’s looking just to look.

“Put your pants on,” you grumble at him. He laughs.

You scoop your clothes off the floor and head for the bathroom. The tarnished mirror displays your sated smile and bright eyes. You run a hand over the bruises he left on your neck, your hips. Well-fucked is a good look on you. You look exhausted but happy.

Joel is dressed and back at the tabletop when you return. He’s got his usual bottle of whiskey on the wood, two glasses already sporting a pour each.

“Not workin’ anymore, are you?” he asks you.

You laugh. “No.”

The soreness starts to settle into your thighs when you take the stool next to him.

The momentary silence isn’t uncomfortable. It is comfortable, which is the strange part. Sitting here with him at your bar after he fucked you a few feet away and sipping at your drinks.

Joel, for his part, seems unbothered. You can’t figure him out. It makes you feel a little unsteady to know that he sees right through you, but you don’t know what he’s thinking. Would he tell you if you asked?

“So,” he says. ��What’re your plans for the place?”

You sigh. A piece of his hair is sticking up and you tuck your hand between your thighs so you don’t smooth it. It’s different with your clothes on.

“There’s a lot to do,” you tell him. “Jukebox is broken. Neon signs need replacing. Plumbing could do with a refresh. I want to refinish the floors, maybe tear off this ugly wallpaper –”

“Make sure you get a good gel for that,” he says. “Shit’s old and won’t come off easy.”

You lean your chin in your hand and shoot him an amused look.

“Do a lot of wallpaper removal in your spare time?” you ask.

He fiddles with his watch, jaw working around whatever it is he wants to say.

“I’m a contractor.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grumbles. “You think I sit on my ass all day?”

Honestly, you don’t know. Most of the thoughts you have about Joel aren’t to do with his job. You have no idea what he does when he isn’t here.

You shrug. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Well, I am,” he drawls. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “And I know the folks around here who you’ll need. Materials, all that.”

“Are you offering to help me, Joel?” You keep your voice neutral.

He looks at you head-on. It feels like he’s seeing through you again. “If you want it.”

“If we do that, it has nothing to do with…” You gesture between you. “With this.”

Joel just looks at you, letting you sort out what you want to say.

“I mean, I don’t want charity, okay?”

He shakes his head. “Ain’t charity. I owe Bill some favors. This’ll square us up. You’ll cover all the other shit, I guess.”

“It’s not his bar, anymore,” you remind him, but it’s a weak protest.

Joel knocks back the rest of his drink.

You’ve been working out how to finance the renovations all week. All that cash you’ve squirreled away over the years finally has a purpose, other than a cushion in case something really bad happens. It’s looking tight between paying the staff and sourcing the work. You’d only be able to close a week at a time and any delays will fuck the whole thing.

But if Joel’s offering discounted labor, materials on the cheap? You could get it all done faster, get it done right.

“Why do you want to help me?” you ask.

Joel huffs and if you knew him better you’d say it was in offense.

“Let’s just say I’m invested in the state of this place,” he says. “And you really gotta replace those booths.”

Your face feels hot. “Asshole.”

“So,” he says. “You interested?”

It’s not a bad idea. Hell, it might even be a good one. Money aside, Joel, whatever his story is, is connected in this town, and if you’re staying it would do you some good to start making some connections of your own. Start settling.

The fist in your chest, your heart, your mind – it loosens just a little bit.

“I’m interested.”

Joel knocks on the bar once, twice, and stands. He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and hands you a business card with his phone number.

“I’ll be here Monday morning,” he says. “We can start goin’ over stuff, figure out when you wanna close. All that. Call me anytime. Sound good?”

You just nod. The fatigue is starting to hit and Joel must be able to tell because he just smiles at you.

“Goodnight, boss lady,” he says. “Put the whiskey on my tab.”

Joel grabs his jacket and unlocks the door, sliding into the cool night with a wave.

“You don’t have a tab, asshole,” you mutter, but you’re smiling a little.

It feels like pieces are falling into place.

You know you could get the bar fixed up on your own. But with Joel’s help, it’ll get done faster and you might even have some money left over at the end of it.

It’s a lot all at once. But for some reason, it feels different this time. It’s not another job about to fall through, not another relationship going south because you got spooked. It’s not you getting bored and cutting your losses.

You want this. You want it to work. Usually, you’d have left by now, before you got too attached, but it’s too late so you’re going to make it work.

This thing with Joel, though – you’re going to have to be careful. If you’re not, it’ll run away from you and – well. You don’t want to lose control of it.

You look around the bar and sigh. Unwiped tables, a booth that no one should sit in, floors to clean. A few hours of work before bed.

You know you’re going to spend them trying not to think about the man who just left.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction

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allysunny · 3 months

Note

Hello!! Can i request a 14 + 19 + n for Miguel? remember to take care of yourself as always :)) , luv from anon! 🎀

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me” + “I’ve got you” + Pregnancy x Miguel O’Hara

Words: 4.1k words

Warnings: Beach day! Fluff, pregnancy, mentions of body image issues, mention of suggestive themes, some light angst (if you squint, really), soft Miguel, he's an incredible husband <3 If I missed anything, let me know, I'm terrible at tagging! Not proofread - oops!

A/N: Hey everyone!!! I'm back!!! Wow, I could post two works this week? Insane!!! Well, it was a real blast writing this. I mean it, I got it ready in like, a day or two. That's just how much fun I had with this little drabble! It was just so cute, and I'm a sucker for soft Miguel. I missed writing for him!!!

Once again, I ask your patience. I promise I haven't given up on writing, I'm just really, really busy hahaha.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this! I certainly did <3

“These are so good…” you mumbled, biting into the treat in your hand.

Miguel, standing next to you, winced and his face contorted in a slight expression of disgust. “Cream cheese with anchovies?” he asked, “Yes, mi vida. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

You kept on biting at your sandwich, a content smile on your lips.

“How’d you know this is exactly what I’d want right now?” you asked, mouth stuffed. Miguel winced again. You knew it bothered him when people spoke with their mouth full, and yet he said nothing, simply happy to watch his loving wife indulge in her (honestly appalling) sandwich.

“Call it a lucky guess. All of your cravings so far have been disgusting, I thought I might as well mix whatever we had left on the fridge, and you’d enjoy it.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Seriously? Were you and your cravings that predictable that he could just mix whatever two ingredients there were in your fridge? But as soon as you gave it some more thought, the notion made you laugh. Perhaps it didn’t mean you were predictable, only that your husband knew you that well.

You ran a hand on top of your pregnant belly, giving it a few pats before returning to your sandwich.

“Thank you. Our baby seems to be enjoying it as well,” you tell him with a soft smile.

Miguel returns it and bends down to press a soft kiss on top of your stomach. “Well, that makes me happy.”

You two sat there. You, enjoying your ridiculous sandwich, Miguel enjoying your company. He’d been meaning to take you on a small beach day for a while now, but his work kept getting in a way. After a few tweaks in his schedule (courtesy of Lyla), and a few missions handled by other people (Jessica and Peter B. had been kind enough to catch those anomalies by themselves), he’d managed to snag you away on a sunny Saturday morning.

You had everything you could possibly need. Lots (and lots) of food, an insane amount of sunscreen (that Miguel insisted on applying on your skin every 20 minutes), a few books to keep you entertained (even though you’re only spending the day, and not a whole week), lots of refreshments, and four beach umbrellas for you to sit under (that occupied far too much space, something you’d stressed a lot at home. But it’s not like Miguel listened).

“Everything alright, mi vida?” He asked you.

You nodded and wiggled your feet, relishing on the feeling of the soft sand against them. “As alright as it was five minutes ago, Miggy. I promise I’m fine. There’s no need to worry about me.”

He only sighed in response and shook his head.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Can I get you anything? Would you like something from the beach bar? Fresh juice? Any other beverage? An ice cream?” Miguel looked positively adorable when he worried. Ever since you told him you were pregnant, he started treating you as if you were made of glass, and as soon as you started showing, he went actually crazy.

His wife can’t lift a box – can’t bend down and possibly hurt the baby. He’ll do all of the heavy lifting. In fact, he’ll do all of the lifting.

She can’t do the dishes – spending far too long on her feet can tire her out, and he couldn’t have that. He’ll wash everything and get a dishwasher for the days he worked late.

She can’t possibly cook dinner – what if something goes wrong and she gets upset? Stress is not good for the baby. No, let Miguel do all the cooking.

She can’t clean either – let him handle it.

The point was, Miguel was an extremely protective man. He loved you more than anything. And now you were carrying the world’s most precious cargo: his son.

So why wouldn’t he treat you with the utmost care?

“Miguel, I told you, I’m fine.” You sighed, finishing your sandwich. Before you could say something, Miguel had handed you two napkins and a bottle of fresh orange juice. You took the napkins, cleaned your mouth, and he quickly grabbed a bottle of water, presenting both to you.

“Water? Juice? Which do you prefer, my love?” he asked.

You just shook your head. It was pointless to say anything. Better to simply enjoy it.

“Juice is fine.” You took the bottle and brought it to your lips, which earned a slight groan from him. Safe to say, your pregnancy had just made Miguel even more enamoured with you and your body. The accentuated curves, the softness and plushness of your skin, all for Miguel to grasp and tug and pull. Your tender breasts that had grown, and he’d already spent hours twisting and helping relieve some of your pain and soreness, your calves that often needed to be massaged – your body had always been a treasure to Miguel, but now that his child was growing inside of it, he was going to do everything in his power to love it more and more.

You looked at him; this look of his was easy to recognise. Crimson eyes low and darkened with desire, tracing every swirl of your tongue over your lips. You blushed furiously. It was flattering to know Miguel wanted you, and even more so to know both his love and lust had only increased with your pregnancy.

“Like what you see, Mister?” you asked, tilting your head, and playing coy.

Miguel loved it when you did that. It did things to him whenever you played hard to get, whenever you pretended not to know the effect you had on him.

“Very much. Te ves bien bonita,” he hummed, dipping his head low to place a kiss on your jaw. You sighed, and he took it as a sign to kiss you further, trailing down your neck.

You were just about to run your fingers through his hair when you remembered where the hell you were.

“M-Miguel!” you breathed out, slowly pulling him away from your body. “Please – we’re in public.”

“No me importa. Que vean.”

“No – Miguel, no.” You giggled and pushed him off you, earning an annoyed huff from him.

“We’re at the beach. We’re not going to give these people a show.”

“Oh, but who told you I don’t want to?” Miguel asked, raising a brow, “I’d like to show all of those idiots staring who the hell you belong to.” His voice was low and raspy, and you felt heat pool in your lower stomach. You shook your head, trying to get these nasty thoughts out of your head. This was supposed to be a nice, innocent beach date! Not fantasizing about your incredibly handsome husband.

“Well,” you spoke, “Too bad. You’re not doing anything.”

Miguel grumbled and got up, shaking his head.

“Always the same. Always ‘We’re in public Miggy!” or, ‘Don’t do that, people are watching Miguel”, or even ‘You can’t fuck me in front all of these people Miguel’!”

Your cheeks heat up and you blushed furiously, embarrassment spreading through your whole body. Your husband wasn’t talking in a particularly low tone, and people had started to look at him. More specifically, women, smirking towards him and licking their lips viciously. Your stomach was about to curl when Miguel spoke his next words, making you forget all about other people.

“One of these days I’ll take you in front of all of them, I’m telling you. Show them you’re mine.”

“Miguel!”

“What?” He turned to look at you, and you could see that stupid smirk of his plastered all over his face. It was no secret that Miguel loved to see you flustered like this.

“Don’t say that out loud, oh my god!”

“Why? It’s not like I’m lying here.” Before you could protest further, Miguel offered you a cheeky smile and nodded his head towards the water. “I’m gonna go for a dive. Do you want to come?”

You shook your head. “No, that’s fine.” It was enough for Miguel to tense up, but you were quick to reply. “It’s fine – I’ll be fine, Miguel, don’t worry. I’ll just stay here under the shade.” You tried offering him a reassuring smile. After all, you weren’t a child, and could take care of yourself just fine.

Miguel eyed you for a while, before sighing.

“Fine,” he said, “But if you need anything – “

“I’ll let you know. Don’t worry.”

“And I won’t be long. I promise. I just need to freshen up.”

“Miguel,” you said his name softly, “It’s fine. I promise I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and ran towards the water. You watched him as he looked around and the water tickled his feet.

You then looked around, taking the scenery in. It was a lovely sunny day. There were no clouds in the sky, and nothing but a small breeze could be felt brushing your hair. It was the perfect beach day, and you were so glad Miguel had taken today off to be with you. You missed him when he was gone, and although you knew what he did was extremely important (after all, your husband was Spider-Man), it was only natural to long for him when he was away. Especially with these pesky pregnancy hormones.

You returned your gaze to him, and that’s when you saw her.

A woman, eyeing Miguel up and down, shamelessly.

You raised an eyebrow. For the looks of it, it seemed as if she had been looking at him for a while. It was clear she was looking him up and down, and you felt a nasty feeling forming on your stomach, something green and envious and nasty.

The woman approached him, and your eyes lingered on her, on her perfect silhouette. Her legs were long and lean, her stomach toned, and her bikini sure did wonders showing off her boobs. Along with the jealousy you felt clawing at your skin, came another feeling, that instead of making you angry, just made you sad.

Miguel had seemed to notice her, because he turned to face her and the two started to talk. She was all smiles and giggles, tilting her head slightly and – was she actually swaying her hips? You huffed. Miguel was no stranger to flirtation. Women shot their shots with him all the time. Well, tried to. He was always quick to shut them down, mentioning his lovely wife, who happened to now be carrying his baby.

You knew him to be faithful. You knew he loved you and only you. You knew he would never hurt you or cheat on you or cause you any distress.

So why was it that you felt so unworthy of him when you two were out?

You looked at the woman again.

She was gorgeous, with perfect skin, flawless hair, and a great fucking body.

And here you were, sitting down on a chair you could barely get out of, eating a sandwich you were sure was positively disgusting to everyone else, feeling big and fat and ugly and simply not enough for him. The thought nearly brought you two tears. Miguel always assured you of how much he loved you, of how much he adored you and found you the most beautiful woman in the world.

And yet you couldn’t help but wipe away one or two tears that spilled across your cheeks, dark thoughts clouding your mind. You were surrounded by beautiful women, all of them reminding you of how much less you felt, with their perfect bodies and normal stomachs that did not weigh a ton because of the baby growing inside of them, with long legs that elegantly strutted instead of awkwardly waddling from one room to the other. Would Miguel be better off with any of these women? Would they look better on his arm, on his bed, on his life?

It was simply too much. You grabbed your nearby dress and placed it on top of your belly, hiding it. Then, you moved to grab your book, trying to focus on your reading. It was nearly impossible, and when Miguel returned after a while, you did your best not to look at him.

“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”

You refused to meet his eye.

“Mhm. Just peachy.”

“Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then why are you covering yourself?”

“Just protecting the baby from the heat,” you mumbled. What a terrible excuse.

Miguel hummed before you. He bent down and grabbed his towel, shaking the sand from it (away from you, of course), before setting it down on the spot next to yours, and laying on it. Now that he was up close, you could see every freckle on his body, every muscle, every droplet that fell down his arms, his legs, his back. He was as charming as ever.

And you had never felt more inadequate. Unconsciously, you brought your dress closer, hiding your chest too.

"¿Seguro que estás bien, mi vida?" Miguel asked again, looking up at you. Why the hell were you covering your body? Were you cold? It was rather warm outside, that couldn’t be it. Did you feel sick?

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Miguel followed your eyes. They landed on the woman that had tried to strike up a conversation with him earlier.

And then everything fell into place.

The way you were hiding your body from him, the way you looked somewhere else so that you wouldn’t have to meet his gaze, how sheepishly you were acting.

And it genuinely upset Miguel. Because how could you ever think that you weren’t the most gorgeous woman out there? That your body wasn’t worthy of worship and adoration and idolisation? His fingers slowly crept up next to you, and he softly pulled the dress away from your body, exposing your belly, your thighs, your legs, your beautiful skin and being.

“Miguel, gimme that back,” you mumbled, trying to take the dress back from him. He pulled back his arm and the dress was immediately out of your reach. You huffed, hugging your hands around your body, as if you could hide it from him. You couldn’t. And Miguel was heartbroken that you thought you had to.

“Tell me what’s wrong, mami.” He said, hand caressing your thigh. He’d have to coax the insecurity out of you.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just cold – “

“It’s so hot, we could almost fry an egg on that cute belly of yours.” Miguel said. He wasn’t afraid to talk about your body, especially not after you’d gotten pregnant. You’d felt insecure once or twice, but he had always reassured you of how beautiful you were, and how radiant you looked, even with that big pregnant belly of yours. And for the past few months, you’d been doing amazing, feeling confident about your body, and loving your new figure and everything it meant for your future alongside Miguel. But perhaps the beach had taken some of that confidence away.

You sighed and looked away. Unfortunately for you, Miguel reached out with his hand and turned your face towards his. Nowhere to hide.

“Vale. Suelta la sopa,” he spoke.

There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to look to aside from those gorgeous chocolate-crimson eyes of his. You trusted Miguel, you really did. So why were you having such a hard time saying this? Perhaps you didn’t want him to feel like he didn’t love you enough. You knew he loved you. You knew he found you attractive. What if you thought you were being dramatic? What if he thought you were too high maintenance, still feeling insecure even though all he did was reassure you of his love? It’s not like you can help your feelings.

“I don’t want to bother you Miggy,” you replied, voice soft. “It’s fine.”

��You’ll never bother me. You know that, right? Now, come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You bit your bottom lip, and then nodded.

“It’s just… I just feel so…” You scrambled for words.

“Take your time,” Miguel said to reassure you.

“I feel so unworthy.”

“Unworthy? How so, mi alma?”

“I’m not – my body is not – I’ve changed, Miguel. My body has changed so much. I don’t look like them – “ you nudged your head towards the water, where the gorgeous woman had been moments ago. “And I never will. And look at you – you’re so handsome. You’ve always been. And next to you, I feel… I feel inadequate. I don’t feel beautiful enough for you… And I know what you’re gonna say. That I am, and that you love me, and that you love this child. And so do I. More than anything. But sometimes, I just feel… I feel like you’d look better with someone like that on your arm.”

Miguel listened attentively to each word you said. Just as he figured out, you were feeling down because of your appearance.

“Honey,” he started, letting go of your chin. “You are right. I will say that you look beautiful, and that you’ll always look beautiful to me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was quicker.

“Uh-uh – let me finish. As I was saying, you are beautiful. And I love you. Sure, your body has changed, but it has changed because you’re carrying our baby. You’re carrying a child. Mi vida, do you know how miraculous that is?” His voice was laced with nothing but adoration, and so were his eyes. “You’re carrying a life inside of you. You’re going to bring a life into this world. That is such a beautiful thing. Your body has simply stretched to accommodate our little one. And that is such a lovely thing. It’s a miracle, mi vida. You’re a miracle.”

Your eyes quickly filled with tears, and Miguel cupped your face with both of his hands.

“I couldn’t care less about other women. Whatever they have, whatever they might offer, it will never compare to what you offer me every day. To the love you so selflessly give me every single day, to the greatest gift you’re about to give me. A child. You’re going to bring my child into the world. You say you feel inadequate next to me – Mierda, I feel inadequate next to you. You have chosen me to be the father of your child, and you’re doing all of this to carry it and bring it to the world safely. And all I can do is watch. I can’t take away your pain, I can’t take away your discomfort. I’m the lucky one. I mean – hell, you could’ve had any guy in the world, but you chose me. You chose this awkward, nerdy, standoffish man who couldn’t even tell you he loved you the first time he kissed you because he was so bad dealing with his own feelings.”

You giggled as you recalled the memory, and your heart warmed. Miguel laughed along with you. He’d come very far with you. He was a man of logic, of reason, never letting emotions cloud his judgement. Which made everything infinitely harder when he met you – you, who broke down his walls and made it impossible to think and be reasonable. He’d come so far, and it was all thanks to you.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Miguel continued. “This child is the greatest thing that could ever happen to us. I know that I can’t take away your insecurities just like this. And it kills me that you can’t see yourself the way I do. But please, please believe me when I tell you that you are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen in my life. The kindest, smartest. The most miraculous of them all, carrying a child all by yourself.”

Tears ran down your cheeks, and you sobbed softly. Miguel scooted closer to you, and with his help, you got up from your chair and sat down on his lap. His arms were instantly all over you, one of them bringing you close, the other trailing patterns on top of your stomach.

“I just… I feel so ugly sometimes… And then we came to the beach, and it was supposed to be a lovely day just between the two of us, but then I saw that woman, and she looked gorgeous, and I’ll never be her…” You said in between sobs.

Miguel caressed your head and dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“You forgot the most important part.”

You looked up, confusion in your features.

“She will never be you.”

Your eyes widened softly, and you parted your lips.

“She will never be the woman I love. She will never be the woman who puts up with me every day, even when I’m cranky and grouchy. She will never be the woman who wakes me up with kisses in the morning because she wants me to start my day in the best way possible. She’ll never be the woman who packs my lunch and writes sweet notes. She will never be the woman who loves me unconditionally despite my many, many flaws. She will never be you. Never.”

You smiled through your tears and the invisible rope that tugged at Miguel’s heart loosened its hold. You were smiling. Thank God.

“She’ll never be me?” You repeated.

“No one will ever be you.” He replied, closing the gap between your faces, and taking your lips in his. You kissed him softly, cupping his jaw with your hand and trailing your fingers through his head with the other. When you pulled away for air, there were tears in your eyes once again.

“I’m sorry for being like this… Sometimes, the hormones, they just…”

Miguel quickly cut you off.

“You don’t need to apologize. I will never get tired of saying how much I love you, of telling you how much you mean to me. It’s okay to not be fine. Isn’t that what you tell me?”

You nodded with a small smile.

“Then I’m telling it to you too. It’s okay to feel like this. And I know I can’t understand the depth of your feelings. I can’t know for sure what you’re going through. But I’ll always be by your side. I’ll always be right here to help you. I love you, honey. I really do. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

If someone were to tell you a few years ago that Miguel would be capable of saying these sorts of things, you’d have scoffed and told them to fuck off. When you met him, Miguel didn’t do feelings. He never opened up, never spoke about himself or his emotions. But then you came along and taught him how to feel, how to love. You taught him it was okay to be vulnerable, to be taken care of, to be loved. You loved him all the more for it, your scary, mean, giant of a man who turned into putty whenever his eyes landed on you.

“I love you. Thank you so much for this. I mean it.” You said, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like the beach, like the soft breeze and the warm sun. You placed a kiss there and smiled as soon as the salt of the water hit your tongue.

“I’ve told you, mi vida. I’ve got you.” He said, still tracing patterns on your skin. “I’ll always be here for you. I love you.”

You two remained like this, in each other’s arms for a while.

You didn’t feel the need to get up or go for a swim. Not yet.

For now, all you wanted was to stay in your husband’s arms, feel his heartbeat against yours, sink further into his touch. You looked up and took in the scenery around you. The shining sun, the clear blue sky, the sparkly water. You watched as young couples smiled at each other, groups of friends played around, and families ran after their children. Someday, it’d be you and Miguel, along with your little one.

You realised you didn’t feel insecure anymore. Miguel was right. It was a miraculous thing, to be carrying such a precious thing inside of you. Your child. Miguel’s child. The product of the love and devotion you held for each other. You couldn’t be ashamed of that, could you?

You knew this would be an uphill battle. Your insecurities couldn’t be erased simply overnight. But with Miguel’s arms wrapped tightly around you, you realised that as long as you had him to remind you of all the beautiful things you and this body meant, and how much you two loved each other, it would be okay.

You would be okay.

A/N: And that's it! I hope you guys have enjoyed this little drabble.

Have a wonderful day ahead, everyone!!! <3

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara scenarios #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #astv x reader #atsv x you #across the spiderver fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse x you

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vampyrgoff · 7 months

Note

Hii I just wanted to see if you do requests? I kind of want to ask a Vince and Bo both dating you. But you kind of have a bad week and don’t talk and act like your normal self and then one day they finally ask you and (you know when someone asks if you are okay and the waterfall comes) and have a lot of comfort🥺

I’m kinda struggling right now and today just is the one over the edge and need some love and comfort from these guys😭😭😭

If not that’s alright! Thank you for reading this one anyways!

Dating Both Vincent and Bo Sinclair: You had a bad week </3 Bo and Vincent comfort <3

Bo Sinclair x reader, Vincent Sinclair x reader

contains— fluffff, Bo, and Vinnie being cutie patooties, the boys kind of give off caregiver vibes?, agere vibes but like not really specifying or going into too much detail with that, vinnie does speak a VERY little. YALL CANT TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME, HE SOMETIMES SPEAKS TO YOU WHEN ALONE IDC I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL, a bit of babying honestly, I feel like it sucks but this is the best my sleepy brain can come up with...

requests— always open! send whateva guys <3

vampyr's note— Thanks for requesting, I hope you're doing okay 🥺 I wanted to get this out as soon as possible just cause I know how it feels when you have those days where you're struggling and nothing goes right. I hope this makes your day a little better and if it does, I'm glad I was able to help! <3 My DMs are ALWAYS open if anyone needs to talk to someone! <3 I want to say that this is my first time having to WRITE a cohesive story instead of small blurbs, so I'm sorry for any bad writing!

word count— 2.0k words, 10.9k characters

as always... gifs aren't mine!

reblogs, comments and feedback are always appreciated <3

(literal husbands ughh) (Vincent speaks through sign language! its easier on me to write it that way) (NOT PROOFREAD)

It was just a day. It was just a week, even. That's all it was. "All you have to do is get through it" is what you kept telling yourself. As you lay in bed in the workshop, watching Vincent work, your chest felt heavy. As if there was some sort of weight that was pulling you down. Your throat almost felt shut closed, as if you were to speak, nothing would come out. Your eyelids felt heavy and your vision grew hazy. You've been in bed all day. You didn't even know what time it was.

One thing about Vincent: if you don't tell him to stop working, he never will. He gets so lost in sketching and materializing those sketches that he forgets to eat and drink water, sometimes even take bathroom breaks. Bo can be heard upstairs, busy with something or someone. The loud thuds of his boots can be heard from downstairs. You sat up from the bed, your hair a tousled mess. Vincent's head snaps towards you almost instantly and his eyes soften at how beautiful you looked. Your hair was a mess but it looked so good, your skin was flushed a bit from all the crying and rubbing at your face, and you sat there wearing Bo's Nine Inch Nails band tee.

Vincent tilts his head at you, something he does a lot. "How did you sleep, beautiful?" He signs. A faint smile graced your lips.

"It... it was okay." You said a bit flatly. You got up and walked to him. Vincent noticed your thigh-high socks that rested up to about mid-thigh. The warmth of the basement really hitting your skin now. Vincent stood on his stool, waiting for you to really cuddle up in his arms like you normally do. But his heart sank a little when all you did was a small side hug and looked at one of the sketches he was drawing.

You were trying to avoid his gaze. You've been like this, this whole entire week. You lay in bed and shut yourself out from your lovers. It's easy to hide your true discontent feelings from Bo, as he tends to get busy with running everything in Ambrose with Lester. But with Vincent, it's a different story. Vincent knows you like the back of his hand. He observes you like a lost puppy. You're fascinating to him. So when you have these weeks, he tries to give you space and offer comfort but, it's truly hard when all you do is push away from him. Vincent watched you walk up the stairs, listening to the soft pitter patters of your feet. He wasn't gonna follow you yet but he knew Bo was gonna get to the bottom of what has been making you feel so bad.

Vincent had always struggled with confrontation and confronting you. Bo was always upfront with you and sometimes had to air out Vincent's feelings so that Vincent's problems would get solved. You never minded it though. You kind of admired the Yin and Yang in them. You loved the warmth of Vincent and the iciness of Bo.

As you walked out into the kitchen, Bo was already there, looking through the fridge. Bo's phone dinged and he looked at the message, tensing his jaw a bit as he looked at you. The message was from Vincent and it very much was a message about you and your recent behavior. "Doll," he says lowly, dragging out the name itself. You turned your head to him, already preparing yourself to mask your emotions completely. You hummed in response as you looked up at the taller man, he looked at you with expectant eyes. You heard approaching footsteps from behind you, once you heard Vincent walk into the room, you knew the jig was up.

Bo carried you and placed you on the kitchen island's countertop. Bo and Vincent now standing in front of you, Vincent's hand holding your left and Bo's hand holding your right. In serious moments like this, Vincent takes off his mask, and Bo's icy-cold gaze softens, and in this moment, it isn't an exception. You knew where this was going and you knew you needed comfort, it was just hard opening up to them. Not because you didn't want to, and not because they wouldn't listen but because you didn't want to waste energy trying to make them understand. You didn't want advice on how to make it better... you just wanted some extra love. Bo cleared his throat, interrupting you and your thoughts. "Doll, are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but very intimate.

Within seconds, your eyes begin to water and your tears begin to blur your vision. Vincent is quick to react as he pulls your face into his chest, shooting a look at Bo. He smells like wax and lavender-scented candles, a smell that smelt like home to you. Bo's thumb ran over your thumb in a soothing manner. The gesture really makes your heart swell as you turn your head to look at him.

"I-I'm sorry guys," You say, tears falling from your eyes, wetting Vincent's shirt a bit. "I know I've been extremely distant but I-" Bo shushes you immediately, stopping you from explaining. He reaches a hand out to you, the hand cupping your chin, his thumb rubbing at your bottom lip. "Now, you don't have to tell us anything, darling. Open up when you're ready okay?" He asks and you nod your head still sniffling. "Pretty princesses like you shouldn't be crying, okay?" You hug Bo next and he smiles a bit. He can't help but think that in moments like these, you're the cutest, so vulnerable and so small. He loves reveling in the fact that he can provide for you like a true man. It's his biggest ego boost. He loves feeling like he and his brother are the only ones on the planet earth that can make you feel good. Once you pull away, Bo stamps a kiss on your forehead. "What would you like us to do for you?" Vincent signs, his face contorted with worry.

Bo carries you off the counter and you cling onto him, your legs wrapped around his waist. He looks down at you and smiles a bit, he walks you over to the living room, as Vincent goes downstairs, grabbing all of your favorite movies and DVDs and grabbing your weighted blanket along with one of your favorite stuffed animals. Bo sits you on the couch and brings you a glass of water. "Drink up, okay baby. I know you probably haven't had anything to drink in a while," he says softly while rubbing your back. It was a true statement, you hadn't really taken care of yourself this week, it was apparent. Your skin was paler than usual, your cheeks were puffy and your lips plump from constantly chewing at them. It felt so good to be taken care of by Bo and Vincent. They were the best at giving princess treatment.

Vincent finally comes up and brings all the things you need. You feel your heart swell as Vincent sets the DVDs down on the table in front of you. He sits next to you, sprawling out the weighted blanket over the three of you as you reach for your favorite stuffed animals. "Now, which movie would you like to watch, sunshine." Bo drawls as he holds up all the DVDs in hand, sprawled out so that you can pick out of your favorites. Once the movie is picked he gets up and puts the movie in as you lean into Vincent's chest. Vincent's arms come over you and he pulls you onto him so that your back is in contact with his chest as Bo sits back down next to you. Bo lifts your legs up and sets them on his lap, his warm and calloused hands, rubbing at your skin and massaging your legs sensually as the movie starts. Every now and then Bo kisses the skin on your legs, truly making you feel pampered with love.

Once the movie comes to a close, you look to your left and see Bo, sleeping already. Vincent's still up though, his delicate hands playing with your hair and making small two-strand and three-strand braids, something that you taught him how to do in the past. "Vince," you call out to him quietly. He hums softly, not stopping the braiding. "What should we do now? Bo's asleep." You say. Vincent looks to Bo and shakes his head playfully disapproving. You finally turn your body to him and Vincent smiles once he sees your face. He leans in for a small kiss, which you gladly return. He tucks some hair behind your ear and smiles more, beginning to hold your face with his warm and intoxicating touch. "Are you feeling better?" He signs to you. You think for a second and you shrug. "I don't know anymore, Vinnie. I still feel really sad." You explain truthfully. Vincent stands up and grabs your hand. "Where are we going," you ask him as he begins to pull you up the stairs.

Vincent leads you to one of the bedrooms. He sits you on the bed and signals you to wait there. You nod in slight confusion, listening to his request. You watch Vincent walk in and out of the bedroom and in the bathroom. Vincent begins to run a bath for you, adding your favorite scents, and bath bombs to the water that consisted of your favorite colors. He adds rose petals to the water and smiles to himself. Vincent always outdid himself when it came to you and your needs, this being a great example. Vincent walks back to the bedroom and tugs on the oversized band tee you were wearing, his own way of telling you to take it off. Once you do, he turns your body so that your back is facing him and very gently undoes the hooks in your bra, as he does so, his lips trail your neck and back very slowly. Once your bra falls flat to the floor he very slowly takes off your underwear and sits you on the bed.

Vincent's eyes trail over your body a couple times but his eyes don't feel predatory. It feels like he's taking in your beauty in its purest form. You were a muse for him, he's seen your body in many vulnerable poses and such and he feels lucky to even say that. "Pretty..." He whispers to himself. He looks up to you with flushed cheeks, "Pretty princesses shouldn't have to undress themselves either." He kneels down to the floor and begins to pull off your thigh highs. Nice and slow leaving kisses down your thighs and legs and doing the same to the other. You feel your heart race and you begin to cover yourself up with your arms to which he shakes his head disapprovingly as he reaches over and retracts your arms to your side. Vincent stands up, pulls his cardigan off, and begins to undress himself. He picks you up and carries you to the bath setting you in gently as he gets behind you. Your back was on Vincent's chest. Vincent hums a small tune as he undoes all the braids and twists that he did in your hair, wetting the hair in the process, massaging your scalp, and leaving kisses all over your back. "There's my pretty girl." You hear from the doorway. Bo walks in and sits on the edge of the tub. "You know you look so pretty right now, enjoying yourself with Vince, right?" He asks teasingly, and you look away from him, feeling so shy under his keen eye. To distract yourself from his gaze you grab the shampoo, getting ready to lather your hair in it. But Bo takes it away from you. "Let me," He starts, "Our pretty doll is not gonna think for herself today, okay? You just sit there and look pretty... we'll take care of you okay?" He says in a loving yet firm voice.

This night was gonna be all about you.

#slashers #vincent sinclair #house of wax #slashers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair imagine #vincent sinclair x reader #slasher imagines #fluff #bo sinclair x reader imagine #bo sinclair #bo sinclair imagine

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haechannielove · 9 months

Text

High and horny (M)

Preview - He takes your hand and rubs it on his bulge, through his soft shorts. “Do you feel what you do to me? This is all yours.” you start to feel the tension in your chest. “This is all mine Renjunnie?” He lets out a small soft whine.

Pairing - stoner!renjun x fem!reader

Au - Non-idol

Rating - 18+, fluffy at the end I guess LOL

Word count - 1.4k

Warnings - high sex, unprotected sex, touching of the private area (both reader and Renjun touch each other)

Setting - readers bedroom

A/n - made for anon (im pretty sure I know who requested LOL (not in a creepy way I was just digging around 😭)) ANYWAY ANON I HOPE YOU ENJOY PLEASE PLEASE DO AGH im so excited to be back!! Also im sorry for ANY typos or anything!! Agh enjoy

The night has been pretty tame since you and your best friend have finished the blunt off. There’s some slow conversation going on and lots of giggling and eye contact. Some conversations relating to school life, occupation, even some words about past relationships.

You and Renjun have been good friends since elementary school. You’re both all grown up now and it feels pretty amazing to be able to see each other so often. Both of you were pretty busy as children, one was always busy with sports, jobs, after school activities in general. But now that you both can drive and both are out living on your own, you see each other almost daily.

“Jun” You cut yourself off to make sure he’s paying attention to you. He looks over at you. There's that eye contact again. You continue.

“You do know that you can talk to me about anything right?” he just looks at you.

“Of course, why do you say that?” you look at him again, staring into those beautiful eyes.

“I just want you to know that even though I am a girl-” he cuts you off, whispering something under his breath

“a beautiful one” you just look at him.

“What did you say Junnie?” you’re not sure if what you heard was accurate.

“Nothing, continue?” you carry on, “Just because I’m a girl doesn't mean you can't tell me about your feelings and such. You know that right?” he blinks and nods his head.

You both continue with your conversations, jumping from each topic like a frog to a lilypad. The endless stories you guys have together keep spewing out of your mouths like endless ropes of words. Though your words are jumbled, you both understand each other like no other.

Some more time passes and for some reason there’s tension between the two of you. Renjun keeps looking down at your lips and at your breasts… and your thighs.

“y/n” you look at him. those damn eyes.

“Hm?” he opens his mouth hesitant. “Your tank top is coming down really far” he giggles.

You look down at your falling top and laugh. “Why are you looking then, hm?” you say sarcastically. “Because I can’t help myself” he says and you smile at each other.

You both move on for a bit until you look down and see that Renjun is hard in his loose cotton shorts. You point down at it. “What's that about?” his face flushes. “Happens sometimes”

Maybe it's because you're both high out of your minds, or maybe the dim lighting around, maybe even the fact that you're both in barely any clothing sitting on your bed. Who knows?

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Renjun extremely attractive. I mean he’s everything anyone would want in a man. Beautiful voice, boy can he sing, he’s kind and considerate, everything.

You close your eyes for a second.

While your eyes are closed you feel his soft hands caress your face. You open your heavy lids and look into his. He lightly bites onto his bottom lip and slowly lets go. You move closer to him to close the gap between you two. Your knees are touching and you’re just looking into each other's eyes.

“y/n I really really want you to touch me right now” You look up at him with your head slightly tilted downward. “Please dont look at me with those eyes baby”

He takes your hand and rubs it on his bulge, through his soft shorts. “Do you feel what you do to me? This is all yours.” you start to feel the tension in your chest. “This is all mine Renjunnie?” He lets out a small soft whine.

You decide to move your hand up and down his hard dick. With each movement he lets out heavy breaths and whimpers. His soft voice making way into your ears like a sweet song. He stops you and you look up at him confused.

“Please let me touch you as well, please y/n. I’m craving your body, I'm hungry and eager to touch you, just please.” you quickly nod your head.

You've never felt so horny in your entire life. The boy you grew up with is now the boy roaming his hands all over your body. He’s now the boy who's showing you how much you affect his own.

You take his hands off of you for a second so that you can strip yourself of your clothes, but before you do you look at Renjun. His eyes are practically in the shape of hearts, all for you.

“Wanna undress me Renjunnie?” You can tell that nickname gets him going. You’re certain by the way his cock twitches anytime you say the name.

Renjun reaches his arms out to take your tank top off first. Your boobs are perfectly sitting in your bra. His breathing starts to hitch. “y/n you look so fucking beautiful, you take my breath away.” you literally do. Renjun takes a second to pull your bra down a bit to expose your nipples.

“Please take it off for me babe.” He obliges.

He’s now holding your breasts in each hand. Rubbing his fingers over your hard nipples. He takes one into his mouth while rubbing the other one with 2 of his long slender fingers. You let out soft little moans that make him feel even more high.

You eventually take your pants off while he does the same. You’re both left in your underwear. He's rubbing your sensitive clit through your silk panties.

You both take the rest of your clothing, the only thing left of each other is the radiating horniness and tension that somehow keeps getting even thicker.

His cock is so pretty. Pretty deep pink head, long and thick, but not TOO thick. Fits right in your hand, eventually finding out how well he fits in your throat as well.

Renjun lightly thrusts his hips upward, occasionally gagging you. You bop your head up and down slowly, everything is moving so so slow, the passion is peaking by the second.

Before Renjun feels he is about to finish, he stops you.

“Would you be willing to let me fuck you? I promise to make you cum, not a single day goes by where im not thinking about fucking the daylights out of you y/n.” you just stare into his eyes once again, something about his fucking eyes. You feel as if you can see galaxies spinning in them. Renjun is a walking beauty in your mind. He always has been. “I one hundred percent want that Junnie.”

You’re both so horny and out of your mind that you don’t even care for a condom, you make him promise to pull out.

You straddle him, aligning your wet heat with his erect dick. He slowly pushes upward, causing a breathy moan to come out of your pretty mouth.

He continues to go in and out of you while whispering things into your ear. Things like, “youre the only girl I know who could ever make me feel this fucking horny baby” “you make me feel so good, your pussy is so tight” “I’m so addicted to you baby, this feels like a dream”.

He reaches a hand down to play with your clit, you’re getting closer and closer by each thrust he does inside of you. The atmosphere is full of complete lust and the air is filled with sex.

“Junnie youre doing so good, I love this feeling of every inch of you inside of me… mmmh fuck” you whisper into his ear. He’s still rubbing your clit and thrusting all of his length inside of you.

“y/n i'm going to cum baby… are you close?” the words spill out of his pretty lips quickly but smoothly.

“I'm going to cum soon just- mm please, please keep going.” you’re completely breathless and dick drunk.

Renjun gets you to climax better than anyone ever has before.

“M’junnie you’re so good to me” you say at your peak.

“y/n please let me cum in your mouth” you nod your head

Renjun ends up fucking your mouth a little bit before completely finishing and to say the least, he tasted amazing and this was NOT the last time you guys did this.

Afterwards, You both took a nice warm bath together and smoked a little more. You guys had something to eat and watched a movie together. You both fell asleep in each other's arms and this was sure as hell not the last night that this occurred.

#renjun x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #renjun x y/n #renjun smut #renjun x you #renjun x fem!reader #stoner renjun hehe

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magniloquent-raven · 11 months

Text

its midnight and im sleeby but i finished this thing i started scribbling out this afternoon based on @harringroveera 's post that i couldnt get outta my brain

i think i might have angsted it up a little cuz i can't help myself but its still cute so. pls enjoy

Billy's not super clear on where he is right now.

There are people everywhere. Yelling. Laughing. Music plays over a big fancy sound system. There's a blurry blue light glowing through glass sliding doors that he's been staring at for a little while 'cause it's…pretty. Twinkly and stuff.

He's too many drinks past a good buzz, that much he's sure of. His head feels. Floaty. And heavy. And if he tries to move the room starts to spin.

Whatever he's sitting on is comfy though. Soft. Softer than his damn mattress with that broken spring that's always stabbing him in the ribs.

He's tired. Really tired.

Feels like he hasn't slept in months.

To his left a girl starts squealing as her boyfriend grabs her around the waist, to his right a speaker vibrates against the wall, buzzing to the beat of a deep bassline. Everything sounds far away, though. White noise blending together while the edges of his vision go fuzzy and faded.

He feels his head tip, just a little, and then—

With a sharp inhale he jolts, blinks, glancing around blearily at a silent, empty room.

It's still dark out. The blue glow still shimmers at him through glass. A lamp lights the room he's in. Everything's…shapes. Colours. His brain is still mushy.

He blinks a couple more times. His eyes are dry. Wobbly. All the shapes are wobbly.

"Hey, man, party's over." A voice startles him. He tries to look around, but it fucking hurts, and moving his head is so much work. Whatever, it's a nice voice. Way nicer than the jarring silence.

Wait, why's the party over. He doesn't want the party to be over.

He wrinkles his nose. "Nooo…"

"...Yeessss." There's a pause. "Everyone is gone, dude."

"No." Billy rubs his eyes. The chair is still so comfy. He sinks further into it, unwilling to move. "You're here."

"It's my house. I'm allowed to stay." The voice sounds amused. There's some rustling behind Billy. Plastic crinkling. Maybe. Something being moved around. "Why are you even here, anyways?"

Hazy memories jumble together. A flask of vodka in his pocket, slipped under itchy robes. Sitting two heads away from Steve Harrington, sneaking glances between barely concealed shots. A droning speech. Another droning speech. Neil's solemn face in a crowd, watching him walk across the stage to shake hands with…the guy. The. Whatever.

Some girl digging her talons into his arm after he slipped away from Neil's attempts to maintain a public image by acting like he gave a shit about his son's accomplishments. Beer and cheap tequila and shitty music blurring into each other as he gets dragged around like a trophy dangling off the elbow of whichever nameless girl claimed him for the night.

"Graduated," he says, picking at a sticky spot on the thigh of his jeans. Pinching the fabric isn't doing anything but he can't stop prodding.

"Yeah, I know, with honors. Congrats." There's a huff. A silence. "Doesn't explain why you're here though." Footsteps, sneakers on linoleum, tap tap tap, meandering around whatever room is at his back. Glass bottles getting moved around. It's sort of soothing to listen to someone move around their house without any reason to be keeping track of their movements.

Well, unless…

Billy's stomach flips, and his chest goes tight. "You're not gonna kick me out are you?" he asks, his voice small. He feels sick, saying it. Thinking about it. He doesn't want to be anywhere else. This house smells sweet under the stink of spilled beer and leftover perfume. And he likes this chair.

The movement behind him stops for a second. "...Nnno?"

He breathes. Relaxing into velvety upholstery. "'Kay."

"You sure you don't have anywhere to be? Family waiting up? Girlfriend expecting a midnight rendezvous?"

Billy snorts. "No one gives a shit where I am."

Neil will care tomorrow when Billy makes him look bad by pulling up hungover and in yesterday's clothes, but that's a problem for tomorrow. He won't be waiting up for him, worrying about Billy's safety or whatever.

A glass bottle clinks against something. "What about your sister?"

"Pfff…" He snickers, and gives his head a tiny shake. The movement makes everything spinny for a second and he has to pause to swallow bile. The sour taste on his tongue feels appropriate. And gross. "I fucked up. Everything. Beat the shit outta her friend. She's prolly hoping I don' come home at all. Ever."

Another glass bottle gets set down, slower this time. Carefully. "...This friend of hers…"

"Steve," Billy sighs. His eyes fall shut and he leans back into a cushioned headrest. His insides do the stupid fluttery thing they always do when he thinks about Steve. Steve and his stupid kissable face.

"It was pretty dumb of him to pick a fight with you, huh," the voice says wryly.

"Mnh…I guess." There's a soft snort behind him. But something prickles at Billy. Guilt, maybe. It's uncomfortable. He chews his lip as his eyes start to burn. "Nah. No. Whole thing was my fault. All my fault. S'always my fault."

Saying it doesn't make it feel better.

"What do you mean?" There's sounds anymore. Just the voice, and Billy's heartbeat in his ears.

"It's…" Billy swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's a secret."

"I'm good at keeping those."

"You can't tell him."

"...I definitely will not tell him."

Billy hums. "He's real pretty, y'know."

"So I've been told, but what—"

"No, he's…he's so pretty. Like, I can't believe it sometimes, and I just wanna. Do something about it. All the time. But it hurts. Hurts so bad, and it's not supposed to, so I had to—I had to…I just got so mad. And I had to prove I didn't wanna kiss him, but I do. 'Cause I like him so much. Too much."

The silence is back. Ringing in Billy's ears. He sniffles quietly.

"Oh…"

"Please don't tell him. Or anyone."

"Billy…"

"Promise."

There's a strained pause. Billy fidgets, his insides twisting into knots.

"I promise." The voice is so gentle, and it makes Billy's eyes sting again. He blinks away tears and listens to more bottles being moved. Plastic cups hitting plastic bags. Sneakers against linoleum, and hardwood, and carpet. And after a while, "You're not gonna spend all night in the chair, are you?"

"You said—"

"I'm not kicking you out, I just meant. There's a guest bed, man,"

"Oh."

Sunlight hits Billy directly in the face and he rolls over, groaning.

The motion makes his stomach lurch, but he buries his face in…pillowcase. Unfamiliar pillowcase. Smells like honeysuckle and clean air and it's softer than any bedding he's ever touched.

His legs are tangled in sheets just as sweet-smelling and finely woven, and his guts give another heave as he realizes he's only wearing briefs.

Did…did he fuck someone last night?

He was definitely drunk enough to do something that stupid, if the cottonmouth and pounding headache are any indication, but he doesn't fucking remember. Which would normally be a blessing, except he usually doesn't stay the goddamn night.

Is he going to have some girl hanging all over him for the first couple weeks of summer? Until he can figure out how to ditch her without making it look like he's too eager to.

Or maybe he'll stick around for a little while, this bed is actually ridiculous. He might be able to fake his way through one shitty summer fling if it means sleeping like a goddamn king. There are like, five pillows, and it feels like he's laying on a cloud.

He nuzzles deeper into the pillowcase. Smells nice too.

His memories of the previous day mostly stop around Tammy Whatsherface dragging him away for a graduation afterparty. Maybe he shouldn't have started drinking at noon.

Christ, he's not even sure how he got here, or where his car is.

Or where here is.

It's one of the Loch Nora houses, probably. Nowhere else would have sheets like this.

Eventually he drags himself, reluctantly, out of bed. And immediately tastes bile.

Which is. Bad.

Being upright is bad.

And he doesn't know where the nearest toilet is. Which could be extremely bad. Girls whose carpets you puke on don't invite you back to sleep in their nice guest rooms.

So, he's very slow and careful about pulling his jeans on. And he makes sure to pause when he starts to feel clammy, sitting on the floor to stop his head spinning.

It takes him forever to get mostly dressed, jeans and an undershirt are enough. He can't find his button-up and socks require too much bending down, which his dehydrated brain does not appreciate.

Peeking out into the nondescript hall doesn't provide any more answers about whose house this is. It's all shiny boring expensive decor and not a single person in sight.

Oh, looks like there's a bathroom at the end of the hallway though, good.

He beelines for the sweet promise of a place to piss and rinse out his mouth, shuffling past a couple closed doors, listening for any signs of life and hearing nothing, until he shoulders his way into the bathroom and freezes in his tracks, because—

"Hey, uh. You're awake." Steve Harrington blinks at him, standing in front of a plain oval mirror, hairbrush in hand. Which he obviously hasn't used yet, because the bedhead he's sporting is kind of hilarious. It's all fluff in every direction. Billy wants to run his hands through it.

Worse, though, is the fact that he's bare chested, wearing an unzipped hoodie and soft plaid pants, with all that fucking chest hair, and he's looking at Billy with a curious expression that isn't remotely like any way he's ever looked at Billy before and this is…all very, very strange.

So, obviously Billy's theory about what happened last night was wrong. He's not even back to square one, he has less than no idea what the fuck is happening.

"...Yes," Billy responds after a beat too long.

Great.

Fantastic.

Very smooth.

The corner of Steve's mouth twitches. There's something soft and warm about the amusement twinkling in his eyes and it's making Billy itch.

"I think I'm gonna puke."

Steve snorts, and drops his hairbrush on the vanity. "Right, I'll get out of your way then." He sidles past Billy, far too close, patting his shoulder as he passes. Which does not help when he's just barely keeping his shit together.

His footsteps fade down the hallway at Billy's back. And Billy doesn't move.

What the actual fuck.

He slams the bathroom door shut behind him, and leans his forehead against it, trying to breathe slowly through his nose.

They didn't have sex last night. There's no way. He did not fuck Steve Harrington.

He couldn't have. Steve would never…

He's not…

That's just. Not what happened. Because that would never happen.

It kind of looks like that's what happened, but it's not.

He sits on the floor, head in his hands. And breathes.

It's unclear how long he stays curled up on cold tile. Long enough that his legs start to feel stiff. Nothing about last night comes back to him. He sighs.

And gets up.

And splashes some water on his face. Drinks a little from the tap. Uses some of the mouthwash he digs out from under the counter. Takes a piss.

He's still unsteady. His temples throb if he moves too quickly. But he feels a little less like roadkill.

Steve waves at him when he spots him coming down the stairs. Waggles his fingers in the air, like they're best buds and this situation isn't the most surreal thing to happen to them since the Byers' weirdly trashed living room.

Billy rubs the back of his neck. "...Hey."

"Coffee?"

"Sure."

Steve pulls out two mugs, one of his thumbs stuck through a hole in the cuff of his sleeve. There's sunlight warming the honey-coloured highlights in his hair.

Yeah, no, this is definitely more fucked up than finding Max in a random house with a busted window and shitty drawings everywhere.

He might actually have lost his mind.

"What the fuck happened last night?" He blurts, his cheeks hot, fingers jittery. He shoves his hands in his pockets, fists balled up against his thighs.

Steve glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, figures you don't remember."

"Don't remember what?"

"You were pretty out of it."

"Yeah, thanks, I know that part."

Steve snorts, grabbing more things out of cupboards. Billy's paying more attention to his hands than what's in them. "You didn't want to leave, so I let you sleep upstairs."

"...Why?"

"You didn't say, just said you didn't have anywhere else to be."

"That's not what I meant." He knows exactly why he didn't want to leave. All the many reasons why he'd rather be here than under Neil's roof. Or anywhere else. What doesn't make any fucking sense is Steve accommodating him.

Steve's eyes flicker to his again, briefly, before he turns back to the counter. When he shrugs the nonchalance seems forced. "You're a lot nicer when you're plastered."

"I…" Billy opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

What the fuck does that mean.

Steve fidgets with a spoon. "You got…kind of weepy, y'know."

Oh.

Goddamnit.

His shoulders go tense, jagged edges of a shield around what's left of his dignity. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snaps. It's all he can muster when he doesn't know what the fuck he was crying about. Every possibility is worse than the last.

"Yeah, you wish," Steve mutters.

Billy freezes.

And doesn't recover quick enough to hide it from Steve. Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "Holy shit, it's true isn't it?" He turns around fully, the mess he's made of the counter forgotten.

Fuck.

"I—don't know what you're talking about." His stupid deer-in-the-headlights expression is mostly under control but the sudden tremble in his voice definitely fucking isn't.

He backs away a step and then stops. Where the fuck is he going to go, he doesn't know where his car is, where his keys are, and he's fucking barefoot. Running upstairs and locking himself in Steve's bathroom seems just a little too pathetic but that doesn't mean he doesn't consider it.

Billy clenches his jaw. It makes his head pound. "What exactly did I say last night?" He grits out, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve eyes him. Slowly, carefully. Deliberating. He chews his bottom lip. The silence is fucking agonizing.

"Can't tell you," he finally replies, his voice light. One corner of his mouth lifts into half a smile, and scratches his cheek. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone."

"That's…" Billy rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand, like he's looking for the button to restart his poor, confused brain. He drops his hand, exasperated, eyebrows creeping up to his hairline. "Steve, what the fuck."

Steve cracks a full-blown grin. "I told you I'm good at keeping secrets."

"I swear to god—"

"Aw c'mon, I can't break a promise! Especially 'cause you asked so nicely. You were so polite. It was very cute."

"I…what?"

He can't have heard that right.

Or Steve's just fucking with him. That's what's going on here. Billy let something slip last night and now Steve's holding it over his head. Because why wouldn't he, honestly. He has every reason to want to mess with Billy, and now he's got the perfect leverage.

"Billy." Steve's voice is soft, suddenly. His expression gentles, and he moves to close the gap between them. And Billy…doesn't get it. He's stalled out and stuck trying to figure out how this is gonna go wrong, how it fits into whatever prank Steve is clearly pulling.

He doesn't know what his face is doing, but he's pretty sure he's being way more readable than he'd like.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Steve touches him. A hand on his shoulder. A hesitant, awkward pat. Testing the waters, maybe. Trying to make sure he's real, maybe.

Is any of this real? Billy's still not convinced. He can smell Steve's shampoo and see all the little flecks of colour in his eyes and his shoulder is still burning where they made contact, but…

"I'm sorry I hurt you, y'know," Steve murmurs, his gaze dropping, hovering somewhere around Billy's crossed arms. He reaches out again, fingers grazing Billy's knuckles this time. All Billy can do is blink at him, afraid to breathe. "Doesn't have to be like that."

He tugs at Billy's hand, untucking it from the crook of his elbow, unfolding Billy's arms, and Billy lets him. One hand drops to his side and the other stays cradled in Steve's grip. He's…staring at it like he's studying for a test. Billy has no idea what's so fucking interesting, or what Steve's talking about, but he's also not bothered at this point.

His knees feel like jello.

"You could've just kissed me."

Billy nearly collapses. Like one of those swooning chicks in shitty romance novels. Breathless and flushed and overwhelmed. Except he just stands there like a moron, staring at Steve. And Steve's mouth.

"What?" he manages not to sound too strangled. Miraculously.

Steve smiles at him, almost sheepishly. "You still could. I wouldn't mind."

"You…wouldn't."

"Yeah, I mean, if you had morning breath still it might be a different story, but…" Steve gestures vaguely, pulling Billy's hand along with him as he shrugs.

Billy snorts.

And hey, maybe Steve is messing with him, and this will blow up in his face, but…

Well, he just really wants to kiss him before it does.

So he leans in and presses their lips together.

~~tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #a raven's writing desk #might post this on ao3 tomorrow but that requires more brain power than im willing to spend rn #i wish to sleep

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thelittleangel · 1 month

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Little Brother

tags: Platonic! Winchester bros. x reader, platonic! Castiel x Reader, break-ups, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, male reader.

warnings: not proofread, probably OOC, break-ups, angst, references to bad mental health, the ending isn't that great.

note: I'm sorry if it's bad, I was writing this to get over a recent breakup and I thought I might as well share it.

Everything was really shitty right now. My partner had just broken up with me. To make matters worse, we were both in the middle of a hunt. I drive away from the hotel to an abandoned parking lot. I just couldn’t bring myself to look at their stupid face. I pulled into the lot, turning the car off and crawling into the backseat. I took off my jacket and draped it on top of me like a blanket. Hot, salty tears began to flow down my face, and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was facing the backseat. A long-forgotten stuffed frog had been tucked under my arm and something long and heavy was covering me.

And my car was moving.

I immediately sat up, looking at who was driving. It was Cas. “Hello.” He looked at me through the rearview.

“Your partner called. They said you’d run off without a word.”

“Did they say why?”

His eyes turn back to the road.

“No.”

“Where are we driving?”

“Back to the bunker. Your brothers are both very worried.”

I press the side of my face to the cold glass of the window. Cas looks back at me through the mirror. There’s a concerned look on his face. “What happened?”

I looked back at him. “I’ll tell you guys when we’re all together.”

He turns back to the road.

“Hey Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I just want to thank you for everything you do for us. I feel like we don’t say thank you enough.”

The side of his mouth twitched. A small smile began to form.

I hug the frog and fall back asleep.

When I wake up, the car’s parked in the bunker’s garage. I was alone in the car. I sat up, and I realized that what was covering me was Cas’s trench coat.

I step out of the car, putting on the coat. I began to make my way toward my room. Today has been a long day, and I just want to lay down and forget everything.

I’m almost there when someone comes up from behind me and scoops me up into their arms. I let out a yelp and look up to see who it is. Dean smiles down at me. It’s so infectious I smile back.

“Hey, little brother.”

“Hi Dean. Where's Sam?”

“He’s with Cas. I’m headed that way anyway.”

He carries me to the library, putting me down so I can sit at the table. Sam and Cas are sitting across from us. Dean gently takes my hand in his. Sam looks up at me with concern.

“What happened tonight?”

I look down at my hands.

“You left someone in the middle of a hunt. I don’t know what happened, but was it really that bad?”

“They left me.”

Sam laughed a little. “From the way we heard it, you left them.”

“No, they broke up with me.”

My eyes began to sting. Tears began to run down my face.

“Oh…”

I can’t look up at them. I know that if I do, they’ll look at me with that same expression of pity my ex had when they started this whole situation.

No one says a word. Then Dean wraps his arms around my shoulders. Sam takes my hands. Castiel places a hand on my head. We sit like that for a long time. Honestly? I still want to go to my room, where no one can look at me with that same heart-breaking expression.

“Can I go to my room now?”

Sam looks into my eyes, a soft smile on his face. “No.”

My face contorts into a look of confusion. “What do you mean no?”

Dean looks down at me with a sad smile. “Little brother, we all know you well enough to know that if we let you go back to your room, you’ll disappear for two months.”

“And we can’t have that.” Sam adds.

Castiel looked down at me, his fingers still running through my hair. “I’m very sorry that this has happened to you.”

I look down at my hands. “Yeah. Me too.”

I stand up, handing Cas’s coat back to him. I slowly began to walk to my room. I was almost there when Dean called out to me.

I turn to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Get a shower and change into some comfortable clothes. Meet us in the Dean cave when you’re ready.”

I look at him with a confused expression, but he just smiles and walks away.

30 minutes later, I’m headed back downstairs. I open the door to the Dean Cave and walk inside. Sam, Dean and Cas were already there. All wearing pajamas, which was surprising because I didn’t know Cas owned a pair of pajama pants.

There were bowls of snacks on the table, and my favorite movie was playing on the T.V.

Sam looks up at me as I open the door. He smiles, standing up. As I look around the room, I wonder aloud, “Guys, what’s all this?”

“Well, we wanted to make sure you knew you were loved.”

We sat down on the couch and watched the movies. We talked and laughed until the sun came up.

As I walked back to my room, I smiled to myself, and I realized that I'll be alright.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #castiel x reader #dean x reader #sam x reader #castiel #sam winchester #dean winchester #male reader

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raised-u-fr0m-perdition · 1 month

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𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎!𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 | 𝟸

Summary: Ivonne Rainer hadn’t met Dean Winchester in 2006 after he was hit by a car. No, this time, this universe, they met in 2010, when the whole Apocalypse deal started and Dean was made leader of one of the only remaining survival camps in America. Little did he know, one random raid would change everything.

MASTERLIST

RETRIEVAL

“So…” I was approached by woman my age, her brown hair tied up in a sleek ponytail. “you must be the new arrival. Dean really has a problem with you.”

I cocked a rifle, passing it to another camper, James Rhodes, who took it, checked it and nodded, seemingly impressed. “That’s me, yeah.” I nodded, folding my arms. “Though I’m usually known as Ivy.”

“Ivy.” She repeated, then held her hand out with a smile. “Risa.”

“Nice to meet you.” I responded with a small smile twitching at my lips, then I saw her still-outstretched hand and shook it hurriedly.

“Woah, quite the grip.” She grinned as I let go.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” I chuckled nervously.

“Nah, you’re good.” Then she smiled again. “I don’t see what Dean meant about you being a pain in the ass. You seem like you aren’t.”

“Just depends on who I’m hangin’ with.”

“Touché. Dean can be an irritating S.O.B, but you learn to ignore when he’s being a douche after a while.”

“Promise?” I smirked, making her laugh. I laughed too, feeling at ease around this… Risa.

“Hey, uh, Risa?” James interrupted the conversation, slinging a gun clip holster on his chest. “I’m about to head out with the squad to Missouri. I know the boss told me to keep an eye on Ivy here, but-“

“Oh, so I need surveillance now?” I raised an eyebrow, pissed off. “This guy’s askin’ to get decked.”

“Believe me, he is, but it’s just how Dean rolls.” Risa chuckled, then led me away. “You’ll have a much better time hanging around me. I’ll introduce you to the campers, get you started on something, and we’ll all be smiles and giggles.”

“I hope not.” I laughed.

“Yeah, neither do I.” She grinned. “Just a few things. Stay away from the hippie cabin at 3 o’clock, it gets hot an’ heavy in there and nobody wants to hear it. If you wanna earn Dean’s trust, you have to save his ass, but he doesn’t let anyone save his ass so you just kiss that sweet thing goodbye. And one last thing…” She rounded on me, “can you shoot?”

“I’ll fire a bullseye if you give me a target.”

”Alright.” She picked up a shotgun, handing it to me. “There’s a red dot on the wall behind you. Don’t think, just shoot.” I immediately spun around, my eyes locking onto the red dot. The moment I got a visual, I pulled the trigger, hitting it dead on. “Damn!”

“Eh, it’s nothin’.” I chuckled, handing the gun back.

“You’re a damn good shot, I mean, that was-“

“Suicide!” A man who was only an inch taller than me popped up, looking outraged. “Do you know what Dean’s gonna say when he sees a bullet missing-“ His eyes landed on me, and he looked confused. “Risa, who is this?”

“Right, I forgot to mention.” Risa gestured to me with a grimace. “Chuck, this is Ivonne Rainer, she’s new here. Ivy, this is Chuck ‘Prophet of the Lord’ Shirley. However, a prophet isn’t much use in an apocalypse. They’re only gonna spell D-O-O-M.”

“At least I’m the rations organiser! What are you, the boss’ woman?”

“Exactly.” Risa smirked before tapping me on the shoulder, leading me away. “That’s Chuck for you. He gets a bit sensitive sometimes. Anyway, Dean gets really touchy with the supplies and stuff, goes through ‘em himself to make sure nothin’s missing.”

“If he’s gonna freak out over a bullet, give me a bit o’ metal and a heat source, I’ll forge a new one.” I grinned, and Risa raised her eyebrows.

I held up a freshly-forged bullet, examining it for a second before putting it in the cartridge. Risa looked on in surprise, and nodded in disbelief. “You did it.”

“Yep.” I nodded, replacing the cartridge in the gun and cocking it before throwing it aside. “I’m prepared in a dire sitch. The boss won’t suspect a thing, so you’re safe.”

“My god, you’re amazing.” She laughed in disbelief, looking at me in awe. “Just where did Dean dig you up from, huh, lifesaver?”

“Jersey City.” I smiled.

“Wait- that’s a Croat hotspot.” She sat up suddenly, her jaw dropping. “How long were you there?”

“Two years.”

“And you survived?! No bites? You’re not one of ‘em, right?”

“I’m immune.” I shrugged, frowning a bit. “Never figured out why, but I’ve been bitten at, scratched, and never came out with a single goddamn piece of sulphur in my blood. It’s relievin’, but unsettlin’.”

“Unsettling? That’s a damn blessing.”

“It’s that I don’t know where they come from.” I sighed, looking down. “They just came to me when I was nineteen. No explanation, no nothin’, all I knew is that they were there.”

“Damn, that’s…” She trailed off, frowning. “that’s rough.”

“I lived, clearly.” I chuckled. “Besides, I had my uncle to help with the worst of it. Until we got separated, and I had to quite literally fend for myself out there.”

We sat in silence for a moment, which was all I needed, if I’m bein’ honest.

“So…” I heard someone chuckle, and I turned to see James. “I heard you were the new thing pissing Dean Winchester off.”

“That’s me.” I smirked. “And I wear that like a badge of honour.” Then I looked him up and down, thinking. Dude had a really good body, that was enough to tell under the strained khaki shirt that made his frame look more impressive and complimented his green eyes, paired with fluffy black hair. “Nice build. You ex-military or somethin’?”

“Uh, no.” He chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I used to be a detective sergeant. The muscles just came with the job.”

“You used to be a cop?” I grinned, then saluted jokingly. “Thanks for your service.”

“No problem. What about you? Any job before this?”

“Hunting, and more hunting, and more hunting-“

“With hunting as the cherry on top.” He joked.

“That’s right.”

“James!” Chuck came running up, frantically looking at a clipboard. “I’d ask Dean, but he’s out on a mission. We’re running low on edibles, how should we ration?”

“Women and children first.” James answered instantly, and I listened carefully. “Then ration with the elders, afterwards divvy it out to the rest.”

“Wait, Chuck,” I frowned, “how much is left? How much food?”

”Not enough to last a week.” Chuck replied.

“Then rationin’ it out is gonna be extremely difficult. With the amount of people in this camp and enough food to last a week, the women and children are gonna have everythin’.” I frowned. “You need to send out a squad for supply retrieval. Nearest abundance of food I know’s in Missouri.”

“We need Dean’s permission for that.” James raised an eyebrow, turning to me. “And he’s on a mission, left this mornin’.”

“Not nearly enough time. He’s hittin’ a Croat hotspot, he could be back after a week and by that time we’ll be in crisis. Scramble a team of semi-automatic experts, take a Jeep, hit Missouri, it’s the only option.”

“The boss is gonna be pissed.” Chuck scoffed. “And how do we know your plan is valid?”

“It actually works.” James agreed, nodding with a disbelieving look. “We’ve got enough men on hand to form a scavenge team, and Missouri’s the nearest state that we haven’t hit and isn’t a Croat infested wasteland.”

“Not my fault if your ass gets busted by Dean.”

“I don’t think it matters.” I retorted. “If people are starvin’, you need to do what’s necessary, not what the doctor ordered. Get a team together and send it out, see if I’m wrong.”

“You are.”

“Try me.”

Winchester’s Jeep came back a week later with the med supplies, unloading them quickly. I looked up from where I was busy hauling a duffel bag, and the first thing he noticed was the people eating in a corner, his eyebrow raising. Then he turned to Chuck, conversing with him for a moment before I pinpointed the exact moment he saw red. His nostrils flared, jaw clenching along with his fist. I turned to James, sharing a look with him.

We’re screwed.

“JAMES!” Winchester yelled, now sipping a beer can. “RAINER! YOUR ASSES, MY TENT, NOW!” I rolled my eyes, running a hand through my hair as Risa whistled lowly.

“Boss man seems mad.” She whispered. “Better go before he gets more pissed off. I’ll take that.” She took a hold of the duffel bag, and James and I made our way into Winchester’s tent, where he was standing there, cocking his rifle in a way that would seem threatening to a wuss.

“You.” He pointed at James, who instantly stood straighter, the latter’s Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re my second for a reason. Without contacting me, you authorised a raid that could have gone south so quickly. What got into you, huh?! Are you thick? Or a dumbass?”

“With all due respect, boss, we would have starved.” James answered calmly, which seemed to aggravate Winchester even more.

“That’s besides the point! What if we’d lost men? If someone had gotten turned? That blood would be on your hands, no one else’s!”

“With absolutely no respect whatsoever, I think he made a good call.” I stepped in with a frown, folding my arms.

“I’m getting to you.” He snapped, pointing at me before rounding back on James. However, I wasn’t gonna take that for an answer.

“I’m afraid you‘ll have to deal with me now.” I retorted, setting my jaw. “Fact remains that I suggested the only plan that worked in your absence when you were gone a week, and your second in command, the one who’s makin’ the decisions when you’re not here, led a squad, and they got back. Alive. Now people have food and water and they can remain sane. I don’t see how that’s a problem for you, or anyone, for that matter.”

“Shut up.”

“Ooh, make me.”

He pulled his gun out, pointing it at me. “Do not make me pull this trigger-“

“Dean!” James yelled, stepping in front of me. “Are you insane?!”

“She’s a smartass!”

“Hey, hey, put it down!”

“You don’t give the orders!”

“To hell with orders!” James retaliated, making me raise an eyebrow. Damn, boy. “She helped. She made the layout for the strike squad. She’s a smartass, sure, but she’s a useful smartass. A really damn useful one, because we could use an immune and/or psychic person right now.”

“All the more reason for me to blow her brains out. She’s a goddamn psychic, and I haven’t had the best experiences with those bastards.”

“Just see goddamn reason!” He persisted, holding his hands out. “Look, if she starts to go insane, or whatever it is happened with the rest of people like her, I’ll shoot her myself.”

I snorted. “As if you could-“

“Work with me here.”

“Fine.”

“Just…” James left a pause as he tried to find the words, “give her a chance.” Winchester paused for a moment, then lowered the gun, not without giving me a steely warning look.

“Ok.” He nodded, glancing at me briefly, “But you’re keepin’ her in check. If she steps out of line, it’s your ass.”

“Again, with no due respect, I can handle myself.” I scoffed. “You don’t need to post a bodyguard on me every five seconds.”

He let out a dark chuckle, his lips pursing when he stopped. “You’re actin’ like you have a choice.”

“Oh, yeah, I do.” I nodded. “Cause you’re in no position to order me around, since there’s clearly a power imbalance here.”

The words made him stop and rethink, and then he gritted his teeth. “Get out.”

“Gladly.” I smirked, walking out gratefully, happy to be away from that- “Douchebag.”

“Jackass.” Dean growled under his breath.

Well, that couldn’t have gone better.

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #dean winchester x oc #spn masterlist #dean winchester x you #supernatural oc

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addicted-to-dc · 3 months

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Scorned - König x Assassin!Reader

(A/N) Always a sucker for spitfire assassin readers. 'Tis my weak spot. Anyways, this will contain gun use and descriptions, bullet wounds, violence, body horror, and amongst other things. Nothing too heavy for the first part. Slow burn, slight enemies to lovers. We shall see what the future holds, muahahaha. (2367 word count)

Of course, it had to be fucking Russia the 141 sent you to. Trust was something they’d never give you, not with your track record of running the second you saw a viable chance. Not this time. A severe winter storm obliterated every option you had. You hate being on their leash. If there’s two things you loved about your life before this, it was being rich and free. At least your rage is keeping you warm.

Teeth chattering, you lift your scope and finally spot your target. A warehouse in the middle of nowhere, apparently one of KorTac’s many weapons caches. The mission? Fucking sneak in and place cameras throughout the facility. That’s all they’re using you for, recon for something they’ll just blow up at the end of the day. A waste of your talents.

You itch for the hunt again, researching and observing everything about your target before finally taking them out. It’s not like you popped the heads of good people. All of them deserved it in the end.

“Got eyes on the warehouse. Going in…”

You wait a few seconds, unable to resist snarking back at the men who’re probably enjoying the heat of the base.

“…and go fuck yourselves. I better have a warm bath waiting for me after this.”

Silencing your comms, you pocket the scope and trudge up the snow. The snow boots they forced you to wear are clunky, something that would make sneaking around more difficult than it should be. It’s like they’re trying to kill you, which they most likely are.

Getting past the guards was too easy, quickly memorizing their patterns until you noticed an opening. Slipping through, the clunky boots are left behind and buried in the snow long before you enter. At least you were able to sneak in backups, much more lightweight and silent. Just the way you like it.

Your snake cam quickly slides underneath the door, confirming that it’s safe to enter. The door is unlocked… that’s the first strike. Your instincts tell you to get out of there, that the mission is already fucked, but you continue. Slipping in, you waste no time climbing to the rafters and place cameras. The unlocked door plagues your mind, something so small that KorTac would never allow to happen.

There are several exits you could use if your gut is right. A window, no, two windows and even a skylight, but even if you did manage to get out you would be stranded. The thought chills you to the bone. Was this a suicide mission? Would the ‘good guys’ really do that to you? Shaking the thought out of your head, you decide to save the last camera placement near the door. At least you’d be able to leave quickly.

Just as you place the second to last camera, the door opens. The cold air sends a chill down your spine, but the man you see walk in makes you freeze. He must be 7 feet tall. Fear finally settles in your bones. Hiding behind one of the metal beams, you shift out of his eyeline and regulate your breathing. You can’t lose your shit, not now. You sneak another peak at him and holy shit, he’s wearing a mask. It’s not cheesy like Ghost, the emo skull caricature ruining any intimidation tactics the man tried on you. No, it’s terrifying. The eye holes, a void of black in the lighting, feel like they’re staring right into your soul.

He moves to turn a corner and BAM!

You slam onto the ground before you know it, slamming on your side and cracking your head on a crate. Your vision blurs, a possible concussion sealing your fate. God, you should be in the Caribbean right now getting your back blown out. This is such bullshit.

“Looks like a little birdy is nesting where she shouldn’t be.”

His voice is accented, possibly German. No, Austrian? It’s taunting, making your blood boil. Despite seeing three of him, you lift your pistol and aim at one of him, but he’s faster than he looks. The giant plucks the weapon from your hand and grabs you by the throat. As if you weigh nothing, he slams you into another crate, shattering the wood beneath you. Black spots dominate your vision, his eyes burning into yours.

Even while you’re clawing at his hand, he rips your mask off with ease. You try to suck in another breath, but it’s in vain. This is it. You’re dying. The dream of retiring and dying of old age is dead, just like you…

Air. You have air? Greedily filling up your lungs, you wheeze and gasp as you’re flung over a shoulder. Something painfully digs into your stomach, nearly making you lose your breath again, but the cold is enough to kickstart your body. You begin to struggle, but a harsh squeeze to your shoulder wound makes you freeze. Fuck, this giant really did a number on you.

Mr. Tall, dark, and horrifying shoves you into a vehicle, shouting something at the driver. The car lurches forward immediately. Your head nearly slams into the window from the force, but you’re pulled close to a warm body. A knife appears in your vision, your unfocused eyes unable to track it as your clothing is cut away. You move to push him away, but the knife moves to your throat.

The overhead light in the car finally lets you see his eyes, deep blue orbs paralyzing you instantly. Satisfied with your reaction, he finishes cutting through your clothes and applies pressure to your wound. Hissing, your eyes flutter shut, but you’re not even allowed the sweet peace of unconsciousness.

“Eyes open.”

A bump in the road sends pain straight down your spine, waking you enough to keep your eyes open. The giant, who is hunching in the vehicle, starts dressing your wound. The sight nearly makes you laugh. Maybe it does. His eyes move from your wound back to you. It makes you want to shrink away, but the fucked-up part of your brain is enjoying this. You missed working with mercs, at least they knew how to have a good time. A good time sounds good right now.

Everything’s a blur, you barely register leaving the vehicle, let alone the gurney trip through a hallway of blinding lights. Multiple figures pull you forward, slamming through door after door until you reach your destination. They stop so fast you nearly vomit, the whiplash too overwhelming. Too many pairs of hands tear at you, stripping your equipment and cutting through any cloth in the way.

“Sir, the resources we’re using for her-”

Heavy footsteps interrupt the doctor’s words, the room growing dead silent. “She’s worth more alive, unbroken. Do not make me repeat myself again.”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Your mouth is dry, why the hell is it dry? Shifting in the bed, the blanket scratches at your exposed skin. The new angle shines a bright ass light in your face. It forces you to shift again, a sigh escaping your lips. That’s when you hear it: a beep. Frowning, your eyes refuse to open until you blink quickly. Flashes of a bright, barren room fill your senses. A hospital?

That’s when it hits you. Oh. Shit. There’s a creak next to you, and that’s when you see him. The giant that subdued you quicker than the 141 did, and that was the whole lot of them. You both stare at each other for a ridiculous amount of time, until he shifts, and your heart rate jumps at the movement. His eyes remain on you, barely blinking.

“You’ve been out for a while,” he remarks, standing up.

He grasps a cup of water, comically small in his hand, and offers it to you. You take it, eyes flicking down to inspect the water before finally taking a sip. God, it feels like heaven. Before you know it, the entire cup is empty. How long were you out?

“Why didn’t you kill me?” you ask, cringing at your own voice. Damn, you sound like you smoked one too many cigs.

“I did not spend months of planning just to kill you, Schatz,” he responds, folding his arms. “After the 141 intercepted our contact, it was my priority to get you back.”

“So, you rescued me?” No one has ever done that for you before. Being used is all you’ve ever known, paid or unpaid. It was you who had to prioritize yourself. “Why?”

“You are not an instrument of death; you use death as an art form.” Who knew he was such a poet? “Apologies for the wounds, I had to convince them we’d kill you.”

“How long was I out for?” Rotating your shoulder, you feel no pain from your bullet wound.

“A month… and there’s something else. The men who had you, the 141, yes?”

You nod, waiting for him to elaborate.

“We found a tag in your arm.”

That makes you sick to your stomach. A tracker? They tagged you like a fucking dog. You played their stupid game, did everything they asked so you could earn their freedom. Your nails dig into the sheets, tearing the fabric from the force of it.

Your eyes flick up to his. “You said something about a contract. What is it?”

Something flashes in his eyes, his head tilting upwards. Is he smiling? “You haven’t lost your fire yet.”

Grumbling, you start stretching your limbs. Like hell you’re going to stay in this bed any longer. Your limbs pop more than you want them to, but at least your body is not as run down as you expected it to be. The routine goes by quickly, and you finally, cautiously, stand up. You wobble slightly, but you’re able to recover.

Your eyes shoot at the mirror in the bathroom, sadness overwhelming you. Shit is what you look like. Your colored hair is long faded, replaced by a dull, washed-out color of blah. Gritting your teeth, you turn to the man who kidnapped you. Technically freed you, but you still have no idea what this giant wants.

“You still haven’t answered my question, big guy,” you huff, immediately snagging the spare clothes next to you. You run through the previous conversation through your head again, trying to get any information out of this gargantuan man.

You slide on the pants, thankfully it’s easier with the shitty hospital gown. Unfolding the shirt, you nearly cry when you see a sports bra fall out of it. God, it’s even your size.

“We will need you for future missions.”

You finish sliding on the bra, freezing. “Missions?”

“Ja. We will discuss a contract, something beneficial to both of us. You and I will be equals in this.”

Tearing off the gown, you pull your shirt over your head. You turn around, sliding your arms through the sleeves with a frown. “And I have a choice?”

“Of course.”

It’s so damn hard to read him with his entire face obscured. At least with Ghost you could cheat a little bit. Masks suck the fun out of everything. “What about living arrangements?”

“Since you are AWOL, soon KIA, I would prefer it if you remained here. There’s a room prepared for you.”

That’s nice of them, but how long until you go crazy in a new cage. You highly doubt they’ll just let you walk out the door, but there must be more to this. He’s got to sweeten the deal.

“The pay?”

“You will find it more generous than your usual prices,” he responds, taking a few steps towards the door. Damn he’s got some legs. Your eyes drift towards his backside. Nice ass, too.

You really need to be spayed. Forcing your eyes upwards, you follow him through the building. Your socked feet are silent compared to his heavy boot steps, but the noise grounds you enough. It allows your mind to wander, this whole situation forcing you to think about how you got here.

You aren’t military, special forces, not even a cop. No, you were a nobody who was willing to do anything to stand up for the little guys. Getting the weapons wasn’t that hard, but training yourself? Being self-taught is what made your skills sought out, always unexpected and untraceable. You made your own rules, picking up a few things whilst you traveled. It’s funny, a life of death and crime let you shed your shell. How things have changed.

You’re in the room before you realize it, your mind wandering too close to memory lane. It’s sparsely decorated, screaming military and barf beige, but it’s all you have. The guns mounted on the walls catch your attention immediately. A gasp leaves your lips before you can help it, gently removing your sniper from its mount.

“Where did you find this? Never thought I’d see this again,” you whisper, immediately falling into your routine of checking it for damages.

“We were too late to prevent your capture,” he replies, watching you, “but we recovered everything they didn’t bother taking.”

Your jaw clenches at the thought of them taking you. Wordlessly, you place it back on its mount. Your hand lingers on it for a few moments, your fingers sliding down in now resistance. “I didn’t wipe my slate clean just to be immediately kidnapped. There was a rat, and not just the one they squeezed my information out of.”

Rage enflames your entire being. Revenge would be a good hobby for you, something to get your strength back. You’re itching for something up close and personal. Almost as if the giant could read your thoughts, he places a file onto the desk. Where was he keeping that? Goddamn you really need to start paying attention.

“We’ve identified a previous client… your first…”

You sift through the information. What information is available on you is enough to fuck you over. She gave them your legal name, history… everything. Your throat tightens at the photo of her, someone you considered a friend. Past tense. She’s on your hit list, bumped up to priority number one. The 141 will have to wait.

#konig x reader #cod x reader #konig x you #konig x fem!reader #konig x assassin!reader #scorned #konig x female reader

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lavenderdreams22 · 1 year

Text

A Court of Dawn & Dusk - Azriel x Reader (part 8)

Summary: Y/N and Azriel deal with the aftermath of the botched mission. Y/N makes a decision on the bond.

A/N: lots of fluff, a teeny tiny bit of angst. I hope you guys enjoy! It’s a little short, but it’s all I could manage this week since I was sick. ❤️

*****

Dawn had just broken, pinks and oranges stretching across the sky as it lightened. It reminded me of home, bringing a sense of peace.

I was still coated in a sheen of sweat, my heartbeat still hammering in my chest from the nightmare that had shaken me from sleep.

The images of dead men and blood were still vivid in my mind, and I shook my head to rid myself of the memories.

Glancing over at Azriel, I let out a shaky breath. He was laying face down on the oversized mattress, his cheek pressed into the pillow, light snores coming from his slightly open mouth. Even his shadows were resting.

He had stayed up later than I wanted him to, rocking me as I had a panic attack, but he seemed more than willing to do so.

Rolling onto my side, I reached over and brushed the dark hair that had fallen into his face back.

His eyebrows scrunched at the feeling of being touched, and he stirred for a moment before his eyes popped open, finding mine immediately as if he knew exactly where they’d be.

“Morning, handsome.” I said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Mornin’.” He grumbled, his voice still raspy with sleep.

I pulled away a bit to continue watching him, feeling calmer now that I had heard him speak. Something about the tenor in his voice always seemed to put my mind at ease.

“Where you going?” He asked, eyeing me through heavy lids as I made myself comfortable.

“No where, just wanted to look at you.” I muttered, reaching for him to stroke a hand up his arm.

“I would prefer it if you let me hold you for a while til I’m ready to get up. C’mere.” He reached for me, his movements sluggish in his haze.

This version of Az was always my favorite. Sleepy and soft and so, so touchy.

“But I like watching you.” I scooted backwards on the bed a bit more, making myself just out of his reach, a teasing smile on my lips.

He rolled his eyes playfully before bringing his hands up to cover my head. My smile spread into a grin.

“I guess I’ll just have to go, then.” I said, attempting to make my voice sound serious even as I stifled a giggle and moved to get out of bed.

Azriel pulled me back, tucking me into his chest.

“Nuh-uh.” He said, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re staying here with me forever.”

“I don’t think Rhys would appreciate it if I kept his coveted Spy Master occupied forever.”

“I know him better than you. He will understand.” Azriel quipped, pressing sloppy kisses to my shoulder. “I’d much rather you keep me occupied, anyway. You’re prettier.”

“I’ll tell him you said that when he inevitably comes to get you.” I said, tilting my head back to give him better access to my neck.

He pulled away, mock-hurt flashing in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh yes, I would dare.” I giggled. “In fact, let me go. I’m going to go tell him now.”

His hold on me only tightened. “Now you’re really never getting out of this bed.”

I giggled as he rolled me onto my back and propped himself above me.

There was a heat in his eyes, the kind that he reserved only for me, but there was love and adoration there, too. The sight of it nearly took my breath away.

As he leaned down to kiss me, a sharp knock sounded on the door.

“All right, love birds. Enough sappy shit. Y/N, we have training to do.” Cassian shouted from the hallway.

Azriel groaned, resting his head in the crook of my neck.

“Give us just a minute!” I shouted back.

Cassian threw the door open, giving us both a shit eating grin. “Nope. Your father was very specific. We need to ease you back into everything, and to do that, we need to start early.”

Azriel glared at him over his shoulder, his mood darkening as he did so. He hadn’t completely gotten over his jealousy at Cassian and I’s friendship, and he was struggling to let me out of his sight when he had work to do.

“It’s okay, my love.” I said, touching a hand to his cheek. “I’ll meet you back here later.”

His eyes met mine and they softened, as they always did. He only nodded before rolling off of me and getting to his feet.

“Give her a few minutes.” Azriel grumbled half heartedly as he stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him.

I stood, stretching as I moved to get ready for the long day ahead of me.

*****

Azriel stood in the corner of Rhysand’s office, his arms crossed over his chest.

The wind seemed to mirror his mood, whipping around the House of Wind so violently, it howled down every corridor, every remnant of the good mood that he’d had in his bedroom gone now that they were discussing this mission.

Rhys read through the report, his face carefully neutral. Finally, he set it aside and leaned back in his oversized leather chair.

“So.” Rhys began, not yet meeting Azriel’s eyes. He was grateful for the reprieve of his High Lord's displeasure. “That turned out to be quite the disaster.”

Azriel remained silent. He knew the mission had been an epic failure on his part. His mate had almost died because of it.

“How’re you feeling?” Rhys asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m fine.” Azriel’s voice sounded foreign, strained. As if he had spent months in the desert with no water. He could care less about how he was doing.

“And how is Y/N?” Finally, the High Lord met the Spy Master’s eyes.

“She’s… better. Still sore.” Azriel shook the memory that Rhysand had let him see from his mind, of her lying in a puddle of her own blood. “Her father cleared her for exercise. She’s up with Cassian now.”

Rhys seemed to loosen a breath at that.

“I still can’t believe that she…” Rhysand pulled the report back to himself, reading over it again as if he hadn’t seen the carnage himself. “She killed a dozen men, a dozen trained soldiers, all on her own.”

Azriel couldn’t help it as he let out a growl, the sound forming deep in his chest. He hated the thought of her getting caught up in that mess. He hated the nightmares that she’d had every night since. He hated himself for not being strong enough to help her when she needed him most. “She wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t let myself get injured.”

“You can’t blame yourself forever.” Rhys shot him a knowing look.

If there was one thing Azriel was good at, it was beating himself up. But this was different. This was personal, and he had spent every waking moment that he wasn’t wrapped around her thinking about all the ways he planned to make Hybern and Amarantha pay for what they had done.

So, Azriel forced the words from between his clenched teeth. “When your mate nearly dies at the hands of your enemy because you were too weak to stop it, you can talk to me about how long is appropriate to hold yourself accountable.”

Rhys froze, a gleam in his eye that Azriel couldn’t place.

“Mate?”

Azriel froze as well at his own admission. He certainly wasn’t hiding it. Couldn’t even if he wanted to as the scent of her and the clung to every inch of him. But he hadn’t planned on telling Rhysand like this, either.

“She’s my mate.” He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face, his mood lightening a bit.

It was truly amazing how quickly she could take him from broody and angry to a smiling, sentimental mess. It truly was not becoming for the all feared Spy Master of the Night Court.

“Has she accepted the bond?” Rhys grinned back.

“She plans to. I told her there was no rush.” Azriel ruffled his wings, the tension that was in his body seeming to melt away as he thought of her. “I didn’t want to pressure her after everything she’s been through.”

Rhys nodded, his grin getting wider as he mulled over this new information.

“Congratulations, brother.” Rhys said. “You two are perfect for each other.”

*****

“This can’t be the same female that killed all those men.” Cassian quipped, swatting me away from yet another failed attempt to take him down.

My breathing was labored as I glared at him.

“Do me a favor, Cassian.”

He cocked his head to the side in a silent question, and I held up my middle finger.

His laughter ricocheted around the training ring, and I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips as I turned on my heel and stalked to the water table.

“Jokes aside, you’re doing well. All things considered.” Cassian followed, leaning against the table.

The entire thing shifted and groaned under his weight, and I stared at it for a moment, waiting, hoping, for it to crumble, for it to send the Lord of Bloodshed tumbling to the ground.

“How are you doing mentally, though?” He asked.

“I’m fine.” I snapped. And then sighed. And then repeated, in a softer, more convincing tone. “I’m fine.”

“Mental blocks can be just as bad as physical ones, Y/N.” He took his own cup of water, chugging it down in one gulp, never taking his eyes off of me.

“I know that.” I grumbled.

Truth was, I hadn’t been alright at all since then. Nightmares plagued almost every night's sleep. But standing next to a male who had taken countless lives… It felt stupid and small to complain about.

I had nearly opened up to Azriel’s few times, but it never felt right, even as he shook me awake and held me until the tremors stopped.

“Killing never gets easier.” Cassian said, setting his cup down gently, as if not to spook me. “If you don’t want to talk to me, at least talk to Madja. She’s an amazing healer for body and mind.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well, think fast. We start again in five minutes.”

I shot him another half hearted glare before chugging the rest of my water and tossing the cup aside.

*****

Nuala and Cerridwin stood in the kitchen, preparing something for lunch when I rounded the corner.

They both glanced up in unison and I gave them a small smile.

“Good morning.”

They both nodded their heads in acknowledgement before returning to work.

I cleared my throat, bringing their attention back to me.

“What can we do for you, Y/N?” Nuala asked, her voice quiet.

“I was wondering if you could help me make some sort of cake.” I glanced around at the counters. “For Azriel.”

I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous. I had spoken to both of them several times in the past.

“Of course.” Cerridwin replied, offering me a small smile. “What do you think he would want?”

I shrugged. “I was thinking of something with strawberries.”

They nodded again and beckoned me fully into the kitchen.

“Is this to accept the mating bond?” Nuala asked.

I gave her a look that must have given away my confusion of her knowing.

They both only gave me a knowing smile.

I offered them a grin of my own. “Yes, it’s to accept the mating bond.”

*****

Azriel walked into the townhouse at sundown, his head pounding from a long day's work. He and Rhys had been working on gathering more information about Amarantha and why there suddenly seemed to be a hoard of soldiers in Prynthian.

When he had received a message from Y/N around midday to meet him at the town house, it was all he could focus on. She was all he could ever seem to focus on lately.

He continued on through the house, his footsteps nearly silent as he searched for her. Not that he had to search long. His shadows always seemed to know exactly where to find her, anyway. As soon as they came back to him, whispering that she was in the kitchen, he heard something clang to the ground.

The grin that spread across his face was unstoppable as he sped up, his footsteps making more noise as he went. He couldn’t wait to get back to her, to have her in his arms again. Just to breathe her in, that would be enough to erase all of the bullshit from the day.

As he rounded the corner, he came face to face with the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen in his entire life.

There she was, leaning against the counter, tasting some kind of batter off of a spoon as she watched the oven. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, pieces falling out and hanging in her face. She was covered in flour, but she looked happier than she had in weeks.

When she looked up and saw him leaning against the wall, her face seemed to brighten even more.

“Azriel.” She breathed, smiling at him in a way that warmed his heart.

“More beautiful every single time I see you.” He whispered as she made her way to him to press soft kisses to his lips.

“I… I made something.” She looked down at herself. “Obviously.”

“And what did you make?”

“Strawberry shortcake.” She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. “For you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest at the meaning behind her words.

“You… you’re accepting the bond?” He asked.

She nodded. “I have no idea if it’ll be any good… Nuala and Cerridwin helped me. They’re magic in the kitchen. You should see them, it’s amazing.”

She was nervous and babbling. He had no idea why. All he had ever wanted in his entire life was standing right in front of him.

He pulled her into a bone crushing hug, lifting her off of her feet and spinning her in circles as they both giggled.

“Can I try it?” He asked, still holding her in his arms.

“Of course.” She patted his chest in a silent request to put her down.

He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to lose the warmth of her body pressed up against him, but after a few more seconds, he relented. Setting her back on her feet.

She turned, and he admired her as she moved. When she turned back to him, she had a perfect little cake in her hands that was topped with perfectly cut strawberries.

“I hope you like it. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, but my father used to make this all the time when I was little.” She tucked one of the loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“You could have given me a lump of burnt bread, and I would think it was the second most delicious thing in the world.” He smirked at her, taking the small plate out of her hand.

“Second?” She asked, outraged. “What’s the first?”

He set the plate to the side, pulling her into his chest. She tipped her head back laughing, and he kissed her neck.

“The first will always be you, my love.” He kissed her once, twice, three more times before he stepped away and rounded the island to take a seat.

She watched him intently as he pulled the cake closer to himself, picking up the fork, and taking the first bite.

His eyes closed as he savored it, and she clasped her hands in front of her as she grinned.

“Absolutely delicious.” Azriel muttered, opening his eyes to look at her again.

The warmth that spread down the bond made his head spin. It was official. She was his for the rest of their near-immortal lives. She was his, and he, without a shadow of a doubt, was completely and irrevocably hers.

*****

Taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @mis-lil-red @judig92

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #acotar fanfic #acotar #acowar #acomaf #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel spymaster

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perfect-angel-boy · 6 months

Text

One of your girls

Mike Shmidt x transmasc!reader

Warnings: mild (unintentional) transphobia, internalized homophobia, use of the f slur by reader, it’s the early 2000s so like…

Give me a call if you ever get lonely

I’ll be like one of your girls or your homies

Say what you want and I’ll keep it a secret

You’ve got the key to my heart and I need it

You loved him, that much was obvious. You’d loved him probably since you first saw him. Or maybe it was something deeper than that. There was something about him that you just had to have. However, you had no idea how he felt about you, not really. Not past a surface level, anyways. You knew that he thought you were hot, you knew that he trusted you- at least enough to tell you about his little brother and his dreams and leave you around his sister. You knew that he was obsessed with your body, and seemingly fine with spending any free time he had with you, having sex or just doing nothing.

But you’d never met his friends, if he had any, which you’d assumed he did. He’d never called you his boyfriend, or even anything close.

You were with him today, laying together in bed while Abby was at school. You’d stayed the night, spent the morning between each others’ legs, and you weren’t sure about him, but now yours felt like jelly. It was peaceful, quiet. Until someone knocked at the door. You both got up, him to see who it was and you more so out of habit.

He pulled you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his head on your shoulder and the two of you waddle-walked to the door together. You got out of his way so that he could open it and standing before you was a woman. She was taller than both of you, dressed in a police uniform with a neat blonde ponytail. “Hey, Mike-“ she stopped as she noticed you. Her eyes took you in and you suddenly felt so small. You watched her face as her eyes scanned you over, it almost felt like she made it a point to zero in on the scars on your flat chest, a pair of Mike’s boxers low on your hips. Finally her eyes met yours again, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Mike’s friend, Vanessa. “ She gave you a warm smile and extended her hand. You reached yours to meet her, but it seemed to fall in slow motion at her next words, “you must be Mike’s girlfriend that I’ve heard so much about.”

Your mind faltered as you felt Mike grow rigid beside you. It was like you were feeling a million different things, your mind racing. He’d told his friends about you. He’d called you his girlfriend. He’d called you his girlfriend. You felt your breath catch, or that could’ve been bile getting caught in your throat. All that you could over in return was a weak smile and small nod. You turned to Mike, “I think I’m going to lay back down,” walking away before he could respond.

A short while later, you heard the front door shut gently, followed by what sounded like a heavy sigh and then bare feet padding back down the hall. He called your name as he entered the room.

Your body was turned, facing the opposite direction from the door, as silent tears streamed down your face.

“Y/N, please look at me.” You didn’t turn over and he sighed, “please don’t do this right now.”

You heard yourself scoff, still refusing to face him. “Girlfriend? Your fucking Girlfriend?”

“Y/N, please-“

You sat up, turning to look at him, furiously wiping your eyes. “No, Mike. You called me your fucking girlfriend? After everything I’ve told you and everything we’ve been through and everything I fucking put up with and you call me your fucking girlfriend?” You wanted to sound angry, but you just sounded tired, and you were. It was always the same fucking thing. Meet a guy, fall in love, and yeah, he’s great behind closed doors but never in fucking public. Won’t kiss you, won’t hold your hand, won’t call you his boyfriend. If his friends ever ask you’re suddenly a girl to him, no matter what he tells you in private. It was fucking exhausting.

What was worse was, with Mike you found yourself almost giddy that he’d even told someone about you at all, and you hated yourself for it. For needing him so badly that it didn’t matter what he called you, as long as he called you his.

“I can explain,” he sighed, moving to sit beside you on the bed.

You looked at him expectantly.

He ran his hands over his face, “Abby brought you up around Vanessa a few weeks ago and I guess I just… panicked. I don’t know why I didn’t just say boyfriend or partner or anything else, I just. I couldn’t bring myself to say boyfriend. You know how people get.”

“So is that how you see me, then? As a girl?”

He held your hand gently in his, “no. Never. I see you as you. Just Y/N.”

Your head tilted to the side as you asked, “but, what does that mean? If your calling me a girl behind my back does it even mean anything? Are you really that afraid of your friends, whatever they might say about you?”

He sighed, again, “I don’t even know if I’m gay, I just didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea and-“

You moved your hand from beneath his, “and think that your some freak fag who dates trans guys?”

“Y/N-“ he reached for you as you moved to stand, your arms wrapped around you. So, so small.

“No, Mike. I get it, okay? Trust me, I totally fucking get it.”

He stood, too, moving to stand in front of you, his hands on your shoulders as he desperately attempted to meet your eyes, “no, Y/N it’s not like that, I just-“

“Just what, Mike. If your so embarrassed by me then just let me fucking go.” Fresh torrents of tears poured from your eyes, “please let me go.”

He was quick to wrap his arms around you, “never. I love you too much.”

This only made you cry harder, your heavy arms coming up to wrap around his waist, “no,” you hiccuped, “I don’t think that you do.” You pulled back to look him in the eyes, “to love someone, you have to respect them. If you had any respect for me you never would’ve done that.” You placed your head back on his chest, his hand moving to gently rub the back of your head as you sobbed violently.

“If I didn’t love you I would let you walk away, and I refuse to do that.” He pulled away, looked you in your eyes, “let’s get back to bed baby boy.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, he’d never called you that before. So you crawled back into his bed, wrapping around him as your tears dried on your face.

You didn’t know if he meant it, or if he was just trying to get you to stay, but you knew that you loved him. That was for sure. As pathetic as it made you feel, you knew deep down that you would’ve never left. It didn’t matter if he called you a girl, he’d called you his.

Give me a call if you ever get desperate

I’ll be like one of your girls

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #transmasc!reader #josh hutcherson #fanfic #fnaf fanfic #fnaf movie

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