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delopsia · 3 months

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Coyote | Miles Miller x Reader

Word Count: 7,500 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+. AFAB!Reader, wolf! Reader, coyote! Miles (it's a werewolf AU with a twist), mentions of food PTSD and forced marriage, running away together, car sex, and overstimulation. No established time setting, so you can imagine this as a modern! AU or canon to when the movie took place :) Brief Summary: You've got no choice but to marry the son of a rivaling family in order to bring unity once and for all. But on the night before your dreaded wedding, Miles makes good on your wish to run away together.

This bed used to be comfortable.

Falling into it once felt like plummeting through the sky and being caught by a giant, fluffy cloud. Soft, delicately scented sheets, washed in a laundry detergent exclusively used for this room alone. One of the many perks of the honeymoon suite, alongside the extra space, pink interior, and a promise of complimentary, sweet drinks, so long as you took the time to visit the front desk and ask for them.

Your head lifts, craning to peer over your shoulder. The sleeping body that occupies your bed isn't the one that you're used to. Stiff. Not the snuggly presence that you've grown to associate with this mattress. His back has long since turned to you, growled snores rattling every last nerve you've got. And yet, you can't help but be thankful that he's not awake and looking at you.

Because then you'd be forced to confront the reality of this situation you've found yourself in.

Reluctant, your eyes flick to the dresser. It's usually up beneath the two-way mirror, but now, it has found itself awkwardly shoved into a vacant corner. If only the stark white wedding dress sitting on top of it had taken note and miraculously found its way into the dumpster. But like the gaudy ring sitting atop the bedside table, it hasn't moved an inch.

Come dawn, his nameless sisters will rush into the room and help shove you into it all. Dressing you in costume like one of their childhood dolls, powdering your face with extravagant makeup, and helping you into those too-high shoes that your future mother-in-law so stubbornly insisted you wear. As if walking down that aisle wasn't hard enough, to begin with.

It's cruel, truly.

Your feet are destined to walk a fine line between two families. To become the glue—no, the contract that will bind them together for the rest of eternity. A purpose that was placed upon your shoulders before they had even formed in the womb. Because a bunch of old men and women couldn't settle things like adults, crying about how its not the way your ancestors would have wanted it.

Werewolves. Stuck so far in the past that even modern history does not recognize them.

Up until recent, you'd found them all to be the same. Clinging to the shiny title of their ancestors, vying to establish themselves using the accomplishments of those before them. Stubbornly clinging to their old ways, fearing the concept of change more than the fangs of a hungry vampire.

You'd thought it when you were approached with the demand that you meet the son of the family that rivaled your own. Travel from the warm comforts of one state and into a cold, unfamiliar one every weekend to meet him and to fall in love. And if you could not find love, you would need to learn tolerance. Accept this unhappy future for the sake of the family, they said. For your troubles, you were offered a reservation at a comfortable hotel. A place to rest in between the drive and enjoy the last of your freedoms before the wedding bells rang.

Oh, but that doe-eyed boy behind the reception desk...

Miles.

In the past, you've heard your family refer to families of coyote-based shifters, but until you stumbled into this little hotel, you'd never met one in person. And even then, you couldn't pick one out of a lineup if your life depended on it. But from the moment you heard him knock on your door during your very first stay, you'd known something was different about him.

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, wild blue eyes darting every which way as he held out a small, familiar object in his hand. Your wallet. "You—you forgot this on my desk."

He could have kept it. Lord knows he needed every penny in there, but he'd brought it back to you just as you'd left it.

"Oh," quite frankly, you were speechless. Even now, you can't think of anything you could have said to fill the awkward gap of silence as you took it from his hand. "Thank you..." Your eyes frantically scanned across his jacket for that damned name tag. But it was upside down. Forcing you to tilt your head for a better read. "Miller?"

His eyebrows furrowed. Head tilted, like you had just spoken in a different language. "Huh?"

"That's your name, isn't it?" You nodded towards the nametag.

He had to follow your gaze to figure out what you were looking at. And as soon as he realized, his hands jumped into the air. "Oh!" Scurrying to fix it. Laughing. "I'm—I'm sorry. It's...my name is Miles..." Then, paused as he was in the process of flipping it, hesitantly meeting your eye. "Miller is my last name."

The only thing you'd known to do was to smile and correct yourself, but now the silence was unbearable. Miles and his awkward grin, wringing his hands, eyes flicking every which way. But then, all of a sudden, his head snapped toward the double doors of the lobby. He'd heard something, but you couldn't pick up a damn thing. Even as he apologized and darted off, you couldn't figure out what the hell he was hearing.

Strangest of all, a strange scent clung to the fabric of your wallet. Earthier. Like standing in a forest after a storm. That was no wolf scent; in fact, you had never encountered it before.

What was it?

You got your answer when, on your second visit, he ambled back up to your door—carrying a slice of pie fresh out of the oven, still steaming and hot to the touch. The same flavor you had looked for when you first arrived at the hotel, only to find that it was the one flavor freshly sold out. Originally, it was an apology for the off-putting note he'd left you on, but then he'd accidentally let go of the plate before you fully had a hold of it.

He'd yipped the moment the ceramic hit the ground. Then burst into an apology, claiming the noise to be some 'dumb coyote thing.'

The walk back to get another slice ended in chatter that has yet to die down.

Maybe he bewitched you with the sweet treats and cozy blankets he brought out of the exclusive bungalows because you didn't like the texture of the ones typically used to furnish your room. Or it could have been the soft touches and delicately whispered comments as if speaking any louder would cause the sentiment to lose all of its meaning.

But one way or another, you found your arms wrapped around those lithe shoulders. Catching each and every single one of his flurried kisses. Soft and giving, never demanding a thing, and so, so eager to give everything to you, even if that wasn't very much to start with. Stumbling backward until the back of your knees hit the bed, losing your balance in an instant.

You haven't quit falling since.

The body next to yours shifts, rolling closer to you, and the hand that skims your back does nothing but make you wriggle to the edge of the bed. Those aren't the hands that you've grown accustomed to, appearing softly at first. Feather-light fingertips stroking up the curve of your waist, gradually gaining confidence in his touch the further he goes until he flattens his palm against your belly.

A part of you can still hear what Miles would say right now.

"Is this still okay?" His lips always brush against your bare shoulder. Always seeking the reassurance that the boundary is still where it was a couple of hours ago, perhaps due to his own wavering line of what he can and can't handle.

The following whispered consent is religiously rewarded with a lingering kiss, his warm breath fanning out against your skin. Followed by another. And another. Guiding himself up your cheek to press one to your lips before nuzzling his nose into your neck.

They say coyotes and wolves don't mix, but you go together like lightning and thunder. Where Miles is swift and flickering, you are the booming, large presence that follows.

Tap.

Your head lifts.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There's nobody outside the window; there are no curtains, no scent to reveal their presence. Your eyes are designed for this very lighting, and yet, you cannot spot a single thing out of place.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It's not coming from the window. No, the tapping is...inside the room.

As slow as you can physically manage, you slip from the bed, careful not to disturb your sleeping partner. The last thing you feel like dealing with is a know-it-all man stealing the reins from your more-than-capable hands. Like he did when Miles turned up at the door, returning the ring you intentionally left at his desk. He damn near shoved you out of the way, unable to allow a coyote like Miles around you, even for a second.

Tap. Tap.

Coming from your right. But that doesn't make any...

the mirror.

The mirror is open.

"Miles," you can barely recall the sensation of your feet crossing the floor. Slipping into his warm arms before you can think twice, uncaring of the awkward gap you must lean over. "How did you..."

"Shh," squeezing you as close as he can possibly manage. "If he catches us..."

You'll both be dead.

But the continued, growling snores insist he's not waking anytime soon.

Reluctant, you peel yourself away from him. Too eager to get a glimpse of his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to—I..." he pauses. Recollecting himself. Squeezing your shoulders in his palms. "Do you remember what you said about wantin' to run away with me?"

You don't...you don't know what to say. Head tilting to glance at the occupied bed. Then to your luggage. Just moments ago, you were daydreaming about Miles, but, but... God, where will you go? How will he hide you from the sensitive noses of your family?

"I—I got my car workin' again, and I found scent blockers, and," he gulps so hard that his Adam's apple bobs. Frantic eyes flicking to the bed. Then back to you. "I ain't been there in a while, but I've still got that little apartment I told you 'bout."

You know where he's going with this. And your heart is hammering against your chest. Begging you to say yes. But your head knows better. There's no way you can escape without being caught. "Miles..."

"I know I ain't got all that much. I don't...I know I can't give you the same kind of life he could, but I..." his forehead presses against yours. Big, warm hands rising to curl around your cheeks. Blocking out the rest of the world as his heart continues to pour off of his tongue. "I can promise I'll love you until you're absolutely sick of me. Like you are of that pie I keep bringin' you."

As if that wasn't enough, he leans in and seals it by leaning in and meeting your lips. The gentlest of locks, hardly enough to count as a kiss at all. It feels like the first, all over again.

And you'll be damned if it's the last.

It takes five and a half steps to reach your suitcase. Three to slip into your shoes. One more to snatch that gaudy ring off of the bedside table. Ugly but valuable, given all of the things you've heard about it since it was shoved onto your finger.

The wheel clangs against the wall as you lift it. Miles goes pale. You freeze. The whole world stops turning. Slow, as if moving too quickly will cause the man in bed to stir, you turn your head.

Still asleep.

Getting the suitcase through the mirror should have been the hard part, but in reality, it's figuring out how to get up and swing your legs through the gap without smacking your head on the top. Miles's guiding hands are the only thing that helps you pull it off, firm against your waist, holding you firm in the event you lose your balance.

One foot leaves the worn hotel carpet.

The other lands on the solid, cement floor of the hidden corridor.

Miles swings the mirror shut. The latches audibly slide back into place. And suddenly, it's completely and utterly silent. Mere feet away from a man you've already forgotten the name of. Maybe you would remember if your attention wasn't wrapped up in the sight of Miles himself. Soft and real and dressed in that cozy mustard yellow cardigan.

He looks at you.

You look at him.

For a split second, telepathy is real. And you're both thinking the same damn thing.

"Oh, what the heck," he breathes, arms already beginning to open up, "c'mere."

It's the easiest thing you've done in your life. Stepping forward, shrinking that gap between your bodies in an instant. Arms draping across those lithe shoulders, noses crashing together as he clumsily kisses you. Careful arms curling around your waist.

Oh, it's everything you were just dreaming about. The dizzying sensation of him using his weight to push your back up against the chilly cement wall. Such a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating off of him, daring to press up against you.

You're melting like ice cream in the sweltering summer sun. Fingers lazily tangling in his hair, falling into the plush caress of his lips against yours. He tastes like the cola he keeps hidden behind the bar, so sweet that you reckon he's giving you a secondhand sugar rush, chasing away the remnants of sleep that still cling to your psyche.

The tips of his fingers brush at your nape, crawling to trace against your cheek, then down your shoulder. Can never seem to keep those big, weathered hands occupied for more than a few seconds at a time. Always has to be moving. Always.

You need to get going. Run before anyone notices your absence and comes looking. Can't even begin to imagine the things they would say if they walked in on you like this. Running away on the night before your wedding, tangled up with your new lover before a minute has even passed.

"Miles..." speaking against his lips. A half-assed effort that dies down as soon as he closes that gap again. Leading with his nose, the cold tip of it brushing against your cheek.

"We should stop..." he whines into your kiss like he's been longing for it all his life. On the same damn page as you, just as helpless, too. "We should..."

His hips twitch forward. Clumsily knocking into yours. The slightest brush of your bodies, and yet it's enough for you to catch onto what you've done to him. Hard as a rock in those stretchy work pants, so damn visible that you can see the bulge of his cock, right here in the dark.

Bold, you push forward. Foreheads bumping together as Miles struggles to back track, feet tangling, falling back against the wall with a surprised grunt. Wide eyes peer back at you, confused, but only for a moment. His unspoken question is answered by the sudden pressure of your palm, curling around the outline of him through his slacks.

Those pretty eyes fall shut, sucking in a breath. "Wha—here?" Though he's not putting up much of an argument against it. Struggling to suppress the whine that rolls past his lips, hips twitching up into you. So, so sensitive, no matter how many times you've done this to him.

"Do you want me to stop?" You're almost certain what his answer will be, thumb already toying with the metal of his button.

But his silence still has you waiting.

His head drops, forehead landing against your shoulder, almost ashamed to whisper, "...no."

The drag of his zipper is enough to make the button pop loose, so cheaply made that it was barely fastened in the first place. Your daring fingers slip inside, seeking the soft material of his boxers...that you don't find.

No, instead, your fingertips brush against warm skin, not another layer of clothing there to separate you from his heavy cock. And despite your surprise, your hand is already wrapping around him.

"Had a customer while I was gettin' dressed," Miles blurts, suddenly talkative as you give him a loose, experimental stroke, figuring out which angle is most comfortable for your arm, "I didn't have time—oh," your thump swipes over his weeping tip, always so wet for you, "and then, and then you walked in the door and I..."

"Forgot?" Filling in the blanks. Hardly able to pay attention to what he's saying. Too busy paying attention to the weight of him in your grasp, how his cute hips rock back and forth on their own, subtle accord. You shouldn't get this much pleasure out of stroking him, spreading his precum down his shaft.

His head nods against your shoulder, hair tickling your neck. "Uhuh."

Your eyes flick to the mirror, peering through the darkness of the hotel room you were in just minutes ago. Not a soul has noticed your absence yet. But even if they had, you don't think you'd be able to care. Too wrapped up in the soft whimpers that fall off Miles's tongue, the way they grow louder when your spare hand twists in his hair, pulling gently.

His head lifts, and your mouths crash together with all the grace of a trainwreck. Teeth clattering. Tongues meeting without a shred of notice. Messily tangling in the chilly air. Punctuated by Miles's sharp inhale.

Outside, a truck engine roars to life.

"Car," Miles chokes, "we gotta..."

It's the biggest power struggle of the century, his lithe body rolling against yours, too eager to feel you and have you and eat you alive, all at the same time. The sly twist of your wrist does absolutely nothing to help his case, eyes scrunching shut at the feeling. He's only got control of his hand, darting into his pocket. Returns with a thin plastic tube that you smell before you see.

Roll-on scent blocker. The nastiest combination of chemicals you've ever encountered, but they do their job as promised. Warm against your temple as he rubs it on you, covering your scent glands, one at a time. The ones on your neck, behind your ears, and the insides of each of your wrists, that horrid, sterile stench assaulting your nose like a bad memory. An unpleasant experience drawn out by the way you continue to torment your lover, thumb massaging beneath his sensitive tip all the while

But it's on, and Miles is damn dragging himself away, shoving himself back into the confines of his pants before he can even begin to second-guess his decision. Lips so wet that they shine, catching in the fraction of light provided in this dark little corridor as he bends down to grab the handle of your suitcase.

"Car," he repeats as if he's trying to convince himself more than you.

His spare hand reaches out, an open invitation that you're already halfway into taking. Fingers locking around each other, tightening as he guides you down this maze of a hallway. Past room after room, around two sharp bends, toward a dull, hardly helpful light. You're pretty sure he borrowed that bulb from one of the bungalows after management defaulted on their usual payment for supplies.

You wonder if this is the last time you'll ever see this hotel.

The somewhat offputting taxidermy behind the reception desk. Clashing with the refined purples and blues of this section of the building. Dusty gambling machines and tables that haven't seen a game since last winter are now only useful for storing cleaning products and a stash of towels.

All so dead compared to the vivid gold, orange, and brown across the room. Warm lighting and the equally cozy booths snuggled into the lower floor. Far too pretty to be surrounded by a floor tile that aims to recreate an enchanting stone pathway, and has instead become a heaven to dirt and trash that no mop or vacuum can fully collect.

It's all there and gone in a second, cut short by the squeal of the front doors, opening up to a big, rainy world, all yours to explore. The parking lot is so flooded that it's become one big puddle, splashing as you run through it, licking at your exposed ankles. You can hardly tell where you're going, blindly led by the hand that has yet to let go of yours.

The car is parked all by its lonesome in the center of the lot, away from the other residents and directly across from the vehicle you were driven here in. Only when you're close does Miles let go of you, treading toward the back of the vehicle while you reach for the car door. You've never been so thankful to find that something is unlocked, damn near falling into the backseat.

Miles is on you before you even hear the trunk close. Hips slotting between your thighs as he squirms on top of you, giggling as he trails kisses up the side of your neck. Leading himself over your jaw and across your cheek, moving so quickly that it almost tickles. Only pausing to linger when he meets your mouth, humming like the cat who got the cream.

"Whole darn weddin' party is parked out here," he grunts, unabashedly rolling himself against your thigh, "almost feel bad for stealin' you away."

"Don't," sucking in a breath, tugging at that damned cardigan of his, "the wedding was more for them than it was for me."

He leans back on his haunches, tugging the flimsy material from his shoulders. Tosses it somewhere up in the front seat. "Promise I won't make ya feel like that if we ever get to have one."

Your head is spinning, struggling for an ounce of sanity in this cramped little car as you reach to push your shorts down your legs. "Do you want me to go back for the dress so you can marry me before the sun is up?" Half joking.

You fear you'd do it if he asked.

But his head just shakes, already beginning to fumble with the buttons of his work shirt. "Nah," two snap off entirely, scattering into the leather seat. By the time you realize he's got it off, he's already halfway into peeling that final layer over his head. He's on you before the old tee has even landed on the floorboard. Returning to his favorite place between your legs. "You were right when you said that the dress doesn't suit ya at all."

It's hard to lift your hand to your heart and feign shock when his chest is pressed up against your own, careful lips pressing kisses to the underside of your jaw. Hell, working up a tone of mock surprise is even a task. "You were watching me change?"

"You," kiss, "were facing the mirror," another kiss, "lookin' right back at me the whole time." One more, right on your lips. Too innocent for what goes on down below, the heavy bulge of his cock rubbing against you.

On their own accord, your legs are circling him, pulling those lithe hips even closer; he's got the idea, already beginning to grind into you in earnest. Makes it so, so hard for you to focus on your half-assed attempt at defending yourself. "I was trying to see what I looked like!"

"Do you always mouth my name when you undress?" His words come out breathy, like the very memory is enough to get under his skin. "Had half the mind to open the mirror right then 'n there."

You can't even begin to imagine what kind of hell would unravel if he'd done that. Haven't a doubt in your mind that you would have been on him in a second, much like you are right now. Frenzied hands smoothing past his biceps, scurrying up to slide across his back. Silky smooth beneath your palms, interrupted by a raised scar that sits next to the knobs of his spine, with a story you'd rather not recall.

All too quickly, it's fallen quiet in this little car. Nothing but the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof, set alight by the distinct red glow of the grand, neon sign hanging overhead. As if anyone could possibly forget they were staying at the El Royale. So damn bright that it reflects off Miles's pale skin, glistening as he kisses down your neck, soft mouth so feather-light that it tickles in the best of ways.

He jerks backward. Face twisting like he's eaten something sour. Barely manages to keep his eyes open.

"Get a taste of that scent blocker?" You giggle, already halfway into reaching up, curling your palm around his cheek. Now, it's your hand that is bathed in the warm, red glow.

"Uhuh," and he's already responding to the faint nudge of your fingertips, eyelashes fluttering closed as he meets you halfway.

And despite it all, it's as gentle as it has always been. The sort of thing that melts you around the edges, with the slow guide of his lips, massaging against yours in an elegant dance that no soul can recreate. Head spinning like a tiny ballerina in a music box, moving to a melody that only you two can hear.

But then your delicate tongue is swiping against his lower lip, and he's parting with a dizzying gasp. Downright placid as you lick into his mouth, so shy he can hardly rise to greet you, darting away the moment you meet. But then he's back again, lazily tangling with you, fleeting meetings and contented hums, bodies pressing impossibly closer. His hips involuntarily twitch up into yours, the outline of his cock rubbing against your cunt, and the two thin layers between you do nothing to stop you from feeling how he spasms in his slacks.

Your touches are wandering. Skating down his neck and across his chest, svelte and gently muscled, like you're running your palms across a marble statue. Dancing over the slight dent of a scar on his belly, the one he's only recently felt comfortable having touched, past the divots of his ribs and down his sensitive sides.

He's everything, and he doesn't even know it.

"Miles..." gasping into his mouth, breathless.

His head tilts. You can almost see those large, pointed ears twisting on the sides of his head. Always curious. "Hm?"

Hell. You don't even know what you were saying his name for. Wordless, your hand continues to wander between your bodies and across the hem of his pants, cupping him through them. Rewards you with a groan far too loud for this tranquil backseat.

Overhead, thunder rolls as if Mother Nature herself has risen from her slumber to remind you of where you are. How easily you can get caught if someone notices your absence and walks out into the parking lot. One little peak into the windows is all it would take.

You don't have the luxury of taking your time. Not tonight, at least.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You hitch your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and tug. With Miles between your legs, you're forced to draw your knees to your chest to fully draw them down, forcing him to lean back. He's already batting your hands away, pulling the thin material past your heels and dropping them on top of his own clothes.

It happens so quickly compared to how slowly things were progressing just moments before. Your curious fingers pulling at his zipper for the second time today, too eager to see him spill out of his slacks once more, pink tip flushed so red that it rivals the neon glow cast upon you. Not necessarily big in size, but thick enough for it to be noticeable.

Ugh, you hadn't realized how wet you were until now, cunt leaving him glistening from dragging between your folds alone.

"Fuck," you whisper over an airy breath, struggling to keep your eyes open, "I missed this."

The corner of Miles's lip rises, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies, bashfully smug in a fashion that only he can pull off. His mouth moves, but not a word comes out, too focused on watching his cock head drag against your clit to produce more than a hum. Those narrow hips have already found the pace you didn't realize you were craving; he always has been a quick learner.

It's mesmerizing to watch the plush tip gliding in and out of your view, leaking a bead of precum that gets lost in your wetness. And you can't help but reach down and run your fingers overtop of him, feeling over the myriad of bulging veins.

Without warning, his body twitches backward a smidgen too far, unintentionally sliding down to nudge against your entrance. Delicious pressure blooms, and you fear you're too far gone to put it off any longer. Eager hands rise to curl around his biceps, squeezing lightly as his head slips inside.

"I..." those eyes of his are focused where your bodies meet, helpless to stop himself as he sinks into your pussy, "condom...forgot..."

A part of you should be worried about it. There's no way that you'll be able to go inside and clean up, and lord only knows how long it'll take to get to his apartment. Yet your eager legs are wrapping around him before he can think twice about it, drawing him deeper.

"That's okay," you pant, don't particularly mind the idea of feeling him spasm and fill you up again. It's been so long that you can't remember the last time it happened.

Six weeks without him was far too long. This is what you've been missing. The heavy drag of him inside you, curved in such a way that he rubs into the nerves hidden there, kissing them on his way past. A dull ache grows as he stretches you open, so damn thick that you ought to win an award for taking him to the base.

Miles wavers, forearms shivering as he fights to keep himself upright. A weak leaf shaking in the wind, breaking the moment you pull him in, collapsing into you with a loud, echoing whimper. He's already bottoming out, the soft material of his pants flush against your ass. There goes every bit of rationality you have left.

"You can move," you're speaking clearly. At least, you think you are, but your favorite coyote doesn't seem to hear you. Soft nose bumping into the side of your neck, a little too comfortable there. "Miles." Nothing.

Your hand slips down to smack his ass.

He grunts. Jolting into you. Whether or not he heard what you said is anyone's guess, but he's starting to move. Peeling his soft, warm body backward, cock withdrawing. For a moment, you can breathe. Blessed with a moment of sanity before he sinks back in, gingerly nudging the air from your lungs.

"Is that..." his warm cheek brushes against yours. Always has to be so close, "Is that okay?" The swell of his ass pushes into your hand; you can't help but grab a handful of it.

"More than okay," it's difficult to recognize this tone of your voice, so airy that it might as well have been whispered by the wind.

You don't understand how something simple can feel so good. The gentle roll of his hips are so fluid that his thrusts almost feel smooth. No harsh smack of skin on skin or jostling meetings of your bodies, the curve of his cock rubbing into every nerve it can find. Has your cunt so wet around him that you can hear it. Sickening squelches too damn out of place for such delicate movements.

Lips ghost across the side of your jaw, peppered by the faint whimpers that slip from Miles's throat, fussy in that stereotypical coyote fashion. It does nothing to change what you're feeling, yet you're pulsing around him, set off by those sweet little noises.

"You look so beautiful underneath me," he mewls against the corner of your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you with a familiar glimmer. Only he can look at you like that. Not anyone you've ever crossed paths with. And certainly not the man you were meant to marry come sunrise.

Your legs are squeezing tighter around him, drawing his warm frame impossibly close, as if he could slip away from you at any given moment. Best of all, he lets you. Situating his forearms to rest on either side of your head, chests snug against each other, leaning up just enough to keep looking into your eyes. One of those big hands curls around your cheek, cradling it like glass.

His angle shifts, driving up into those little nerves so hard that your legs twitch, body jerking on its own accord. Must be a mutual thing because it has you gasping against each other's lips, quiet whines dancing through the dark car and out into the parking lot, washed away by the pouring rain.

"I can't get enough of you," Miles croaks, a little waver in his tone. All of a sudden, his eyes squeeze shut. Brows knitting together with a pained noise.

"Miles?" The haze is dissipating, your careful hands rising to cradle his head. "Are you okay?"

For a moment, he doesn't move.

"Uhuh," shallowly nodding, like that little motion even manages to hurt him, "I pulled a muscle in my back the other day, 's all." But then his body twitches forward, driving his cock back into you, and his face twists again.

You're only got one solution on deck.

Despite the overwhelming sense of emptiness you're left with when Miles pulls out of you, sitting up is easy. He doesn't need any help falling into the seat, legs a smidgen too long to sit back here, his knees digging into the backside of the passenger seat. And you're fortunate that the ceiling in this car is rather high because sitting on his lap puts you up much higher than you expected.

His hand disappears between your thighs, carefully taking hold of himself and guiding the tip back to nudge at your cunt. Ugh, it's perfect. The aching stretch of taking him once more, how he manages to still find those niche little spots that toys always seem to miss. So good that your jaw is slack before you've even taken all of him.

"Better?" You're already breathless, arms lazily coming to rest around his shoulders.

He's not doing much better than you are, head leaned back against the cushion, peering back at you with such an unfocused gaze that you reckon he might be on another planet. "Uhuh." But his hands rise to squeeze the sides of your hips, hanging on as you rise up.

You're gonna be in so much trouble if one of your wedding guests walks outside and catches a glimpse of your silhouette rising and falling. Never in their wildest dreams would they suspect that you're getting fucked by the coyote from the front desk. Your dripping pussy clenching around him like a vice, so wet that he almost slips out of you entirely.

"Fuck," hissing, your nails biting into the back of his pale neck, "Miles."

You were trying to go slow, but you can hardly control your own body, rhythm dissolving before you can even get it established—short, jerky movements, so frenzied that you can feel the vehicle sway with it. Mouths clash. Teeth knocking together. Miles and his pitchy whimpers damn near eat you alive.

"This is so bad," he's panting like a dog, cheeks flushed so red that you can see it through the neon glow. "So bad..."

Beneath you, his hips jerk upward, meeting you halfway. By the sound of it, he surprises both of you, crying out so sharply that you reckon the whole damn hotel heard it. You can't even find it in yourself to worry about getting caught. Not when he's twitching inside of you, hitting right where you crave him most.

"Feels good, feels good, oh my god," tears welling up in his eyes, already threatening to creep past his waterline, "fuck." Whimpering in the pitchiest little tone you've ever heard out of him.

He's so perfect. You think you could die happy right here and now.

It's so distracting that you don't realize what he's doing until his rough thumb is bumping against your clit. His pressure wavers, light as a feather one moment and then directly rubbing into it the next, struggling to keep up with your frenzied pace. But it's...it's...

"Miles, keep—" begging like your life depends on it. Punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin. "Keep doing that."

Those tears spill over his cheeks, a hiccup bubbling out of him, unraveling right in front of you. His legs squirm behind you, knees knocking together, can't stay still to save his life.

"Oh god, oh god," he's babbling. Head lolling back and forth like it's too heavy for him to keep up, yet his watery eyes remain on you, never once glancing away.

It's so much. You don't—you don't know how you're keeping it together. An ache blooming in the muscle of your thighs, knees digging uncomfortably into the crook of the seat. You're certain it'll leave a visible mark on them, but you can't stop. Hopelessly chasing the kiss of his cock head against your nerves and the drag of his length inside of you.

"I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." you know what he's trying to say; you're feeling it too. He stiffens, fighting to speak. "Baby, I'm gonna cum in you if you don't stop—"

"Cum in me, Miles," cutting him off entirely. Too damn impatient to keep quiet. Not when you can already feel a burning coil in your lower belly, winding tighter and tighter.

Those pretty blue eyes roll into the back of his head without further warning. Back arching, hips lifting off the seat, lips parted with a silent cry. The thumb on your clit spasms in tune with his cock, pulsing deep inside, flooding your pussy with his cum.

But you're not there yet. Trapped on a frustrating edge that you can't seem to fall over. Clenching so tight around him that you can already feel his cum spilling out and onto his pants, making a horrible mess that you don't have the means to clean. Your dominant hand drops down, knocking his out of the way, fingertips finding your clit.

All of a sudden, Miles is alive. His whole body jerks. Squirming back and forth. Whimpering. Whining. Feet kicking at the floorboard. It's too much for him, you know it is, but this isn't his first rodeo, and he's not telling you to stop.

"Feels too good, feels—" his hands clamp over his own mouth, one over top of the other, and even that hardly works.

"No," pawing at his wrists with your other hand, half-hearted, but the intent is still there. "I wanna hear you."

And he does. Arms hesitantly falling. Grabbing at the seats like he doesn't trust himself to not do it again. His head tilts back, a flurry of short, pitchy noises falling from his parted lips. Moaning like a cheap whore. Oversensitive. So damn eager to let you use him. Uncaring of who may overhear or what goes on outside this tiny car.

Heat rushes through you, skin prickling with a familiar tension. There's a tremor in your thighs that wasn't there before, cunt fluttering around him, muscles set alight. The coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter until you can't fucking breathe.

"C-cum," Miles stammers through a hiccup, blinking up at you, "cum on my cock, please."

And you do. Freezing without an ounce of warning, the car seeming to spin on its own as your orgasm finally, finally washes over you. It's as if you've been sucked out the window and up into the storm clouds above, absolutely fucking weightless as you cum around his cock. Every little twitch has him bumping into those abused spots, so exhausted that the only thing they can do is send a tingle through your thighs.

It takes you a good minute to realize why your forehead is so warm all of a sudden.

"I think..." Miles only starts talking when you lift your face from the crook of his shoulder, leaning back to get a look at him, "I think you almost killed me." But he accepts your kiss without complaint, humming into it with a grin.

"I can take you for another round if that's what you want," teasing, just to get a reaction out of him. You don't know if you could go again, even if you wanted to.

His head shakes back and forth, tear-stained cheeks glistening in the light. "Nuh-uh," interrupted by a giggle, "doll, you wear me out anymore, 'n I'll be asleep before you're even finished with me."

Your noses unintentionally bump into each other, a little too close. Miles shakes his head once more, rubbing them together.

"You still certain you wanna run with me?" He murmurs after a moment. There's a softness in his eye that suggests he wouldn't hold it against you if you were to turn and go back into your hotel room. Accept an incompatible partner in exchange for certain financial stability and status.

Someone who doesn't bury his head under your shirt and listen to your heartbeat when the hotel down the road sets off fireworks. Who won't wake you in the middle of the night, shivering over a dream that he never wants to describe.

Miles doesn't have all that much to offer. You know it. He knows it. But just looking at him has made you happier than anyone else ever has, flaws and all. Lord knows he wasn't lying when he promised to love you until you couldn't stand it because he already does.

You couldn't ask for anything more.

"For you?" Whispering against his lips, a secret to be shared just between the two of you. "Always."

For eleven months, nobody knows what happened to you.

A newspaper calls you an altar runaway but doesn't quite blame you for doing it, either. Photographs of you litter the streets of your hometown and the little city that the El Royale is considered a part of, but you're a long way from there. Settled down in an adorable apartment, working a job where no one recognizes you.

You're beginning to think that this is what bliss feels like. Miles and his warm arms, endearing coyote quirks, and sudden bursts of energy that leave you two giggling on the couch or venturing into a diner in a faraway town, just for the hell of it. He breaks apart on some days, but his promise never loses its shimmer, undamaged, regardless of it all.

The author of that article claims she spotted you walking out of a grocery store, hand in hand with a man who smelled like a coyote, with a dainty little ring around your finger. Nobody believes her when she reports it on the front page, and that's okay because it's your own little secret.

It's no one's business where this ring came from, how Miles painstakingly saved and designed it at a jewelry shop down the road, whittled a ring box with his own two hands. Whether or not it's a wedding or a promise ring is anyone's guess; you've no plans to tell.

"Honey," Miles whines, feet audibly padding into the room. You've hardly got the energy to lift your head. "You gotta quit leavin' your purse on the counter."

Wary, you pry one eye open. "Did you spill water on it again?"

"Might've," and you suppose that's why you can hear the fan running in the dead of winter.

The bed dips as Miles slips under the covers, bare legs tangling with yours before he can even get settled. One of these days, it will get cold enough to convince him to wear more than just an oversized t-shirt to bed, but today isn't that day. Hell, it may never come because he's long since figured out that he can nuzzle up and steal the heat off of you instead.

You don't need to look to know that he's beckoning you in; that fussy little whine of his tells it all. Coyotes. Talkative even when they're not using their words. Snuggle bugs, too. Miles already has his head nestled on top of yours, and you're not even finished getting situated.

"I love you," he whispers, those three little words far too delicate to be said any louder.

"I know," giggling. He told you while you were brushing your teeth just a few minutes ago, can never seem to quit saying it. "I love you too."

This bed is comfortable, but it'll never match the warmth that his arms bring.

#miles miller #miles miller x reader #bad times at the el royale #oneshot #werewolf au

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bradshawsbaby · 3 months

Note

Miles Miler x aspiring Actress vibes.

(So a bit of a warning here, cause tapping into Miles Miller canon and drug use, but it’s just a short mention) (also, I don’t mean to kidnap but not that this is on my brain… well here’s a vignette I guess. I’m sorry. lol. It’s all your fault for getting me thinking.)

Miles hears the bell. Faint at first and then louder. He wishes he could spend the day lost in fake euphoria. But he knows whoever is ringing the bell isn’t going to stop. It’s his job to greet the guests. Assign them their rooms. So he’s not mad but god, he wishes he could just stay lost in this fake bliss, his memory clouded by daydreams of what ifs.

The bell chimes again and he sighs. He smoothes out his uniform, his hair, puts on as neutral an expression as possible. Once he passes the threshold of the back door, he can’t keep the smile off his face.

You’re back. Wait…

You’re back. That means…

Miles’s smile falters. He doesn’t have to ask, but he does anyways. “No luck?”

You shake your head and sigh. “Well, I would’ve gotten the part if…”

You don’t have to say more. Miles knows you mean if you’d shared an evening with the producer. “I’m sorry.” Miles offers a sympathetic smile. “Do you want the same room?”

“Yes, please. And a cup of coffee once I’m settled in for the day.”

Miles gathers the keys. You don’t have to ask and Miles doesn’t bother to ask either if you need help. He just grabs your bag and walks you to your room, smiles at the small ‘thank you’ you offer and the soft hint of a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll get that coffee going.” Miles almost whispers and you nod.

He’s ready to turn in his heel when you call his name. “Yes?”

“If you have time, maybe you’re up for a game of cards?”

Miles’s eyes round out with something close to joy. “I’d love that.” And he does. Those long nights spend with you, he doesn’t need the other escape. No pinch of his skin, no hours lost in fake euphoria. When you’re here, he feels as close to himself as he did before the war. No flashes of rotting flesh and soulless eyes. There’s only you and your sweet voice and sweet smile and when you’re not talking, you’re listening. Really listening. Without interruption and without judgement

Miles doesn’t want to be selfish but in a very selfish way he hopes you’ll never get that big break. Because when you do, you won’t come back here. When you do, he’ll lose the one great thing that keeps him tethered to this world, that makes his life somewhat bearable between nightmares and flashbacks and managing this god awful place.

You have no idea how happy this just made me!!! It’s like you truly jumped into my mind and were able to pull out the vision exactly!

Those long nights spent with you, he doesn’t need the other escape. No pinch of his skin, no hours lost in fake euphoria. When you’re here, he feels as close to himself as he did before the war. No flashes of rotting flesh and soulless eyes. There’s only you and your sweet voice and sweet smile and when you’re not talking, you’re listening. Really listening. Without interruption and without judgement

THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I PICTURED THEIR DYNAMIC ‼️‼️‼️

The fact that she’s the one bright spot in his life 🥺 And honestly, he’s hers, too!

#miles miller #miles miller x aspiring actress!reader #miles miller x reader #bad times at the el royale #lewis pullman

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 11 months

Text

In Another Life

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Bad Times at the El Royale, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Miles Miller, Soulmate AU

Summary: It's so hard to say goodbye to the one you love. But even at the end, you remind Miles that you'll see him again. Even if it isn't in this life....

Word Count: 1058

TW: Soulmate AU, Hurt/Comfort, Cancer, Reader Death/Rebirth, Happy Ending

Notes: Thank you to @slightly-psycho-multifan for sending the title for the made-up title game! I ended up running with it and I hope you like it! 💕

You were fading fast. They had told you there was a better chance of survival due to your young age but in the end, it didn’t matter. Between the multiple rounds of radiation and the war being raged within your body, you just didn’t have the strength to fight for much longer and you knew it. That’s why you were happy that you had been able to convince your husband to check you out of the hospital and bring you home to the hotel. The El Royale wasn’t much, but it was home. It was where you and Miles first met. And it was where you wanted to spend your final moments.

As another coughing fit hit you, Miles was suddenly at your side with a glass of water. Carefully, he helped you drink it then sat down in the chair next to your bed. Once you had caught your breath, you gave him a weak smile and whispered, “Thank you, baby.”

He nodded, then looked away but not before you saw the tears glistening in his eyes. You tried to reach out to take his hand, but he pulled it away. With a soft sob, he cried, “This is all my fault!”

“What?” you asked incredulously. “Miles Miller! How in the world did you come to that conclusion?”

“God’s punishing the woman I love for my sins. For all the horrible things I did during the war.” His shoulders began to shake as his sobs intensified. “It should be me laying in that bed, not you.”

“Miles, look at me.” This time, you didn’t take no for an answer. You grabbed his hand and held on as tightly as your frail body would allow. He stopped fighting you and slowly turned to face you. “This is not God trying to punish anyone. It’s just my time. I know it’s a lot shorter than either of us expected but we still had so many wonderful years together! Years I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

“But I can’t lose you, bumblebee!”

“You’re not. We’re just saying goodbye for now.” You reached up with the hand not holding his and wiped a tear off his face. “Do you remember what you told me the night we met? When you saw me in the lobby for the first time?”

Miles nodded, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “I said you looked awful familiar. Like someone from a dream I once had.”

“And what did I say?”

“You agreed and said it probably meant we were soulmates or something. That we must have met in another life before.”

You smiled at the memory. You had only meant to stop at the El Royale as you were passing through on the way to find yourself in California. However, you found everything you could ever want and more in Miles, so you never left. Now it seemed as if you never would.

Trying to clear the lump in your throat, you said, “So if we met before in another life, I know we’ll meet again sometime in the future. Just please take your time coming for me, okay? I don’t mind waiting.”

Miles buried his face in the crook of your neck and you could feel his tears dampening your skin as you ran your hand over his curls trying to soothe him. Though it was muffled by your neck, you heard him cry, “I love you, my bumblebee. In this and every life.”

“I love you too, Miles. And I promise, I’ll see you in our next adventure.”

You were running late for the first briefing of this new Top Gun assignment. The irony that you– a pilot –were late because there was an emergency and they had to find someone else to fly your commercial plane from Nevada to California was not lost on you. Neither was the fact you would have gotten here sooner if you had just rented a car like your sister suggested. But you were here now, though you were disappointed you missed the gathering at the Hard Deck the night before.

Just as you were about to fling open the doors to the hangar, you heard someone behind you shout, “Look who the cat dragged in!”

You whirled around with a wide grin and threw your arms around Phoenix. “Hey! You didn’t tell me you were going to be here!”

“Neither did you!” she said, hugging you back. “I thought you might be but when I didn’t see you last night, I figured they made a mistake in their selection process.”

“Nope, just a delayed flight.” You pulled back and for the first time noticed Phoenix wasn’t alone. “And who is this?”

“Oh, this is my new WSO, Bob. And before you ask, yes, that is his callsign.”

But you almost miss the last part that she said as the world around you seemed to fade slightly. You stared at the man, your head tilting slightly. There was something so familiar about him but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was his sparkling blue eyes that radiated kindness. Or the timid way he held himself despite the strength you could see within him. Or the soft pout that pulled at his lips as he stared back at you with the same curious expression. The glasses and hair were throwing you off slightly, but you definitely knew this guy from somewhere.

You stuck out your hand. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar.”

“I-I don’t think so. I don’t think I could ever forget someone like you.” His face grew red as he took your hand and gave it a surprisingly firm shake, his thumb grazing across the back of your hand. “But I don’t know. I-I feel….”

He trailed off but you knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t something you could put into words. It was just a feeling deep in your chest unlike anything you had ever felt before. Like an ache that you hadn’t ever even realized was there suddenly fading away. You felt….. whole.

However, you weren’t going to tell this stranger that, so instead you said, “Yeah, it’s weird. But who knows? Maybe we knew each other in another life or something.” Still shaking his hand, you smiled. “Regardless, it’s nice to meet you, Bob. I’m Bumblebee.”

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @mayhem24-7forever, @tavners, @merlehs, @green-socks @sunshineflowerchild789, @shanimallina87, @topguncortez, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @hederasgarden, @callsign-phoenix, @wildbornsiren, @lt-natrace, @the-untamed-soul @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @joalsglasses, @curlyolly, @nobody7102, @footprintsinthesxnd, @thesewordsxlibrary, @double-j, @phoenix1389, @some-lovely-day

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 11 months

Text

In Another Life

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Bad Times at the El Royale, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Miles Miller, f!reader, Soulmate AU

Summary: It's so hard to say goodbye to the one you love. But even at the end, you remind Miles that you'll see him again. Even if it isn't in this life….

Word Count: 1058

TW: Soulmate AU, Hurt/Comfort, Cancer, Reader Death/Rebirth, Happy Ending

Notes: Thank you to @slightly-psycho-multifan for sending the title for the made-up title game! I ended up running with it and I hope you like it!

“What?” you asked incredulously. “Miles Miller! How in the world did you come to that conclusion?”

“But I can’t lose you, bumblebee!”

Miles nodded, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “I said you looked awful familiar. Like someone from a dream I once had.”

“And what did I say?”

“You agreed and said it probably meant we were soulmates or something. That we must have met in another life before.”

“I love you too, Miles. And I promise, I’ll see you in our next adventure.”

Just as you were about to fling open the doors to the hangar, you heard someone behind you shout, “Look who the cat dragged in!”

You whirled around with a wide grin and threw your arms around Phoenix. “Hey! You didn’t tell me you were going to be here!”

“Neither did you!” she said, hugging you back. “I thought you might be but when I didn’t see you last night, I figured they made a mistake in their selection process.”

“Nope, just a delayed flight.” You pulled back and for the first time noticed Phoenix wasn’t alone. “And who is this?”

“Oh, this is my new WSO, Bob. And before you ask, yes, that is his callsign.”

You stuck out your hand. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar.”

Taglist:@nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @luckyladycreator2, @valoraxxx-blog @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @jamesbuckyburns, @a-sweet-little-fangirl, @happyblogstuff, @randomlifeunit, @boringusername3, @lclove2012-blog, @3tabbiesandalab

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Little Games

This story is a little more risque than I normally write so please read the warnings carefully. Likes are wonderful, but reblogs and comments feed the muse.

Summary: Miles knows it’s wrong to watch you but he just can’t help himself. Pairing: Miles Miller (Bad Times a the El Royale) x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: Explicit, 18+ only. Consensual voyeurism (although Miles doesn’t know that at first), m and f masturbation and explicit sexual content. A/N: Thank you @callsign-phoenix for reading this over and @callsignhurricane for the beautiful header!

It’s a slow day when you check into the El Royale. Miles is half asleep at the front desk, chin resting on his hand as he struggles to hold his head up and pay attention to the nightly news playing on the tv. His eyes gradually start to close until the sound of your voice snaps him out of it. He stands abruptly, blinking rapidly while tugging at the hem of his uniform.

You’re wearing a pretty dress and give him a kind smile. There’s something familiar about you that he can’t quite place. Maybe it’s the color of your eyes or the slope of your nose. He feels like he’s seen you before.

You listen patiently through the speech he’s required to give, nodding along sweetly. When he asks for your room choice you specifically request one on the Nevada side, a manicured nail tapping on the map to indicate your selection. He likes how you smile, making sure to look him in the eyes and actually listen. So many guests that stay at the hotel are rude or in a hurry but not you. You watch him like he’s the most important man in the room. It makes him feel good. Seen.

“Thank you for your help, Miles,” you tell him, straightening out his crooked name badge.

Miles can feel himself flush at your praise and he nods, not trusting himself to speak. You don’t seem to mind his shyness, watching him with a fond look. When you leave, his gaze strays to the sway of your hips. You’re beautiful though not in the flashy way a lot of the women who came here were. It’s an understated beauty, one that draws him in and makes him feel comfortable.

He spends most of the next hour thinking about you with a dreamy little sigh. He wonders what you’re doing in the room. If you're comfortable. Maybe you need more towels or perhaps another blanket. It got cold here at night. Miles doesn’t want to disturb you though. No, that would be rude.

You must be tired after a long day. He imagines you’ve slipped off your black heels and discarded your jewelry by now. Maybe you’re already in your pajamas. He just knows you’d look pretty in anything you wore…

A little peek wouldn’t hurt he reasons. Just to make sure you were safe and comfortable. You’d never even know he was there. He promises himself he’ll be quick, trying to ignore that guilty feeling as he creeps along. Miles has never been tempted to look into a room he hasn’t been told to film before but there is something special about you. He likes to think you wouldn’t mind either.

When Miles turns the corner and looks into your room he’s unprepared for what he finds.

You're naked and spread out on the bed, angled perfectly for him to see exactly what you're doing to yourself. You move slowly, dragging two fingers through your folds before working up to that bundle of nerves hiding at the apex of your slit. You rub your fingers there in a circular motion, hips lifting off the bed. The moan you make goes straight to his dick and he swallows hard, hands clenched into fists at his side.

Miles knows it's wrong to keep watching but he can't make himself look away. He loves how your eyes flutter as you plunge your fingers in and out of yourself slowly, toes curling when you hit the right spot. He can hear how wet you are through the speaker. It’s obscene and it makes his mouth water. He wishes he could smell you, taste you even. He imagines what it'd feel like to be inside you, warm and tight. The way you'd moan his name and clutch him close.

"Fuck," he whispers, fumbling to get a hand in his pants, his whole body burning with need.

It feels like he might die if he doesn’t touch himself. He grasps his cock and matches your rhythm, squeezing and pumping his length in time with your fingers. You sigh and pluck one nipple and then the other, massaging your breast while your other finger circles your clit furiously. Your mouth forms a perfect O as you come with a cry. Miles follows a second after, spilling into his hand and panting hard.

After the rush of pleasure leaves his body, guilt creeps in. Miles closes his eyes, ashamed. When he opens them you’re still lying there, naked and on display for him. Beautiful. He doesn’t understand how something that feels so good could be a sin. How the joy you brought yourself could be so bad, but he knows in his heart of hearts what just happened was wrong. It’s another mark against him in God’s book.

He grimaces, his hands sticky with rapidly cooling cum. Miles cleans himself up the best he can with a handkerchief in his pocket and tucks himself away. When he washes up and returns to the front desk there’s still a flush on his skin. Every time he closes his eyes he sees you and it makes his stomach clench. He already knows he’s going back to watch you again. You’re here for the whole week. He’s done so much bad in his life and hurt so many people. When he looks at you he can forget that for just a moment.

If he was a braver or better man he might try to talk to you. Ask you to join him for a nightcap but he’s not. He works here after all and there’s so much blood on his hands. He doesn’t want to sully you. It’s better he just watches.

As if his thoughts have summoned you, Miles looks up and finds you walking towards the front desk. There’s a spring in your step, your pretty dress swishing around your legs. He knows now what you’re hiding beneath your clothes, how your face looks twisted up in pleasure. His cock twitches, an ache springing to life again at the base of his spine. Miles clears his throat, voice a touch too high when he greets you.

“Evening,” you return, resting your elbows on the counter.

You’re close enough that he can smell your perfume, something light and floral. There's a hint of something muskier too. He drops his gaze to your hands. Would they still taste like you, he wonders? For a long moment, Miles just stares at them. When you say his name softly again he looks up and pulls at the collar of his shirt.

“Can I help you with something, ma’am?”

“I came to see if you enjoyed the show.”

Miles freezes, an icy feeling washing over his body. His heart thumps long and loud against his chest. You couldn’t possibly know, could you?

“The show?” He questions, voice cracking.

“I know you were watching me, Miles,” you say, leaning even closer. You bite your lip and grin. “I used to work here. I know what the employees get up to when there are guests.”

When Miles opens his mouth the only sound that escapes is a wheeze. You tilt your head and suddenly he sees what he didn’t before. He recognizes you. You were one of the cart girls that worked the lobby when he first started. He remembers you were sweet even then but you’d left shortly after he joined the staff. You look so different standing in front of him now, bold and sure of yourself.

“I see you remember me now,” you tell him. “I was so happy to find you still working here. I thought about you from time to time after I left.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Miles stammers.

“It’s okay, really. I wanted you to watch. Hoped you might even join me.”

"Uhhh," he replies dumbly, grunting when you reach for his tie to pull him closer.

"That's alright," you purr. "I don't actually need you to talk. I have other plans for that mouth if you're interested."

Miles feels lightheaded, his whole body charged like a live wire.

"Yes," Miles manages to push out, his entire face on fire.

Hesitantly he reaches out and touches the back of your hand. Your skin is soft and he licks his lips, watching yours part with a grin.

"Well come on then. We can make a little video of our own," you tell him with a wink.

#my lewis pullman obsession is getting out of hand #miles miller x reader #miles miller x you #miles miller x female reader #miles miller #lewis pullman #bad times at the el royale #bob x you #Bob x reader #robert bob floyd x you

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xmalereader · 1 year

Text

— Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd —

Coming soon…

— — Miles Miller — —

• Miles Miller x Vampire! Male Reader

Summary: Miles works at the hotel El Royale after the war in Vietnam. He’s finding a way to cope through the trauma so what better way then to bury yourself in work? Let alone in a hotel full of vampires and with him being the only human.

#male reader #robert floyd #robert Floyd x male reader #top gun au #top gun movie #imagine #one shot #au #Bob Floyd #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x male reader #robert bob floyd #miles miller x male reader #miles miller #hotel royale #bad times at the el royale

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ficsilike-reblogged · 1 year

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Down the Rabbit Hole at the El Royale

A/N: Have I had this plot line rolling around in my head since I saw Bad Times in theaters years ago? Yes. Do I know this will get like twelve notes? Also yes. But I liked writing it. So, maybe you guys will enjoy reading it. Pairing: Miles Miller/F!Reader Word Count: 5.4k

Trigger Warnings: violence, organized crime, drug-use, war, murder—please do not read if any of this will upset you!

Summary: Five times Miles is excited to see you and the one time he wished he never met you OR a mysterious woman walks into the El Royale.

The first time Miles saw you, he had thought you were some sort of silver screen starlet, lost on her way to California. You walked in and pulled the silk scarf from around your hair before shoving it into the pocket of your coat. After filling a cup of coffee and grabbing one of the small packets of sugar and creamer, you walked to the front desk with a breezy smile that waned the smallest bit when you spotted him behind the desk.

“You’re new,” you said. It wasn’t a question. Your (pretty) eyes tracked to the nametag on his chest and nodded, as if his name suited him. Before he could say anything else, you placed a crisp ten dollar bill beneath the coffee and slid it toward him. “You look like you could use it.”

Heat tracked up Miles’ cheeks as he shyly took the cup and set it beneath the counter. He’d happily drink it later. “Let me get you your change,” he said, looking away, sure he could start a fire with the warmth burning on his face.

“Oh, get yourself a piece of pie with it. You look like a cherry guy. Am I right?” Leaning over the counter with another smile, Miles could smell your expensive perfume. Light and floral.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I do like it.”

That earned him a laugh as you leaned back. “Good. The guy before you liked pecan and only pecan. No taste whatsoever.”

You were distracting and beautiful and around his age, if he was willing to bet. And a repeat customer, apparently. He didn’t even need to tell you to sign the ledger before you asked for Room 3 in Nevada. You had the cash ready and you waved to him as you left, your high heels tapping lightly on the well-worn carpet before you disappeared. Miles waited for just a moment before grabbing at the ledger just to see your name. And there it was, just beneath the couple who had checked in two days ago.

Carole Lewis. He didn’t think the name suited you.

And then the phone in the back office rang. Miles was quick to answer it, already knowing what the low voice on the other end was going to ask. “Room 3. Nevada.” The line went dead before he could say anything. It always did. But just this once, Miles wanted to ask what you could possibly be doing to warrant being recorded. Maybe you actually were a starlet. Either way, Miles dragged his feet down the dark hallway and toward Room 3 and set a new reel in the camera pointed at your room. As the camera started to whirl, Miles let himself one moment of selfishness.

Just this once, just for a little, he wanted to look, too.

You opened your pristine suitcase and took out a small briefcase and set it on the small nightstand. You frowned, perfect lips pulling down at the corners before you glanced at the mirror as if feeling Miles’ stare. Then you moved the small bag on the nightstand just a fraction; making sure the broad side of it was tilted. As your fingers drifted across the case’s locks, your mouth twisted to the side and Miles would swear he saw tears in your eyes.

You were gone in the morning. The only trace of you was the faintest trace of your perfume in the air of your untouched room. The key to room 3 was tucked neatly back into the cupboard behind the desk as if you had never checked in at all.

The second time Miles saw you came a handful of weeks later. He had been expecting literally anyone else when he heard the front desk bell ding. But there you stood, just as beautiful as last time, with dangling diamond earrings and that same floral perfume. You also had a cup of coffee and a slice of pie from the machine for him. “I see you’re keeping the old place in good shape,” you said, with a smile. There was another ten dollar bill under the coffee. “I was a little worried they’d run you off.”

“Not yet,” he said, voice softer than he intended.

“Good. I’m selfishly happy I get to see a familiar face.” Your smile widened just a fraction and you once again asked for Room 3 in Nevada, handing over more cash for your stay. And he was once again tasked with setting up the camera outside your room. Again, you set a small briefcase on the nightstand and angled it strangely before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The tiny skirt of your dress rode up the slightest bit and Miles had to pull his eyes away from the long expanse of skin just on the other side of the glass.

That night, when he checked in a man and woman who were definitely married and not to each other, he checked the ledger. You had signed Dr. Mouse. He barely had the other couple out of the lobby before he saw your car, a powder blue Mercedes, roll out of the parking lot. When he went, selfishly–again, to check the camera pointed at your room, the small briefcase had been left behind. When he went to “clean” your room the next day, it was gone.

You had your secrets, too.

The third time Miles saw you came during the last snowfall of the season. It had been a few months since you had vanished from your room again and it seemed the months had brought you trouble. The familiar silk scarf and oversized sunglasses did little to disguise the swelling of your cheek and the cut he saw arcing over your brow. Your knuckles were wrapped beneath your gloves that you tucked into your thick coat’s pockets so you could hand over the money for the room.

“Still want Room 3?”

You smiled; it wasn’t as wide. Probably to avoid opening up the split on your lip. “You’re so good to me, Miles.”

He blushed and turned to grab the key, trying to ignore how his heart was inching its way up his throat. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, the points of the Nevada keyring digging into his palm. “Is there anything I can-”

“You wanna know what happened?” You asked, looking at him over the edge of your sunglasses as he gave a jerky nod. Humming, you took the key from him and stood straight. “I hit something stupid.”

Yes. You had secrets. Miles was abundantly aware of that when he watched you sign “J. Abberwock.” He watched you walk away, another question on his tongue but he held back. He’d already overstepped. And he was sure he was going to be asked to spy on you again. He knew it. But when you paused at the door and turned back to him, he still hoped that you would say something. Anything.

“I may need a bit of cherry pie tonight. Want to join me?”

The phone rang in the back office but for the first time, Miles let it get to the second ring. “I-I’d like that.”

“Good. See you in an hour.” And, as promised, you appeared an hour later and bought several slices of cherry pie and a cup of coffee of Miles.

“None for you?” He asked as you pushed the cup toward him.

“I can’t stand the taste of it. But I’m sure you have a long night ahead of you.” You had taken off the scarf and sunglasses and the dim light of the hotel��s empty lounge only served to exacerbate your injuries to Miles’ eye. But, as you steered the conversation toward television shows and then toward music and the other guests you had encountered at the rundown hotel, Miles couldn’t bring himself to ask again. He understood needing an escape.

You were funny. And smart. And kind. And had the terrible and wonderful habit of touching the back of Miles’ hand whenever he made you laugh. His poor heart nearly hopped out of his chest when you reached up to push an errant strand of his hair off his forehead when he was telling you a story of a drunk groom who had run away from his wedding a few counties over. The words stalled on his tongue for a moment as your gentle fingers swept across his skin before you tilted your head to the side, wordlessly allowing him to continue with his story.

“You ever think about it?” You asked as he finished.

“What?”

“Getting married. With a face like that, I’d be surprised if you don’t have a string of broken hearts in your wake.” You giggled at the blush you coaxed out of him.

“N-no. I mean, one day. Maybe.” He wanted that. He wanted a different life outside the hotel. He wanted someone to tell his secrets and sins to and hear theirs in return. He wanted to love and be loved. And your pretty eyes always seemed to take center stage in those fantasies.

You hummed around your next bite of cherry pie, licking your lips free of the sticky red sweet. “I could see it. You’d make a handsome groom—a better husband than most have these days.”

“And you?” He asked quietly, half hoping half dreading your answer. “Do you want to get married?”

You sighed. “Maybe. One day. Hard to do in my line of work.”

And before he could stop himself, Miles asked, “what do you do?”

Your smile was all teeth. It reminded Miles of one of the coyotes that had stepped into a trap on his family’s farm back in Indiana. “I’m a transport specialist, of sorts.”

Miles didn’t think transporting anything was supposed to be dangerous. But then again, hotel desk clerks usually didn’t have to send reels of film off to a post office box for things he wasn’t allowed to ask about—so, maybe you had another thing in common. And, when Miles felt sleep finally start to wash over him as the needle rolled out of his grip, he could only think of how soft your touch had been.

The fourth time Miles saw you was over a year later. He had nearly given up on seeing you again after that late night talk. He knew it was ridiculous. He hardly knew you. He didn’t even know your real name and he hated how long it took him to realize you’d always signed in with some sort of Alice in Wonderland pseudonym. But that did not stop his mind from conjuring your face, both bruised and unblemished, when it hazed with drug-induced sleep.

You had made a mark on him, for better or for worse.

And when you walked in on a cool Spring evening, Miles couldn’t hold it against you. You were wearing another short dress; your boots, shiny and probably expensive, made little noise as you crossed the lobby to lean across the desk again, and your smile was just as bright as he remembered. “Hey, stranger.”

And that was it. Miles found himself sitting across from you at the same booth you’d occupied last time, sharing a rhubarb pie because the machine was out of cherry. Neither of you seemed to mind. And it was you who brought up your absence. “Had to take a few jobs on the east coast for a bit.”

“Was there less stupid for you to hit out there?”

You snorted and halfheartedly whacked his arm. “Plenty of stupid on the east coast. Just a different kind. But there were no Miles Millers on the east coast so it was decidedly less fun.”

A familiar warmth bloomed in Miles’ cheeks as he stabbed at the remnants of the pie with his fork. “You’re makin’ fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you said, earnest and honest as your hand settled over his on the table. “I missed you. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

Miles looked up at you again. The low light was making your eyes sparkle and he could still smell your perfume. And maybe Miles could be brave again. “I missed you, too.”

Your answering smile was dazzling. And you just kept smiling at him as you continued to trade stories of your lives. Yours seemed decidedly more exciting, even if he would wager that you were only telling him half of it, but you were just as interested in what he told you, too. The stories about rowdy guests, of the food delivery men being caught eating half his promised delivery, all of it. Any of it. Just to keep that smile on your face. But the third time he yawned just before midnight, you were the one to suggest him going to bed.

“Will you be here in the morning?” He just wanted to see you in the light of the morning. Just once. Just to know you were near for the night. Another bit of selfishness.

You gave him another smile. “Maybe, Miles. Maybe.”

He thought about your smile as he watched you walk away. He thought about your smile as he shucked his ill-fitting blazer and grabbed the familiar bag and needles rattled in his drawer. He thought about it as his body sagged, veins thrumming. It was the last thought he had before sleep finally claimed him. You and your pretty smile.

“You are a good man, Miles Miller,” a voice whispered to him. A warm hand pressed against his cheek as his eyes fluttered open. This was a nice dream. It was you, sitting on the edge of his makeshift bed, so close he could smell your perfume. Yes, this was a nice dream. Your skillful fingers carefully took the needle from his arm and undid the tourniquet before pressing your fine silk scarf to the crux of his elbow.

“Pretty…” He murmured, the syllables slow like molasses on his tongue.

You pulled the threadbare blanket over him and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. “You deserve more than this. Good, sweet man.” Then, with a press of your beautiful lips against his temple, you were gone.

Miles woke the next morning and felt his eyes sting with tears as he saw the blood speckled bit of silk crumpled beneath his arm. It hadn’t been a dream. He walked on unsteady feet down the dark, familiar hallway to Nevada 3 and his entire body sagged when he saw the familiar sight of your still-neatly made bed. You were gone. Again. A flash of pink caught his eye and Miles turned, heart in his throat.

See you soon!

You’d written it backward, in your lipstick, just out of frame of the camera in the corner of the mirror. This was for Miles. Just for Miles. You knew about the cameras and you didn’t care. And you said you would see him again soon. Miles let himself smile as he loaded up the film. You’d see him soon. He glanced at the ledger and saw you had signed in as Kat Cheshire.

Miles wished the leap of his heart was out of joy when he saw you for the fifth time. But it wasn’t. You stumbled in, hand pressed to your stomach but Miles could still see the blooming crimson on your pretty white blouse. He threw the desk open and grabbed at your sides, ignoring your pained hiss as he dragged you back into the maintenance closet and let you crumple onto his unmade bed before grabbing at towels and a bottle of antiseptic. You were quiet as he set to work, barely a grunt of pain as he started to stem the bleeding before dumping half the bottle of antiseptic on the wound.

“Bullet or knife?” He asked.

“Knife.” A grimace marred your features as your head tipped back. “Lousy aim. Doesn’t feel like they hit anything important.”

“This happen often enough for you to know that?” He asked. But he could already see the scars twisting up and down your torso.

“Something like that,” you said from between gritted teeth. “And what about you, huh? Where’d you learn to do this?” Your pretty eyes were unfocused but still trained on him.

“The war,” he whispered after a long stretch.

And you only hummed. “Bet it taught you a lot of things you shouldn’t’ve had to learn.”

Miles couldn’t look at you, only peeling the towel back for a moment to make sure the bleeding had at least slowed to a trickle. “Do you know how to sew this shut?”

You nodded as your hand covered his on the towel. “My Grammy would whoop me for the shit knots, but I know how to make sure it’s closed.” The following laugh had an extra bit of blood pooling in the towel.

Someone hit the bell out on the desk but Miles didn’t budge from your side. At least, not until the toe of your expensive shoe nudged against his knee. “Go. I got this.”

“Not gonna disappear on me this time?”

And you fucking smiled. “Not this time.”

The entire time Miles gave his speech to a man who looked suspiciously like a congressman and two women who weren’t his wife, his mind was on you. You in his room with a needle and floss digging into your skin. You in his room and surrounded by a few of his deepest shames. You in his room.

Your smile seemed a little less strained when he finally handed over the key to the honeymoon suite and hurried back to you. He knew the phone would ring in a moment, it always did with guests like that. And you were here, too. It would be a two camera night. But that didn’t matter right now.

You did.

And he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you stood near his rumpled bed. Your blood stained blouse was open now; he could see the twisted loops of the stitches you had sewn and how blood had soaked into the band of your pretty pink bra. “Can I have Room 3, again, please?”

The phone rang.

An hour later, you were back in the lobby in a new shirt and a familiar sparkle in your eye as you leaned against the front desk. Two slices of cherry pie were pushed in his direction. “I think I owe you a bit of an explanation.” For the first time, your smile was timid. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

The pair of you spoke for hours. Hours. He told you everything he could. Everything he had buried. Everything he carried. And you told him just the same. It had been a pair of cruel twists of fate for both of you to fall into your lines of work. Miles had needed a job, something quiet and stable after the war had ripped him apart. Management had preyed on that, knowing he needed this job. And you had come from the wrong side of the tracks and witnessed something you shouldn’t have. You cut a deal, work for them and make more money than you could have ever dreamed of or take a short trip in the back of a van. It was an easy decision. And you were good at it: making sure people paid what they ‘promised’ and delivering it to places like the El Royale where it could be given to the people who were expecting it. Sometimes people needed to be convinced to hand over what they had been told to pay. It wasn’t always money. And you hated knowing that the weight of folded bills differed greatly from…well, other things. The cameras pointed at your room were supposed to be a precaution, to make sure you didn’t take anything from the case and the right person picked it up. Apparently the people Miles worked for knew the people you worked for and had an agreement. Or they were the same people. Neither of you were entirely sure.

“Meeting you has been a silver lining,” you murmured. “You’ve been my bright spot.”

And that was probably one of the saddest and kindest things Miles had ever heard. He had never been anyone’s bright spot. Not since his number was called and he was shipped out. But here you were, in the dim light of the El Royale, holding your secrets up to his like some sort of burnt offering. The song you had picked on the jukebox was coming to a close and Miles almost smiled when you had first picked it, Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” It seemed to suit you. But as the final notes rang out through the lobby, you were quick to skitter back toward the jukebox, steps a little stilted but still graceful. The next song started and you made your way back to him, slowing to a stop in front of him.

You stretched out a hand to him with a growing smile. “Dance with me?”

And Miles couldn’t tell you no. He stood and let your smooth hand slide into his as the other rested against his shoulder. His fingers twitched as he grasped at your waist and started to lead you in a muted type of waltz, still mindful of your injuries.

Then he listened to the lyrics.

And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much… Are you still mine? I need your love…

This was a love song.

Lonely rivers sigh, ‘wait for me, wait for me…’ I’ll be coming home, wait for me…

“This song makes me think of you,” you murmured, face turned away, but he could feel each syllable of it with your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Is that weird?”

“No. No, it isn’t strange.” It was heaven in a sentence. Having you in his arms, surrounded by your perfume and feeling the warmth of you so close…it was heaven.

But the song was short, too short for what Miles wanted. He could have held you forever and the sad look in your eyes as you pulled back made him think you wanted that, too. He could have asked you to stay. Could have asked you to finally finally finally tell him your real name. Could have asked you to dinner. A real dinner—not just pie from the machine. But when your soft lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, all of those questions fizzled to stardust.

“I have to go, Miles. Stay safe for me.”

And then you were gone.

It wasn’t until he was checking out the congressman the next morning that he looked at the ledger. There, in your familiar handwriting, was W. Rabbit.

He would never get to learn your name, would he? He would never get to look at you in the morning light. He would never get to smell your perfume again. He would never get to tell you that he couldn’t listen to that song without thinking of you. He would never learn your name. And with the revelation that Father Flynn wasn’t actually a priest, it seemed that Miles wouldn’t be able to do anything he had hoped to do before he died.

Unforgiven and unfulfilled.

But at least you weren’t here. You were safe. Right?

“Found another one!” One of the hippies shouted as the front doors chimed. And there you were, being dragged in, blood and rain soaking you down to the bone. “This one killed-”

“The lady killed someone?” Billy Lee laughed. Laughed. “Are you sure?”

The other hippie nodded and threw you down to the ground beside the unmoving body of Emily Summerspring. “Beat them to death with my tire iron.”

Billy Lee walked over to you and shoved his foot beneath your ribs, turning you over with another laugh. “Aren’t you something else?”

“I’m something else,” you said, words bloated and slow. “And they were lazy. Easy to kill.” That all but smacked the smile off the hippie’s face.

“Tie her up. Put her with the others.”

You were unceremoniously dragged to your feet again and tied to a chair beside Darlene. Your pretty eyes widened as you finally took in Miles’ appearance. “Miles…”

No.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be okay. Miles shook his head, feeling his chin quake with another sting of tears. He didn’t want to see you. Not now. If all your late night talks and pretty smiles meant that you ended up here, now, he wished he had never met you.

“Oh, are we on a first name basis with the bellboy?” Billy Lee asked as he draped himself over your shoulders once the ropes were sufficiently tight. “What’s the story there?”

“Leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t asking you, altar boy.”

You winced as the other man tugged at the dangling diamonds in your ear. “He’s my friend. And he isn’t a fucking bellboy.”

Billy Lee hummed and tugged at your earring again until your ear bled. “No. No, I think there’s something more. Friends don’t look at friends like that, do they, Boots?”

“Nah, I think he’s in love with her. But they haven’t fucked yet,” the youngest of the bunch answered, a southern twang almost softening the crassness of her words. Miles vaguely remembered her name was Rose.

It made Billy Lee laugh. “I think you’re right! There’s so much tension!”

All it did was make Miles’ stomach sink. Was this going to be another game to them? One woman was dead and the hippies seemed intent on having another round. He had already survived one round—would he survive another? Would you?

The room suddenly fell into darkness, the hum of the hotel’s power cutting out on the whim of the raging storm to pitch the group into an unsteady quiet. But as the hippies argued over what to do next and the fake priest and sweet Darlene were roped into the labyrinthine conversation about where the mess of money came from, Miles looked at you. There was a nasty gash at your hairline and the rain water had swept a bit of the blood down your face to stain the collar of your dress. But your eyes were bright and focused on him, too. Despite the absolute bloodbath that was sure to come, you smiled.

Wouldn’t that be the best thing for him to see before he died? Just your pretty smile. He may not get the opportunity to confess, but he got to see you one last time. And hopefully you would be able to walk away from all of this. That was what Miles wanted for you. He wanted you to see the morning light for him.

And Darlene started to sing, “Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch; a long, lonely time…”

Your eyes found Miles’ again and your smile was small this time, a quiet nudge that you remembered the dance you had shared with him to this song. This was your song. And that was all the time he would get to spend with you.

“And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much…”

But he wanted more. He wanted to leave this behind. He wanted to know how it truly felt to be yours, and you could be his. He wanted to know your name.

“Are you still mine-”

Darlene’s beautiful voice halted as Billy Lee spun the roulette table again. “I’ve heard better.”

The game had begun again.

Then everything happened at once. Father Flynn stood and slammed his head into Billy Lee’s face. Two shots were fired, missing their targets, as Flynn and Billy Lee tumbled through one of the fire pits. Darlene shoved herself back, toppling her chair and taking one of the other hippies down, too. Miles flung himself down, managing to crawl toward the safety of the lounge’s wrap around railing.

But where were you?

Miles turned his head and saw the toppled roulette table, the scattered cash, and the gun. And he froze. He couldn’t do it. 123 people already hung on his soul, he couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t. He didn’t even realize he was saying it over and over again, out loud, until Darlene called out to him, kind eyes pleading.

“Miles, help us!”

Fire spilled out from the destroyed fire pits. The hotel was going to burn down.

“I can’t kill no more people,” he muttered, heart in his throat, angry flashes of dead men cycling through his mind.

“How many people have you killed, Miles?”

His next breath stuttered in his throat. “123.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Darlene managed to smile. “It’s all right. You don’t have to kill more people.”

Something settled in his bones with that simple set of sentences. He didn’t have to. There was no superior officer barking orders at him. There was no threat of a court martial. There were no empty promises of bullshit patriotic duty. He had no obligation.

But then you screamed. And Miles moved.

The gun was a familiar weight in his hand as his fingers curled around it and he pulled back the hammer. He watched the man drag you by the hair to stand near Flynn as Billy Lee pointed a shotgun at you both. Aiming was easy. And so was pulling the trigger.

Rose screamed and dove for Billy Lee’s unmoving form, hands framing his face as she sobbed. But Miles hardly heard it as he moved to shoot the other man, and then the woman who had tried to hide behind a lounge couch, before handing the pistol off to Flynn and hurrying to your side. A new bruise was starting to swell on your cheek but you barely acknowledged it as you started to tug at the rope still tying his hands together. He could smell your perfume, tinged with rainwater and blood.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Your deft fingers faltered and your pretty eyes shot to his. “Sweetheart. That’s new.”

A familiar heat crawled up his cheeks. “Y-you never told me your name.”

“Will you still call me sweetheart if I tell you?” The ropes around his wrists fell to heap around your feet. He was free.

“‘Course I will.”

Another one of your smiles lit up your face before it quickly dropped as your hands slammed into Miles’ chest as you shoved him to the side. Before he could ask what you were doing, Rose had leapt at you, knife in hand. You managed to keep the blade from sliding into your stomach as the younger girl seethed. Your arms shook with the effort but you still managed to force her backward, boots sliding across the carpet, until her back hit the dividing wall. Miles didn’t see you move. Didn’t see your hands turn the knife around. Didn’t see you shove one last time. But Rose fell anyway. And didn’t move again.

Everything after that was a blur. Miles hardly remembered you gently pushing him into the passenger side of your car before peeling out of the parking lot as rain continued to lash against the windshield. He hardly remembered the mumbled goodbyes he gave to Flynn and Darlene before they went their separate ways. He hardly remembered how you promised to ‘handle’ management when they were bound to have questions. “They aren’t a fan of hippies either, you know. We’re going to be just fine.”

But Miles remembered the skies clearing and the dark of the night giving way to a lilac dawn just as you slowed to a stop in front of a small church a few hours later. St. Joseph’s Catholic Church — it was written in faded blue paint just above the door.

“I’ll wait out here, okay? Then we can go see this girl I know; she’ll make sure we get all that buckshot out of you.”

An hour later, Miles walked out of the church, soul a little lighter. And there you stood, leaning against your car in the morning light.

Miles stepped to your side and let his hands settle over your hips. Quiet as the wind, you whispered your name. Miles inched his way closer, shoes knocking into yours and making your smile widen the slightest bit. He reached up and gently cupped your face, mindful of your bruising, and was nearly giddy as you pressed further into his grasp. Then slowly, happily, he leaned in. He whispered your name against your lips and kissed you. It sounded right. You felt right. At that moment, Miles knew he’d follow you anywhere. Down any path, any rabbit hole, as long as you were at his side.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

#miles miller x reader #miles miller x you #miles miller #bad times at the el royale #female reader

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green-socks · 2 years

Text

Dubious Times at the El Royale

Pairing: Miles Miller x F!reader

Summary: You have a major crush on your colleague Miles. One evening after a long shift Miles takes some new drug, and ends up thinking he's just having very vivid fantasies, when in reality you really are naked under him, even though you thought you knew better.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: Please read these! This is over 18 only!! Unprotected PiV (we know better!), !!dubious consent due to Miles' drug use!!, an unknown/unspecified drug, loss of virginity, coming inside without permission. Reader has a lot of guilt over having sex before marriage because she was raised like that and the movie was set in the 60s and not like 2019, so. If these things make you uncomfortable, don't read, thanks! (All ends well tho so it's alright)

Notes: I have never written anything like this before, but something about Miles' face all bloody and pretty made me want to go a touch darker than usual? I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm experimenting. Fortunately, I can thank @hederasgarden and @lorecraft for being absolutely amazing betas and helping me make sense of all this. Love you! Special shoutout to @hederasgarden for listening me talk about this a lot and not hating me for it <3 Also I'm sorry about the silly title lmaoo

MASTERLIST

gif by the beautiful @a-reader-and-a-writer

You liked Miles Miller. Well, more than liked. Head over heels was probably a better way to describe it. He was so sweet and considerate, always so polite to you and everyone, and not to mention handsome. You often found yourself gazing at him from across the hotel lobby, completely lost in a daydream, until something jolted you out of it and you remembered where you were.

But Miles wasn’t all bright eyes and soft smiles. One time you had accidentally discovered his secret, the addiction he was trying to hide from everyone, and while you had been shocked, you also understood. You had heard how many veterans turned to drugs to deal with everything they had experienced in the war. You didn’t know if you could rightly judge him for that, since you couldn’t even imagine the horrors he must have seen.

Of course, you worried for him a bit, but didn’t want to seem overbearing. It wasn’t your place. You just tried to make sure you were always kind to him in return and helped around as much as you could. You wanted to make his life a little bit easier, make him smile more often.

You weren’t sure if he returned your feelings, though that didn’t stop you from dreaming about it. And sometimes you did feel like he maybe liked you back, but then again it was a little hard to tell for certain since he got easily flustered with most people anyway. Which you found totally adorable.

It had been a really long day. You were tidying up the very last of the rooms, but you were stumped. The previous resident had rearranged the room to their liking, apparently, and you were trying to move all the furniture back into their right places.

Thing was, you were only one person, and the furniture was pretty heavy. You would need help to be able to move them all. Everyone else had already gone home, it was just you and Miles, so you left to go get him. Surely the two of you could handle the furniture easily. Plus, you were thrilled at the possibility of spending more time alone with Miles.

Miles wasn’t at the front desk, so you went to check the storage room where he often went. And sure enough, there he was sitting on the floor.

It was clear from his face that he had taken something already. Probably not a lot, but some. He still looked fit to help you work though, so you asked him to come with you.

Miles even removed his jacket to lift and move the pieces of furniture, and you tried not to openly gawk while his surprisingly strong arms lifted the chairs you were unable to. It was making you feel quite tingly. The bed you moved together since it was so big, and afterwards, when the last piece was in its right place and you had changed the sheets, you collapsed on the bed. Just to rest your legs for a little while.

Miles sat down next to you, and when you turned to look at him, he was watching you with a strange expression on his face. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking at all.

“What?” you chuckled.

“Uhm..” He pulled what looked like a cigarette out of his pocket. “A guest gave this to me earlier. I was thinkin’ of smoking it tonight.”

“Oh. Well, you can go ahead,” you shrugged, not really knowing if it was a good idea or bad to stay with him here, but you figured you could still talk while he smoked.

“He said it was somethin’ new, but that I would be sure to enjoy it,” he explained while lighting it.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” you asked carefully.

“Yeah- yeah he’s gotten me stuff before,” Miles said, giving a rueful smile. “And it can’t be worse than what I usually do.”

His voice was laced with guilt, and you felt bad for him. He clearly carried a lot inside him.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Though you didn’t know what exactly was okay, you still put a hand on his arm to show him you meant to comfort.

“You’re too good to me, you know,” Miles mumbled.

“Nonsense, Miles! Besides, you’re always so kind to me, too. I like you for it,” you finished shyly.

“You’re like an angel on earth,” he said wistfully, as if he didn’t notice he said it out loud.

You were getting well and truly flustered now. Did he really think that? You supposed the drug could be making him think that, but he didn’t seem that high yet. Plus, it would be a weird drug, making someone think something like that out of nowhere, wouldn’t it?

The smell of the drug was in the air now, and so was the smoke, wrapping around you both like a blanket. You felt quite relaxed, sitting here on the bed with Miles, talking quietly. It was nice. You even dared to get a little bolder with your flirting, trying to see if he would respond to it. He seemed more open in this bubble you two shared, with no one else around and the whole place quiet. Like he could forget about everything for a while.

You didn’t know where you found the bravery to put your hand on his thigh, just above his knee, as you leaned in closer and laughed at something he said. It seemed to have an effect on Miles, however. But instead of getting flustered like usually – well, he was still breathing harder and getting redder – he did something unexpected.

He kissed you.

He leaned in and put his mouth on you, and you forgot how to breathe for a second. You made a surprised noise, but once the shock wore off you quickly kissed him back. It was somehow both sweet and desperate at the same time. You grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him closer to you, which made you topple backwards on your back, effectively pulling Miles on top of you. Both of you let out a little oomph but didn’t stop kissing.

You didn’t plan on deepening the kiss, or rolling your hips against his instinctively, but it happened all the same. It was as if your body knew what it wanted before your brain did, and it all seemed to light a fire inside Miles.

Before you knew it, he was taking off your apron and your work dress, and it didn’t quite occur to you to stop him. Especially not when he ripped off his own shirt, revealing his pale skin to you. How were you supposed to think rationally when he was kissing his way down to your breasts, and you felt yourself getting all slippery between your legs? How were you supposed to remember this was a sin when it felt so good? How were you ever not supposed to give in when the boy you liked was looking down at you like that?

Or when he gasped, “This can’t be real. This is a dream.”

You giggled breathlessly and told him that it was real, though you had trouble believing it yourself.

However, when Miles started opening his trousers and you came face to face, so to speak, with his arousal, the hazy cloud of lust lifted somewhat. This wasn’t how you had imagined your first time to go, though you had dreamed it would be with Miles, oh you had dreamed it many times, it was in a very different setting. Somewhere romantic, and when you were already at least engaged.

You knew it was wrong to want this now. You should wait. It wasn’t right. But you wanted him so much, you did.

“Miles.. we– we shouldn’t.. you know,” you bit your lip, looking up at him.

But at the same time his hand had found its way to touch you between your legs, and your words trailed off as Miles groaned loudly, as if he was the one getting touched like that.

“So perfect.. Not real,” he whispered.

Miles slid one finger inside you, making you gasp. He moved his finger back and forth, like you sometimes did when you were alone, but it felt so different like this. So much more.

It felt so good, and Miles was clearly enjoying it as much as you were. He was moaning loudly, his eyes screwed shut, and you couldn’t deny it all added to your excitement. He was so handsome.

Your lust addled brain screeched into a halt though when you felt the press of something considerably larger than his finger at your entrance.

“M-miles,” you stammered. “We should wait..“

But Miles wasn’t hearing you. He seemed as if in a trance, eyes still screwed tight shut, his body trembling slightly as he pushed himself inside your tight heat, just that first inch.

“Miles,” you squeaked, feeling it sting as he stretched you.

“Ohhhh, god, so perfect. My sweet, perfect angel. I never wanna hurt you,” he panted.

You squirmed, trying to adjust to him, which made him groan again. It seemed that he was speaking the truth about not wanting to hurt you however, because when he was finally all the way in, he stopped, hips flush against you.

“So perfect, so good, feel so good around me, better than anythin’. I could never deserve you,” he blabbered, pressing kisses on your skin wherever he could reach.

You were feeling so torn. This wasn’t how you planned it, this shouldn’t be happening, but Miles really seemed to enjoy it, and you didn’t know what to do.

And then he started rocking into you, and your whole world shifted.

It was shameful. You were so ashamed, you were raised better than this, but heavens above, you liked it. It felt good. The slight sting of pain was no longer there, and instead you felt warmth spread all through your torso. Your emotions were all over the place, your brain telling you a different story from your body.

“Miles, we should stop, it’s not right,” you whispered, covering your face with your hands.

Again, it seemed he didn’t even hear you – instead his thrusts picked up pace, and he kept moaning breathlessly, “So good, oh, my angel, I dream of you every night.”

His words made you shiver, and you felt like you were going out of your mind. The feeling only got stronger as he sneaked a hand between your bodies where you were joined, circling his fingers over the bud at the apex.

You felt your whole body buzzing at the feeling, and you knew what would happen next. He was going to make you reach that peak whether it was right or not. Worse, you wanted him to. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably now, and you felt tears in your eyes, though you weren’t sure if they were because it felt so good or because it was so wrong.

“Miles, shit, you’re gonna make me– It’s–“

The rest of what you were going to say got cut off as you gasped and whimpered, feeling the tide take over, and you were helpless to do anything but surrender to it.

Miles panted open-mouthed moans into your neck as you orgasmed, but he didn’t slow down. No, he only picked up his pace, and it was clear he was aiming for his own peak now.

That’s when you heard a car door slam in the parking lot.

“Miles!” Your eyes flew open. “There’s a guest coming, they could come here and oh Miles someone could see!”

Your sweet Miles was fully lost to the pleasure, however – his hips kept ramming into you, hard, all the while his cries got even louder.

“Ohh god, you’re so perfect, you’re gonna make me come!”

“Miles!” you gasped.

“I love to hear you say my name, angel,” he moaned.

“Miles you can’t finish inside me!” He was on top of you so completely you could hardly move, let alone jostle him enough to make him pull out.

And amidst all this, you had the thought of how you’d give anything to have his child, if it were under different, more secure, circumstances. You felt so dirty. Why did you like this so much, even when you knew you shouldn’t have done it in the first place? You whimpered his name one last time as his whole body shook, and he cried out his release into your neck.

Tears pricked in your eyes. You were so overwhelmed with guilt and the slowly fading desire. How could you have done this?

“Miles we have to get up, there’s a guest waiting, come on.”

Apparently now finally mindful enough of not crushing you, Miles slid out of you, making you whimper again. He collapsed on the bed next to you, still panting. You were still in shock, trying to process everything that had happened, blinking up at the ceiling. You knew there could be consequences for doing something like this, especially out of wedlock, but you hadn’t been able to care about that in the moment. Even though you had been taught to do so all your life.

The spiraling thoughts were interrupted when you heard the bell from the front desk ringing again. Then you jumped into action, frantically pulling your work dress back on and scurrying out of the room. You couldn’t deal with this right now, there was a guest waiting and if you stopped to think about what just happened you might freak out a bit. Thinking of things like what did this mean and does he love you and what will happen next, so it was better to just get back to work.

Miles didn’t show up again for the rest of your shift that evening, but you found him absolutely freaking out behind the front desk when you came to work the next day. All the turmoil of the previous night flew out of your head the moment you saw him in distress like that.

“Miles? What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

He turned to look at you, face all scrunched up in worry and like three different kinds of pain.

“You– You left your apron in that room. I woke up in there and was all alone but there was your apron and.. what happened?” he whispered, looking a little bit terrified of what the answer would be.

Your stomach dropped all the way to the floor. Oh no, this was so much worse. Was he really so high he didn’t even remember?

“Y-you don’t remember? What we…. did,” you gulped on the last word.

“We did?!” he cried, making you jump a litte. You’d never heard him so loud, and even after last night that was saying something.

“You mean I wasn’t– That I– It was real??”

“Felt like that to me,” you croaked feebly. This was all kinds of horrible. Maybe he hadn’t even really wanted you. Maybe he’d thought you were someone else. Oh god. You would have to leave the country. This was so embarrassing.

Miles fell out of sight behind the corner. Thinking he had fainted or something in shock you rushed to open the countertop to get to him.

He was on his knees on the floor, tears in his eyes and his chin quivering.

“I am so, so sorry. I can’t believe I did that to you. I thought I imagined it all, but when I woke up and you was gone and your apron and the smell.. and I thought maybe it was real after all and I am so sorry. I swore to myself I’d never hurt you. I swore I’d keep away; I couldn’t deserve you,” he babbled as the tears now leaked out of his eyes.

“I swear I didn’t realize, I thought I was just alone and…. well.. you know… It seemed more vivid than usual but I still never believed it could have been real,” he sniffled.

That part gave you pause. More vivid than usual? He had thought he’d been alone and just fantasizing? As in, he has done that while thinking of you? More than once? Did he do it often?? Your mind was buzzing with questions.

“You don’t have to forgive me, but I’ll do anythin’ to show you I’m sorry. We should of course get married–”

“Now back up just a minute, Miles,” you sternly stopped his rambling.

His head snapped back up, those teary eyes looking up at you now.

“I like you, but I do not want you to shotgun yourself into marrying me. That’s not how I want my marriage to happen.”

You kneeled on the floor opposite him.

“And yeah, I do appreciate the apology, because that would explain some things, maybe, that you were too high to know what was real… But also, in case you don’t remember – and maybe you don’t – I did like it. A lot, actually. Sure, I was really ashamed, too, because I shouldn’t have liked it, we definitely shouldn’t have done it. For god’s sake, we aren’t even together, let alone married or even engaged.. and at work!” You took a deep breath before continuing. “But it was you. Of course I still wanted it.”

Miles’ sniffles had quieted, and he was looking at you with a wide eyed expression.

“I had imagined it going a little differently.. like we’d have at least several dates first and–”

“We could still do that,” Miles blurted out, a little desperate. “If-if you wanted to. You probably don’t, what am I thinkin’, especially after that..” he trailed off.

“It would be a bit of a backwards approach, but maybe we could try a date and see what happens?” you tried to suggest tentatively.

“You mean it?”

You nodded and smiled. “I’d really like that.”

“I promise I won’t touch you again until I’ve at least given you a ring. And I promise I’ll never get high again. I won’t do that again.” His jaw was set, and he had a flushed determination on his sweet face.

“It’s okay, Miles. One step at a time,” you smiled. “We’ll figure it out.” You leaned in to kiss his still wet cheek.

And then you heard the sound of a car from the parking lot again, reminding you of where you were. But this time when you jumped up and straightened your dress to get ready to greet the customer, you did so with a much lighter heart and a genuine smile.

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tagging: @skvatnavle

#miles miller x reader #miles miller x you #miles miller #bad times at the el royale #i still don't know what i'm doing #i accidentally wrote something #lewis pullman #mndi #mind the warnings

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